Major Richards pointed out that, in his experience, this was quite exceptional—for the civil authority to accept the military authority’s findings—and even suggested, in his tone, that Jack ought, real y, to be grateful. Jack, who had his own experience of coroners and inquests, didn’t feel it was exceptional. Or, rather, he felt that everything was now exceptional, so exceptionality had become the norm.
Major Richards was spared from explaining, as he normal y had to, though often hinting that it wasn’t a recommendation, that next of kin had the right to view the body while it rested in the coroner’s care. In this instance such a matter would be between Jack and his undertakers.
But Major Richards hoped it had never entered Jack’s head.
The situation, anyway, was that Jack was now free to make plans for Corporal Luxton’s funeral—in which, of course, there would be ful cooperation. In case Jack hadn’t understood these last remarks, Major Richards spelt it out that Jack would need to decide whether he wanted a private funeral or a funeral with military presence. This could be arranged. That in any case an undertaker’s hearse would need to be at the airbase to receive the coffin fol owing the ceremony and that the costs of this transportation, as wel as al the costs of Jack’s and Mrs.
Luxton’s “compassionate travel,” would be met by the army.
Jack (after a silence) had found himself saying the word Devon. The funeral would be in Devon. He’d even blurted out to Major Richards the name of an undertaker—since, limited as Jack’s dealings were in many areas, he’d had dealings in this area, too, before. Babbages in Barnstaple.
He’d had to arrange once, with Babbages, his father’s funeral. He knew the ropes in this area. On the other hand, the ropes now were rather different. Then again, his father’s ropes hadn’t been so simple.
Jack had said, “Marleston. Marleston, north Devon.” Then explained for Major Richards’s benefit that the nearest large town was Barnstaple. At the same time Jack had thought: the Isle of Wight to Oxfordshire, then to Marleston and back again. It would mean at least one night away somewhere.
Major Richards had explained that Jack and Mrs. Luxton would be sent further, ful details of the ceremony. And of course a formal invitation. To Jack, the word “invitation” didn’t seem like a word that went with the army, though in this case it didn’t seem like the right word anyway. Major Richards had said that meanwhile he’d continue to “liaise” (which seemed a real army word) by phone and even, if convenient, by a further visit, and that Jack shouldn’t hesitate if there were anything he wished to ask.
Though this last point was one Major Richards had made before, in person and with genuine kindness in his voice, Jack somehow felt that, now, it real y meant its opposite: that the decent thing was actual y to hesitate completely—
not to ask anything at al . It was as if Major Richards had become his commanding officer and had just said that any man was free, of course, to back out if he wished, but the decent thing was not to. It was like a test of soldiership.
It had always been, in any case, Jack’s basic position in life to hesitate to ask too many questions. He knew that he would never ask (though he would certainly wonder) exactly how—let alone why—his brother had died (he knew that the army would prefer him not to ask such questions). In the same way that he’d never raised with El ie the question, the peculiarity of their two fathers dying in such quick succession. Was death so infectious?
WHEN HE CAME OFF THE PHONE, Jack explained to El ie that they were bringing Tom home. He’d been given a date.
There would be a ceremony, at some airbase. And they were free to make immediate arrangements for the funeral.
So far, there hadn’t been much discussion between them about this inevitable prospect. It would have to be at Marleston, of course, Jack now said. It was his decision.
Though he wondered soon afterwards—and he wonders stil now—how different it might have been if he’d said that they should have the thing done local y. For the closeness and the convenience. At least then El ie might not have wriggled out. Though would she have liked the idea either?
In the twenty-four hours fol owing Major Richards’s visit Jack had felt that invisible wal settle only more rigidly between them—the wal , so he might have thought of it, of El ie’s failure to reach out and comfort him. Except it sometimes seemed—it was like an unjust reversal of the situation—that this might stem from some baffling failure on his part to comfort her.
As if he should have said, “I’m sorry, El . I’m truly sorry.” Without knowing what for.
A local funeral. A cremation even. So then they might have scattered the ashes—scattered Tom—over Holn Head. Or into the waves at Sands End. Stood together on the beach. Or in among the caravans. But Jack didn’t like the idea of cremation. It cal ed up bad pictures. Being a farmer, he natural y went for burial. And he had the distinct feeling that Tom might have been half-cremated already.
But, anyway, Marleston. Where else? He might have said: where al the rest of them are. Al Saints’ churchyard.
They would have to go to this—ceremony. Then they’d have to go on to the funeral in Marleston. They’d have to find somewhere to stay. Though, of course, they’d be just a mile or so from Jebb and Westcott, their former places of residence.
It was important to Jack, though it was also natural, that when he explained these things he used the word “we,” just as Major Richards had said “you and Mrs. Luxton.” In the pit of his stomach there was starting to form a tight bal of fear about this journey, this two-stage journey as it now turned out—about al the things, known and unknown, that it would entail. He hadn’t yet begun to contemplate every daunting detail. Yet it had to be done. It was, though the word was hardly good enough, a duty. And it wasn’t as if he, Jack, was being asked, like his brother, to enter a war zone, and so was entitled to this onset of fear. They’d have to go to a couple of places in England, that’s al , one of them very familiar. And El ie, Jack told himself, would be beside him.
But El ie, apparently, had other notions. El ie, when he gave this account of some of the necessary consequences of his brother’s death, took rapid and rather violent exception to his use of the word “we.”
“Who’s this ‘we’?” she suddenly demanded. “Who’s this
‘we’?” He saw her again, closing the door behind Major Richards, but remaining pressed against it and, so it seemed, trying to resist some further attempt at entry.
“Leave me out of this, Jack. I can’t come with you.” Jack was total y unprepared for this, but there was no mistaking the firmness of her position.