Most of the strangers avoided her and chatted amongst themselves, occasionally shooting speculative glances in her direction. She felt both ridiculous and fraudulent in her black suit, and she was tired and achy. The night on the sofa had been dream filled, stiff and uncomfortable, the cushions had felt as if she was lying on a bag of pebbles. Edie was half convinced that Dolly had stuffed the cushions with bricks. She surreptitiously rubbed at the small of her back and returned a weak smile to Sam and Lena who were making their way towards her. They had made a beeline, but had been hampered at every step by elderly women who caught at Lena’s arm and engaged her for what seemed to Edie interminably long moments. To her relief Sam left his mother and strode over. ‘You look like you need rescuing’ he said, offering her a thimble full of weak tea.
‘Thank you, and I do, who are all these people?’ She took the tea and sipped. It was vile, lukewarm and made her wince.
Sam looked around the room. ‘Bingo and jumble sale cronies I think. A good funeral is the highlight of their week.’
‘I didn’t know Dolly was a bingo fan.’ It was true, she didn’t, but then she hadn’t known Dolly well enough to know much about her habits and hobbies.
‘I think Mum used to drag her there from time to time, not sure she was ever a fan, not like Mum, the woman is a bingo fiend.’
Edie wanted to laugh and indulge this charming man who was being so kind, but laughter at a wake seemed incongruous and rude, especially when your every move was being scrutinised. ‘Do you know who that is?’ she said, nodding towards a tall, smartly dressed middle-aged man who stood alone, looking almost as out of place as Edie felt she was. Sam followed her gaze. ‘No idea. Doesn’t look much like a bingo aficionado though.’
It was true, he didn’t. If Edie had been forced to categorise him she would have said that he looked like a policeman, or a soldier. Something about his stance – the impression that he was standing at ease, yet missing nothing – stuck her as representing something official. Her attention was pulled away from him by the arrival of Lena.
‘Bloody ghouls, not as if a one of them cared about Dolly. Makes me sick – they only come for the free food and a cup of tea. Some of ‘em want to get a life!’ Lena said it as if the cheery exchanges she had voluntarily participated in had been some kind of personal affront. It made Edie smile.
‘Well, I’m glad at least a few people came – it would have been a poor show for her if it had just been the three of us. Besides, someone has to eat all these awful sandwiches.’
Lena regarded the limp, curling egg and cress sandwich that sat sad and unappetising on the plate that she held. ‘Sausage rolls weren’t up to much either, I swear the tight buggers here use the leftovers from the last do.’
Edie nodded, ‘You’re probably right.’ She turned to find a spot where she could abandon the rancid tea and winced as the movement jarred her aching back.
‘What’s up, did you hurt yourself?’ Sam asked, a look of concern flickering across his handsome features.
Edie gave him a wan smile. ‘Oh it’s nothing, I ended up sleeping on the sofa last night. The house is pretty damp and I couldn’t find any clean bedding, I’m just a bit stiff that’s all.’ Lena had turned away, distracted by yet another mourner who ignored Edie but expressed their sorrow to the woman who had known Dolly best… yet hadn’t known when her friend lay dying, hadn’t checked on her, hadn’t spoken to her in months. It was natural that people would gravitate towards the more familiar face, Edie supposed. It was probably justified – she’d have been hard pressed to know how to react if anyone had approached her and expressed sorrow for her loss. It had been uncomfortable enough when the vicar had shaken her hand and expressed his sympathy. She cast about the room, looking for the tall stranger, but he’d gone. ‘I might ask your mum if I can borrow some bedding for tonight.’ she said absently to Sam. ‘Not sure I can face another night on that sofa, I’ll be fit for nothing.’
Sam smiled. ‘I’m sure she’ll be glad to help, and you look pretty fit to me Edie Byrne.’
Blushing at a funeral felt as awkward and insensitive as laughing, but there were some things Edie couldn’t control. She could feel the flush creep up her neck and flood her face in a total betrayal of the cool and collected demeanour she had been trying to cultivate. In any other circumstances she would have made a self-deprecating quip in order to level the field again, but Sam had turned away from her and was whispering to his mother. To her further chagrin an elderly man had braved the great divide and was heading for Edie with condolences tripping off his tongue. As he approached she couldn’t help but notice the scowl of disapproval that flickered across Lena’s face. It seemed the man had seen it too because he inserted himself between Edie and Lena and promptly turned his back on the old lady and her son.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss my dear, such a tragic end, so sad.’
Edie didn’t know what to say, so she gave him a weak smile and thanked him.
‘I tried to call on poor Dolly a number of times, but she’d turned her back on us all at the end.’ he said.
So Edie had gathered. ‘Yes, it seems she shut everyone out. I wonder why?’
The old man shrugged his shoulders and spread his arms, he held a silver topped cane in one hand, and with his neat cravat and perfectly pressed black suit, looked to Edie as if he might be about to perform a magic trick. ‘Who knows what was going through her mind? She was never quite the same after Dickie, I always suspected that in losing him she lost her purpose. Fell out with almost everyone so I believe, became very suspicious of us all. It’s a terrible thing when people push their friends away.’
Edie nodded, only half listening to him. Everything people said to her with regard to Dolly felt like an indictment. He placed a cool, thin hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze – she was surprised at the strength of it, he looked so frail. ‘Still, life must go on mustn’t it? And I must say, you really are the image of your father.’
The mention of Frank, any mention of Frank, stunned Edie. No one ever spoke of him, if it wasn’t for the fact that she knew someone had to have sired her Edie might have thought that her father was a figment of everyone’s imagination. Frank Morris, eldest and most un-prodigal of Beattie’s sons, had been a taboo subject for so long that this sudden mention had jarred her completely. Before she could muster a response the man had turned on his heel and walked away.
Lena nudged her with an elbow much sharper than the woman’s fleshy figure belied. ‘What did he want?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know, who is he?’ Edie said, still reeling from the overt mention of her father.
‘You don’t want to know. He’s a vicious old gossip with a chip on his shoulder, best to ignore him, everyone else does.’
Edie was good at doing what she was told and damped down her curiosity as instructed. People were beginning to leave, much to her relief, and the hollow thanks and farewells that she was forced to deliver whilst flanked by the indomitable Lena were distraction enough from the strange encounter.
***
Lena had gone further than just loaning some bedding and had offered Edie a bed for the night, which she had accepted gratefully and had appreciated fully when the bathroom had also offered a shower. The squalor and oppression of Number 17 had been washed away in an instant under the pelting hot water, and a night between clean white sheets that oozed the aroma of fresh air and sunshine (even if it had come from a packet of soap powder) had eased any reservations that remained. With the help of Lena’s kindness Edie had the best night’s sleep she had experienced in an age.
She descended the stairs refreshed and reinvigorated, to be met by the smell of bacon, a fresh cup of tea and Sam, sitting at the table and smirking at her over his breakfast. ‘You moving in then?’
‘Not quite, just taking advantage of your mother’s hospitality and cadging a bed for the night. I’ll buy some bedding today and make do next door.’
‘You