Free Dark Undertakings by Rebecca Tope Page B

women were sitting opposite Daphne Plant, who got straight down to business with very few preliminaries. The first question was the ‘burial or cremation’ one. Monica closed her eyes for a moment beforeanswering. ‘Cremation’s the norm these days, isn’t it? We’ll go for that.’ She shook her head, and fiddled unconsciously with an earlobe. ‘We never thought that this would happen, you see. That probably sounds pathetic to you, avoiding the inevitable. But he was only fifty-five, and he’d never been ill at all.’
    Daphne had no comment. Many people complained that this was some kind of mistake, when death came suddenly. Only gradually would it emerge that Jim had been breathless recently, that his uncle was waiting for a triple bypass, that he’d been worrying about money, or adultery, or promotion. ‘Cremation, then,’ she said. Monica found the ensuing decisions came almost effortlessly as Daphne posed her questions. Until they reached the one about chapel visiting.
    ‘I have no idea,’ she said flatly, when asked if anyone would like to ‘view’ Jim. ‘What do people usually do?’
    Pauline made a diffident contribution. ‘Oh, I think there’ll be people who would like to come and see him when he’s all nice and tidy in his coffin.’
    Monica shuddered. A wave of icy water seemed to be flowing through her system. She didn’t think she’d ever seen an occupied coffin – surely she’d remember if she had?Various good excuses had kept her away from funerals, all her life. Even her own father had managed to die when she was in hospital with appendicitis, and she’d insisted they carry on without her.
    ‘It seems awful,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose it’ll look like him.’
    Daphne raised her eyebrows and tapped her lips with her pencil. ‘Most people say they’re glad they came,’ she said. ‘It’s a chance to say a last goodbye.’
    ‘It’d feel – I don’t know – strange,’ faltered Monica. She knew they didn’t understand her, that she wasn’t able to express the strong feeling that had gripped her at the prospect of visiting Jim in a strange impersonal ‘chapel of rest’.
    ‘I could just leave it open,’ Daphne offered. ‘You don’t have to decide now.’
    But Monica was still wrestling with her emotions. ‘I should see him again,’ she went on. ‘I can’t just leave it like this. Everything happened so quickly yesterday, I didn’t have time to really think. Do you think – er – could we have him home again, in his coffin? That’s what used to happen, isn’t it? I think it would be nicer if people could come to see him at the house. I could give them a cup of tea. Yes,’ she looked up from the desk, where her gaze had been fixed while she worked out what shewanted. ‘Yes! That would be much better.’
    Daphne suppressed a sigh, and nodded accommodatingly. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘If that’s what you’d like. When would you want him to be brought home?’
    ‘Monday afternoon,’ said Monica decisively. ‘Then he can have one last night with me.’
    And so it was arranged. The funeral would be at eleven-thirty on the following Tuesday. Daphne had suggested a vicar, whose name was dimly familiar to Monica, but no more than that. It was Pauline who pointed out that Tuesday would be the seventeenth, and that the following day was Monica’s fiftieth birthday.
    ‘Oh, my God,’ gasped Monica, half appalled, half amused. ‘We won’t be having the party, then.’
    ‘I’ll take you out somewhere,’ promised Pauline. ‘You mustn’t be alone. And the boys’ll want to do something. Life goes on.’
    ‘That’s true,’ echoed Daphne, looking from one to the other with some curiosity. Monica met her glance. She liked this odd businesslike undertaker, who didn’t flinch from reality. She liked the neat way that everything fitted onto the printed forms on the desk – names, dates, coffin style, newspaper announcement. There was a space for