Maame(69)

Mum nods, then says to Ros, “Before I forget, we need clippings of his toenails and fingernails.”

What?

Ros nods sagely. “I’ve heard of this tradition,” she says. “Are you Ghanaian? Yes, I thought so. We’ve done this before.”

“Yes, his brother and sister will scatter them back home in Ghana,” Mum explains.

“Of course,” says Ros. “I’ll make sure to include that.”

I look at Ros; how does she know that and I don’t? She must learn about all sorts of traditions here. I think about her job. All the professionals I’ve had to interact with since my dad died have left me internally asking, Why is this your job? What led you here? Surely you didn’t choose this?

“Maddie, would you like your father’s fingerprint?”

I blink at Ros. “That’s possible?” There’s still a piece of Dad left. “Please! Sorry, yes, of course I would.”

Ros adds my answer to the form, and I have to fill out another section asking for my name, address, relation to Dad, and bank details.

These processes really should be quicker.

Welcome to FuneralCare, Maddie. We have two services for you to choose from today. We have the fast-track option carried out in a perfunctory yet expeditious manner, featuring minimal conversation and a desultory delivery. Or we have the compassionate snail trail that, even though we’ve never met you and we go through this process multiple times with other people literally every day, features intermittent coos and spontaneous moments of silence allowing you to linger in melancholy. A little more costly, but this service lasts three times longer than necessary in order to show how much we care. So, which would you like to go for?

Ros eventually goes to call the cemetery for a date. I’m still bouncing my leg and have started pinching my skin. I can’t wait to leave.

When she returns, she says that Saturday the twenty-first of August is the earliest availability.

Ten days away! “That long?”

“Darling, I am sorry about that,” Ros says. “I understand the wait can be awful, but we only have certain days available.”

I never imagined we’d have to take the schedules of random members of the public into account. I thought these people were on standby every day, waiting for people to die.

“Fine. Fine,” I say because I just want to get out of here. I push my seat away from the table.

“Okay,” Ros says, “now, finally, we need to take a list of the clothes he’ll be wearing when buried and anything you’d like to put in the casket.”

In an alternate universe, I flip the table and Ros’s coffee goes everywhere. But in this reality I sit back down and watch her pull out a rectangular notebook; she stops to blink slowly and stare at Mum and me in turn.

She eventually asks, “Is that okay?”

A monster begins tapping on my chest, and my jaw is clenched so tight, I worry about cracking a tooth. Mum and Ros go through the things Mum’s brought. It turns out she’s brought too many clothes because she wasn’t sure of what’s needed.

“I’ll have to call a friend of mine later and come back to you,” Mum says. “I want to do this right. If you do things wrong for the dead, they can come back and haunt you.”

There’s a brief moment of respite where the monster and I roll our eyes.

“So, let me just check I’m doing everything right and I’ll return tomorrow…” Mum looks at me “… alone.”



* * *



On the train home I can finally breathe. I look around and there’s a man digging for gold in his left nostril, a woman with two lines of black thread for eyebrows, and another woman reading a prayer booklet. At the sight of it, I want to shout DON’T BELIEVE ANYTHING IT TELLS YOU, but I don’t know why. I don’t even know exactly what it is that I no longer believe.





Chapter Twenty-eight


I can’t sleep the night before I’m due to see Dad.

When Mum asked if I wanted to see Dad one last time, it took me two tries to answer her. “How can we see him—oh, you mean his body before he’s buried? I can choose? Yes, I should. I mean, I will, yes. When?”

I meet Mum at the bus stop, my body aching and my throat sore from continuously having to swallow my nausea. We get the 450 bus, just the two of us. James will be going to see Dad with Auntie Mabel.

I can’t stop tapping my feet and when Mum takes my hand and squeezes tight, I think that someday, I’ll have to do all of this again for her. When the time comes, I might be on the bus by myself.



* * *



At the funeral home, Ros is dressed in black.

She takes Mum and me into a small room with dimmed lights and candles in the corner.

My hands start to shake, and I don’t know where to look. Then I see him and a helpless cry escapes before Ros even manages to close the door behind her.

No. “Oh, Dad.”

The coffin lid is propped up, resting against the wall.

Waiting.

That’s it. He really is gone.

“No.” I shake my head. “No.”

Mum rubs my back. “It’s okay, Maame.”

“No! It’s not okay!”

Mum pulls me to her, and I cry into her jumper until my throat is tight. I step away and roughly dry my eyes because I need to see him. This will be my last chance to see him.