The Things You Didn't See(93)

I pull on a black wool dress and wander around the house, making sure everything looks tidy. Not that it matters: there won’t be much of a wake. We couldn’t risk anyone looking for an angle, a story to sell, so it’ll be just family here afterwards. I run my hand along the bookshelf, tweak the cushion on the chair, feeling a wave of love for the house, for everything in it, now I won’t be here much longer. It’s just a matter of time until I’m arrested. The police haven’t charged me yet, but they will. I’m officially a suspect, and they’re gathering the evidence. The sleep trial; Daniel’s statement. But it’s Holly’s statement that she saw me sleepwalk when I was a child, how she saw me remain in that state even after I was shot, that Rupert Jackson says will save me from a life sentence.

Victoria moves around upstairs, getting ready as she talks on her phone to Dawn, who’s back at Oakfield. Victoria won’t return to Oakfield: she’s home for good now, and it hurts like a fresh cut that I could be sent away from her again if I go to prison.

Dad’s in the kitchen. I make us a cup of tea and place it in front of him. There’s nothing more to say – he tried his best, but in the end, he couldn’t protect me from what I did while I was asleep. Or rather, what he believes I did.

In seconds, Daniel is beside me, pulling me into his arms. My face is against his chest, the smell of him is so familiar and comforting that I can hardly breathe.

I’m the strong one now – I have been since the day of my sleep trial, when he told me everything. He’s fighting back tears, and I kiss him quickly on the cheek.

‘The car will be here soon. Go and put your shoes on, love.’

The rain begins to fall as we sing ‘Morning Has Broken’. It’s not a funeral song, the celebrant told me that, but I insisted. The service is simple and quick. We sit at the front: Dad and Daniel, me and Victoria. Ash and Janet are behind us. Further back are people we didn’t invite, but who came anyway.

Neighbours, a handful of people who called themselves your friend. We all watch your coffin slide behind the curtain. This is goodbye, Mum.

Afterwards, people mingle under the wooden gazebo, reading the notes on the flowers: Dearly beloved, In deepest sympathy, To my wonderful mother. The rain starts a drumbeat on the roof, a sound so startling I fear it could collapse. From the shelter of the gazebo I watch as Victoria, my beautiful girl, hurriedly crosses the car park to the woodland, where the ashes from the cremations are buried, where you too will be soon. She finds shelter under a holm oak. Under the canopy of trees are commemorative benches, and stakes with names, some surrounded by flowers, some with photos. The oak is just beyond these, on the edge of the wilder wood where no plaques stand to remember the dead. She turns to its trunk as if it’s a person, places her arms around it as if it could hold and comfort her. Maybe it is comfort – that tree will outlast us all and our daily struggles are as nothing. Though her expression is hidden, I can tell by the way her shoulders shake that she’s sobbing.

I long to step out into the rain, to be with my girl, but around me people are waiting to kiss me and shake my hand and say how sorry they are for my loss. Then I see Daniel, striding across the lawn, a soldier marching onwards with head up despite the downpour. He opens his arms to Victoria long before he reaches her, and she leaves the tree’s comfort to find his. My man, my girl, hold each other tight and fast.

‘Cassandra, I just wanted to offer my condolences,’ says another voice, a face I don’t recognise gives a good impression of sorrow and I shake a cold hand. She turns away, her place filled by yet another stranger.

‘I’m sorry, I need to go to my daughter,’ I say. For who can argue with the grieving?

‘Of course, of course’ ringing in my ears as I follow where Daniel leads.

I pass the memorials, some with an abundance of trinkets, candles and wind chimes, but saddest of all are those names with nothing. Don’t worry, Mum, there will always be fresh flowers for you.

My family open up, letting me into the embrace and I’m not sure where tears end and the rain begins. The three of us, drenched as if heaven itself is crying and all the time I know, in my heart, that it is going to be okay. To live is to love, and to love is to lose – this is always the way it ends, sooner or later. And I lost you, Mum, long before that Saturday morning. I’ve lost you for good now, but I’ve found something else.

Daniel and Victoria have been returned to me.

We walk back, through the woodland, to the crematorium, where the dry group awaits us. We don’t hurry, the rain doesn’t bother us; we have each other. Our arms entwined, I am central, flanked by the two people I love most in the world.

‘Let’s speak to everyone,’ I say, ‘and thank them for coming. Then let’s go home and plan Samphire Health Spa, just like Mum would want us to.’

Back under the gazebo, I release Victoria and she goes to comfort Dad, who’s standing nursing his bad hand, looking lost. This will be hard for him, I know, but he still has us. I turn to Daniel and we exchange a moment that is all ours. I say, so softly only he can hear, ‘I forgive you.’

He kisses me deeply, and a line comes to me from my favourite book: like guilty lovers who have not kissed before.

After most people have left the crematorium, I find Holly. She has been present through all of this, and I’m grateful. I have one last favour.