“Good job,” he whispers, clenching my hand. “You did her proud.”
As the rousing song starts, I realize I can’t join in. Somehow my throat feels too tight and the words won’t come. So instead I look around at the flower-laden church, and the beautiful outfits, and all the people gathered here, singing lustily for Sadie. So many diverse people, from different walks of life. Young, old, family members, friends from the nursing home-people that she touched in some way. All here. All for her. This is what she deserved.
This is what she deserved. All along.
When the service finally ends, the organist launches into the Charleston (I don’t care if memorial services don’t usually have the Charleston), and the congregation slowly files out, still clutching their cocktail glasses. The reception is being held at the London Portrait Gallery, thanks to lovely Malcolm Gledhill, and helpful girls with badges are telling people how to get there.
But I don’t rush. I can’t quite face all the talking and chatter and buzz. Not just yet. I sit in my front pew, breathing in the scent of the flowers, waiting until it’s quieter.
I did her justice. At least I think I did. I hope I did.
“Darling.” Mum’s voice interrupts me and I see her approaching me, her hairband more wonky than ever. Her cheeks are flushed and there’s a glow of pleasure all around her as she slides in beside me. “That was wonderful. Wonderful.”
“Thanks.” I smile up at her.
“I’m so proud of the way you skewered Uncle Bill. Your charity will do great things, you know. And the cocktails!” she adds, draining her glass. “What a good idea!”
I gaze at Mum, intrigued. As far as I know, she hasn’t worried about a single thing today. She hasn’t fretted that people might arrive late, or get drunk, or break their cocktail glasses, or anything.
“Mum… you’re different,” I can’t help saying. “You seem less stressed. What happened?”
I’m suddenly wondering if she’s been to the doctor. Is she taking Valium or Prozac or something? Is she on some drug-induced high?
There’s silence as Mum adjusts her lilac sleeves.
“It was very strange,” she says at last. “And I couldn’t tell everybody this, Lara. But a few weeks ago, something strange happened.”
“What?”
“It was almost as though I could hear…” She hesitates, then whispers, “A voice in my head.”
“A voice?” I stiffen. “What kind of voice?”
“I’m not a religious woman. You know that.” Mum glances around the church and leans toward me. “But, truly, this voice followed me around all day! Right in here.” She taps her head. “It wouldn’t leave me alone. I thought I was going mad!”
“What-what did it say?”
“It said, ‘Everything’s going to be all right, stop worrying!’ Just that, over and over, for hours. I got quite ratty with it, in the end. I said out loud, ‘All right, Mrs. Inner Voice, I get the message!’ And then it stopped, like magic.”
“Wow,” I manage, a lump in my throat. “That’s… amazing.”
“And ever since then, I find things don’t bother me quite as much.” Mum glances at her watch. “I’d better go, Dad’s on his way round with the car. Do you want a lift?”
“Not just yet. I’ll see you there.”
Mum nods understandingly, then heads out. As the Charleston morphs into another 1920s tune, I lean back, gazing up at the beautiful molded ceiling, still a bit blown away by Mum’s revelation. I can just see Sadie trailing after her, pestering her, refusing to give up.
All the things that Sadie was and did and achieved. Even now, I feel like I only ever knew the half of it.
The medley eventually comes to an end, and a woman in robes appears and starts snuffing out all the candles. I rouse myself, pick up my bag, and get to my feet. The place is already empty. Everyone will be on their way.
As I head out of the church into the paved forecourt, a ray of sunlight catches me in the eye and I blink. There’s a crowd of people still laughing and talking on the pavement, but no one is anywhere near me, and I find my gaze drifting upward to the sky. As it does so often. Still.
“Sadie?” I say quietly, out of force of habit. “Sadie?” But of course there’s no reply. There never is.
“Well done!” Ed suddenly descends on me from nowhere and plants a kiss on my lips, making me jump. Where was he, hiding behind a pillar? “Spectacular. The whole thing. It couldn’t have gone better. I was so proud of you.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I flush with pleasure. “It was good, wasn’t it? So many people came!”
“It was amazing. And that’s all because of you.” He touches my cheek gently and says more quietly, “Are you ready to go to the gallery? I told your mom and dad to go on.”
“Yes.” I smile. “Thanks for waiting. I just needed a moment.”
“Sure.” As we start walking toward the wrought-iron gate onto the street, he threads his arm through mine and I squeeze it back. Yesterday, out of the blue, as we were walking to the memorial rehearsal, Ed told me casually that he was extending his assignment to London by six months, because he might as well use up his car insurance. Then he gave me a long look and asked me what I thought about him staying around for a while?
I pretended to think hard, trying to hide my euphoria, then said, yes, he might as well use up his car insurance, why not? And he kind of grinned. And I kind of grinned. And all the time, his hand was tightly knit around mine.