Postscript (P.S. I Love You #2)(59)

‘I don’t doubt that,’ I say, wondering how to extract myself from this.

‘They all turned their backs on me. Even the kids, my own nieces and nephews, think I’m the devil. Don’t speak to mine either. Cousins who adored each other,’ she says, shaking her head angrily. ‘Ripped the family apart, Bert and Rita. I’ll never forgive them. Mammy wanted me here. Her mind was as clear as crystal when she did what she did. You can’t blame the dead. A dying wish is a dying wish.’

I find my moment. I place the envelope down on the opened TV guide where I know it will be seen. ‘And this is Bert’s.’

I get into the car with a long sigh, relieved to be out of there, feeling her words ringing in my ears. You can’t blame the dead.

‘What took you so long?’ Denise asks.

‘I’m exhausted after that. There is some bad blood there.’

‘Do you think Bert’s letter will work?’

‘I have no idea,’ I say, rubbing my eyes tiredly. ‘I hope so.’

It’s 6 p.m., it’s been a full long day, a fruitful day but a draining one. Going on somebody else’s personal journey has brought us back into our own, has made us contemplative, and reflective of our own lives.

‘I don’t suppose she’ll let me use her toilet,’ Sharon says.

I laugh. ‘I dare you to try.’

‘I’ll wait,’ she says, moving around uncomfortably in the back. ‘There’s one more envelope left, the first one.’

‘Yes,’ I say, concerned, unsure how I’m going to pull this one off.

‘Do you give it directly to Rita?’ Sharon asks.

‘Yeah, kind of,’ I say, shrugging it off.

‘So not exactly,’ Sharon says, not letting it go. ‘Where do you put the first letter, Holly?’

I clear my throat, nervously. ‘Bert wanted the first letter in his hands, for Rita to find.’

Sharon’s eyes widen. ‘In the coffin?’

Denise cracks up so much, she’s doubled over in the back seat.

‘How are you going to pull that off?’ Sharon asks.

‘What are you going to do?’ Denise asks, wiping the tears of laughter from the corners of her leaking eyes. ‘Crack open the coffin at the funeral?’

‘I don’t know, I hadn’t quite ironed that one out with Bert, but I suppose I’ll go to the funeral parlour, so that he has it in his hands when he arrives at the house.’

‘They won’t let you near him, you’re not family!’ Sharon says, and Denise continues laughing until she’s red in the face.

‘I’ll tell them it’s under his instruction. It’s what Bert wanted.’

‘Unless you have written instructions from Bert or his family, there’s no way they’re going to let a random stranger put a letter in a dead man’s hands. Holly, honestly, you’ve some ground rules to iron out before you continue with this.’

‘I know,’ I say quietly, chewing my fingernails. ‘He’s having a wake. He’ll be laid out in his house for a few days. I’ll ask for a moment alone with him and I’ll place it in his hands.’

‘You were lucky with the security guard, the hotel and the hemp shop, but I don’t think a funeral parlour is going to allow you to place a letter with unknown contents in a dead man’s hands.’

‘OK, Sharon! I get it!’

The girls are quiet. I think they have accepted this plan but out of nowhere Sharon snorts and the two of them dissolve into convulsions again.

I roll my eyes, agitated, not finding this or their laughter at all funny.

I’d laugh along with them but I can’t get to their place. This is serious for me.

Seven years ago Gerry set me on a path of new adventure, seven years later his actions are continuing me on my adventure.

Life has roots, and death, death grows them too.





28


‘Oh! Excuse me!’ I say with surprise, backing away from the stockroom and reversing to the shop. ‘Ciara,’ I hiss, finding her cleaning the mirror in the changing room. ‘There’s a man on his knees in the stockroom.’

‘You’re always on your knees in the stockroom.’

‘Not praying, I’m not.’

‘That’s Fazeel, our new volunteer – he started today. He’s going to cover security. He has to pray five times a day, so don’t be in there at dawn, noon, afternoon, sunset or night.’

‘Three of those times are not an issue for me, but it’s neither dawn nor noon at the moment.’ I look at my watch.

‘He said he slept it out this morning,’ she says, shrugging. ‘It’ll only be for a few minutes each time. His wife had cancer, he wants to help out.’ She eyes the bicycle I’ve brought through the shop to store in the stockroom. ‘Did you cycle to work?’

‘No I just thought it would be a pretty accessory.’

‘You’re not supposed to be cycling.’

‘They said I could exercise with the boot. And I really missed it.’ I mock cry. ‘Anyway, it’s great we have a new volunteer because I need to take a few hours off today.’ I scrunch my face up and wait for her to holler.