Postscript(60)

‘Again?’

‘I know. I’m sorry I’ve been asking a lot of you for the past few weeks.’

‘Months,’ she says firmly. ‘And that’s fine, because I’m your sister and I can tolerate your little meltdown mid-life crisis, but seriously Holly, what is it this time?’

‘Bert, a member of the PS, I Love You Club died, and I need to attend his wake. I have to deliver the final letter. Or rather, technically, the first letter.’

Her eyes widen. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I’m telling you now.’

‘I should have known something was up, you’ve been so quiet the past few days.’

‘Actually, that’s because Gabriel and I broke up.’ I squeeze my eyes shut again and brace myself for impact.

She slumps in the armchair by the dressing room and tears fill her eyes. ‘I knew this would happen. This is my fault. It’s because of the club, isn’t it? He couldn’t deal with it? It’s because of the podcast, I shouldn’t have asked you. Things in your life were going just fine until I opened this can of worms.’

‘Ciara,’ I smile, going to her and kneeling down before her. Typical Ciara that I’m consoling her after my own break-up. ‘We didn’t break up because of the podcast, it had nothing to do with that. We had other problems, which may have been highlighted because of it. It was my decision. As for the club, you played a part in making something wonderful happen. I’m helping people in a way that I was helped. It’s a gift. Come with me today, and you’ll see. And to be honest, I could do with an accomplice, because what I have to do isn’t going to be easy.’

‘Mathew!’ Ciara calls and Mathew appears in the shop. ‘Holly and I have to go out for a few hours, can you take over out here?’ She makes her way over to him and kisses him passionately.

‘I thought you just hired someone,’ he says, wiping his mouth.

‘Yes, but he’s praying.’

Mathew watches us leave, confused, and I throw him an apologetic look.

Joy, Paul and Ginika are waiting at Bert’s for me. I introduce them to Ciara, she greets them as though they are royalty and they all look at me, nervous and expectant.

‘Rita hasn’t found the letter,’ Joy whispers.

‘I know. I haven’t had a chance to deliver it yet.’

‘Oh goodness,’ Joy says, worriedly, fidgeting.

‘Hello,’ Rita says, coming from the kitchen to the hallway to greet yet another visitor. ‘You’re very kind for coming over.’ She’s dressed in a black shift dress, a black cardigan with a St Bridget’s Cross brooch. She takes my hand. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name. I’m seeing so many people today.’

‘Holly, and this is my sister Ciara. I’m very sorry for your loss, Rita.’

‘Thank you, both. These are Bert’s book club friends,’ she introduces me to Joy, Ginika and Paul. ‘This is, was,’ she corrects herself. ‘Bert’s reflexologist.’

Ginika’s eyes widen and I see one of her rare smiles form on her lips. She has to turn away and bury her face in Jewel’s fluffy crown to hide her smile.

‘Oh, how interesting,’ Paul says, face lighting up. ‘Where do you practise?’

I throw him a warning look and he smiles sweetly. They’re all enjoying this. Their little secret.

‘I was sent from the hospital.’

‘The hospital? Which hospital?’ Paul asks, following along as Rita leads me to the living room. Ciara trails behind.

‘Bert’s hospital,’ I reply, throwing him a look over my shoulder. He chuckles.

‘Actually, Rita, I was hoping I could have a moment with Bert, if possible,’ I ask awkwardly.

If she is unnerved by the foot doctor’s request, she doesn’t show it. She opens the door and I’m faced with thirty people crammed into the small living room surrounding the open casket in the centre. All eyes turn to me and Ciara.

Ciara, dressed in black like a black widow, wearing a beret with a black net falling across half her face, smiles tightly. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’ She backs away and stands at the wall, leaving me alone.

I catch a glimpse of Paul, Joy and Ginika’s anxious faces before Rita leaves the room and closes the door gently in my face, stopping my escape. I stare at the closed door, heart drumming at the impossible task ahead of me.

‘What’s she doing, Mammy?’ a child asks, loudly. The child is hushed, Ciara urges me on, and I slowly swivel to face the room. All eyes are still on me. I smile politely.

‘Hi,’ I whisper. ‘My deepest sympathies.’

Children are sitting on the floor, toys in hand, silently playing together. Closed fists crush tear-filled tissues, everyone is dressed in black, cups of tea and coffee in hands. These, all family members and close friends of Bert’s, are wondering who I am and what place I have being here.

Much as I want to, I can’t turn around and leave. I’m cringing from the tips of my ears to the tops of my toes. I take the few steps forward and at least most of them have the decency to look away or avert their eyes to give me my moment. The murmuring starts up and the initial tension that greeted me disappears. I feel like an intruder who is about to steal something precious. I am here for Bert, I remind myself. He has instructed me to do something important. I will swallow my fear and pride, and follow through. I need to concentrate on the task at hand. Bert’s final request.