After several aborted attempts, he’d finally built up the courage to tell the subforum about Sally.
Hi, chaps. Sorry I’ve been a bit quiet of late. Had some sad news. I lost my sister. I’m still feeling a bit numb about it all, to be honest. As soon as he’d hit “post” he wondered if he’d done the wrong thing, but they’d all responded with sympathetic, well-judged messages and, in a move of touching solidarity, had changed their avatars from dancing tomatoes and cheerful fat controllers to match Andrew’s plain, sky-blue square.
But while things were largely back to normal, there was something that had been brought sharply into focus, something that Andrew was finding hard to ignore. He had always justified continuing to lie about having a family on the grounds that it was harmless. But, subconsciously, the fact that Sally was still around (no matter how strained their relationship) had meant that the fantasy he’d created just existed alongside his real life, and he knew deep down that he had something tangible to fall back on in his sister. But now, with her gone, he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable about Diane, Steph and David. As a result, when family came up in conversation with Cameron, Keith and Meredith, he no longer felt the little thrill he used to when inventing some mundane detail about how things were at school or what his weekend plans were. But it was worse—much worse—when it came to Peggy. The day after he’d bailed on the pub quiz, he’d been racked with guilt and apologized far more earnestly than was necessary, much to Peggy’s amusement and confusion. After a few more weeks in her company Andrew realized she wasn’t the sort of person to sweat the small stuff like that. She had continued to shadow him, so they had spent almost all their time at work together: attending more property inspections, as well as the office grind of registering deaths and compiling details of unclaimed estates to send on to the treasury.
And then there had been the funeral.
Andrew had mentioned in passing to Peggy that he was going to attend the service of Ian Bailey, having not been able to track down any friends or family. He wasn’t expecting Peggy to ask if she could come.
“You don’t have to,” he said. “It’s not compulsory—or technically part of the job, in fact.”
“I know, but I’d like to,” Peggy said. “I’m just following your lead, really. If the point is to help see the person off with some company, then me doubling the numbers is a good thing to do, right?”
Andrew had to concede that this was a good point.
“Not to sound patronizing,” he said, “but it’s maybe worth taking a bit of time to prepare yourself for it. As I’ve said, they can be pretty bleak affairs.”
“Don’t worry,” Peggy said. “I was thinking I could do a bit of karaoke to cheer things along. ‘Africa’ by Toto, something like that?”
Andrew looked at her blankly. He saw her face falter. God, why couldn’t he just respond normally to things? He forced himself to try to rectify the situation.
“I’m not sure that’d be appropriate,” he said. Then, before Peggy could respond sincerely, “I think ‘The Final Countdown’ might be more fitting.”
Peggy chuckled while Andrew went back to his screen, torn between self-reproach at trivializing the funeral and relief and pride at managing to successfully devise and deliver a real-life joke to a real-life human being.
That Thursday they stood in church, waiting for Ian Bailey to arrive.
“It’s nice—well, not nice, but, you know, a good thing, there being two of us today.” Andrew winced slightly at how clumsily this had come out.
“Three of us actually,” Peggy said, pointing up at the rafters, as a sparrow flitted over from one beam to another. They were quiet for a moment, watching the bird, which then briefly disappeared out of sight.
“Have you ever imagined your own funeral?” Peggy asked.
Andrew kept his eyes on the rafters. “I can’t say I have; you?”
Peggy nodded. “Oh yeah. Loads. When I was about fourteen I got really obsessed and planned the whole thing, right down to the readings and the music. I seem to remember everyone was going to be dressed in white, so it was different from normal, and Madonna was going to do “Like a Prayer” a cappella. Is that weird? I mean, the planning of it, not the Madonna part—I know that’s weird.”
Andrew saw the sparrow flit to another beam. “I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose it makes sense. We’re all going to have one, so why not think about how you want it to go?”
“Most people don’t want to think about it, do they? Understandably, of course. But then for some of us, it’s always at the back of our minds. I think that’s the only real explanation why some people do such stupid, impulsive things.”
“Like what?” Andrew said, giving in to neck ache and lowering his head.
“Like people who embezzle money from their business even though they’re obviously going to get found out. Or . . . that woman who was on the news for getting caught pushing a cat into a wheelie bin. It’s like, in that moment, they’re sticking a middle finger up to death. You’re coming for me, I know you are—but watch this! It’s like a pure burst of living, isn’t it?”
Andrew frowned. “You’re saying pushing a cat into a bin is a pure burst of living?”
Peggy had to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing, and for one dreadful moment Andrew thought they were both about to get the giggles, like naughty schoolchildren. Then a memory came to him, quite out of the blue, of he and Sally convulsing with laughter in a fish and chip shop as they exchanged fire with chips across the table, while their mother was distracted by a conversation with a friend at the counter.
Try as he might, as the service proceeded he found it impossible not to think about Sally. Surely there had been more moments like that? Had her leaving for America been such an all-consuming betrayal that it had biased his memory? After all, he thought, suddenly feeling faint, there had been one particular memory that he’d spent the last twenty years trying to let go, where Sally had done her utmost to help him, and he hadn’t let her. He pictured himself in his flat, rooted to the spot, hearing the phone ringing on and on and on, unable to answer. When he’d finally picked up, he heard her voice, pleading with him to talk to her, to let her help. He’d let the phone slip from his hand. He told himself he’d answer the next day when she called, and then the day after that, and every day for the next month after, but he never did.
Andrew’s mouth had gone very, very dry. He was only vaguely aware of the vicar’s soft address. At Sally’s funeral, he had been numb, horribly self-conscious next to Carl. But now, all he could think of was why he hadn’t answered the phone.
His breathing had become shallow. The vicar had just finished delivering part of the service and nodded to the back, whereupon an organ clunked into life. As the first chord filled the church, Peggy leaned over to Andrew. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he said. But as he stood there, the music getting louder, his head bowed, the church floor swam in front of his eyes, and he had to grasp onto the pew in front with both hands to stop himself from falling. His breaths were coming in shuddering bursts, and as the music echoed around the church, and he realized he was finally beginning to mourn his sister, he was vaguely aware of Peggy’s hand gently rubbing his back.
By the time the service was over he had managed to compose himself. As he and Peggy walked out of the churchyard he felt it necessary to explain.