Page 16 of Annabel and Her Sisters

When I could finally move from this very same chair I was sitting on now, clutching cold coffee, as I was now, I went, for some reason, to the Brompton Cemetery.

We hadn’t buried him there, he wasn’t religious.

And actually, his ashes are still in a lovely pot, made by Polly, in my bedroom.

Yes, of course we’ll scatter them one day, but not yet.

I want him close by. Anyway, with only a very nominal faith, I went to the cemetery, which is vast and Victorian.

I sat on a grassy bank for about two hours, staring at the daisies.

A few ants. I have never felt so wretched, so guilty, and so alone.

It may have been longer than two hours. And then I looked up at the sky and I saw his smile.

David’s, which was enormous. ‘I’m fine!’ he said, or his smile did.

‘Look, I’m fine!’ It raised me to my feet in shock.

That was it. Epiphany over. But so much guilt– not grief, that never went– slid off me in that moment.

I went straight to the church in the cemetery and nothing else happened.

Nothing at all. No lightning bolt, no voice from the heavens.

But it had been enough. And every Sunday morning after that, I went to our local church, and listened, and waited, and hoped for more, but nothing.

Except a complete knowledge, always, of what I’d seen and heard, that day.

And an overwhelming feeling of comfort. I never revisited my guilt– ever.

Except now. Because my son, aged twenty-five, apparently went to church every week, at a different time to me.

Why? After a while, I got to my feet and decided that, like Polly, I wouldn’t ask him.

That Friday I duly did the flowers with Enid, and while we were positioning the vases in their usual places, by the door, on the window ledge, one by the choir stalls, one right up by the altar, on a pedestal, next to the vestry, I realized Ralph was in there.

I hesitated for a moment, then crept across and popped my head round the door.

‘Sorry to disturb.’

He was seated at a desk in the tiny room and looked up from some papers. He smiled. ‘You’re not, come in.’

I went across: put my fingers on the wood. Hovered uncertainly for a moment. ‘It’s just… I didn’t know Luke came here and it was a surprise. I wondered… well, I wondered if you knew… what prompted it, maybe?’

Ralph looked surprised. ‘I don’t, I’m afraid.’ He sat back in his chair and regarded me quizzically. ‘Do you find it odd?’

‘A bit,’ I admitted. ‘He doesn’t sing, and I didn’t know he had any faith at all. Plus he’s kind of– you know. Cool.’

Luke was. He was good-looking. He went to festivals. Had various tattoos. Earrings. Played in a band. Played the field a bit, too, loads of girls.

‘It just sort of… doesn’t add up.’

He smiled. ‘Maybe ask him? Just say I mentioned it?’

‘Yes. Yes, I will. Good idea.’

I disappeared, knowing he was watching me go, thoughtful.

That weekend, Luke came home. Like many boys, he didn’t divulge much, not like Polly who’d tell me everything.

She always had done: who she was seeing, what they were like, why she dumped them– too complacent, the last one was– which was why she liked Max, who cared.

She just had to ‘splurge’, as she called it.

But Luke, no. So occasionally, I’d corner him, but he was alive to my tactics and was slippery.

Recently, I’d managed it so magnificently in the garden, he’d stepped back into the pond and gone right in, backwards.

It was actually terribly funny, like something you see on a comedy show.

He’d come up shocked, covered in weed, but laughing.

Luke always saw the funny side. But inside, as he’d towelled his hair, he’d said:

‘Mum, don’t pry, OK?’

‘I’m not prying!’ I’d cried. ‘I simply asked if you were still seeing Lucy?’

He grinned. ‘No. Hannah.’

‘Oh! And –’

‘Enough!’ he’d laughed. He’d tossed the towel at me and disappeared.

Now, on Saturday morning, he was in the kitchen, making toast and peanut butter. I waited until he was busy spreading it.

‘Luke, Ralph says you go to evensong. How lovely!’

He looked around, shocked. Caught. He even glanced at the door.

‘Sometimes,’ he said warily.

‘ So gorgeous,’ I gushed, beaming.

He cut his toast, smiled. ‘So the two of you do talk. Progress.’

This wrong-footed me slightly, by which time he’d picked up his plate and walked past me. ‘Bye.’ He went upstairs, but I followed, which was rare.

‘Luke– is it about Dad?’

He was at the top of the stairs by now. I was at the bottom. He turned.

‘Not everything’s about Dad, you know.’

‘No.’ I swallowed. ‘No, I know.’

Luke was kind. ‘I go there to think, OK?’

‘OK,’ I whispered.

We left it at that. He went in to eat his toast with Polly.

I heard the door close behind them. Obviously I felt excluded, but for God’s sake, they were adults.

I would so love to know what he thought about in church, though.

But it was a relief to know it wasn’t his father and how I’d… you know. Bogged it.

I was still at the bottom of the stairs, contemplating, my hand on the banisters, when Luke popped out again.

‘Oh, and Mum, since you’re intent on keeping it personal, they’re both nice.’

I was confused. Then I remembered his love life and brightened. ‘Who, Lucy and Hannah?’

‘No, Ralph and André.’

I gasped, mortified. ‘What?’

‘Well, Poll and I are relieved you’re at least finally looking. At last.’

‘Dear God, what nonsense!’ I spluttered, outraged. ‘And anyway, Ralph’s married!’

‘Wrong actually, he’s separated.’

I stared at Luke. ‘Is he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh!’

He grinned and shut the door and I heard Polly laugh. Then some muffled chat, and then more laughter, a roar even, from both of them this time. I blushed and stalked off to the kitchen. I made some more coffee. Wretched children.

Ten minutes later, I heard footsteps down the hall. André popped his head round the kitchen.

‘Chosen yet?’

I stared at him, horrified. ‘Sorry?’ I whispered.

‘The tiles. For the bathroom. Remember I gave you a couple of samples?’

I came to. ‘Oh! Yes! Golly, yes.’ I ran to the counter, flustered and pleased to have a reason to hide my face and sweaty hands. I rifled through some papers and stared at the samples.

‘I’ll um… have a think, and let you know. Have another– you know– look.’

‘Great, just let me know which one you fancy.’