Second Thyme Around (30 page)
‘Hello, Lucas. Do you want to see her? Or would you rather not?’
‘No, I’d like to, otherwise I’ll never believe it’s really happened. Come with me.’
Together they stood and looked at the woman they had both loved and both cared for.
‘You know,’ said Perdita, ‘of all the things I admired her for, and there were a lot of them, one of the things I thought was bravest was having her hair cut. She hadn’t changed her hairstyle for about seventy years. To do it when she did was so brave, and positive.’
‘It suits her,’ said Lucas.
‘She wants – wanted – you to have her books, you know.
As many of them as you have room for, at least. She didn’t want to burden you with them.’
As many of them as you have room for, at least. She didn’t want to burden you with them.’
‘Of course I don’t have room for many, but there are some I’d treasure. Is it in her will?’
Perdita shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t think so. I don’t know what’s in her will, to be honest.’ She frowned.
‘But surely, she’ll leave everything to you, won’t she?’
‘Not according to Roger. He was very intent on getting her to leave it all to him, as a blood relative, you understand.’
‘Bastard!’ he whispered. ‘But surely you’d have known if she’d changed it?’
Perdita shrugged. ‘He was here a lot, and I was out a lot. I wouldn’t necessarily know about it.’
‘And you never asked Kitty?’
‘No. The moment was never right, and by the time it was, she’d gone to sleep. That was last night.’
‘I see.’
‘I don’t care about Kitty’s money, although I do care a little about this house; it was home for such a long time. But what really bothers me is that Roger knows that Kitty never gave me my land officially. I just use it, but I’m pretty sure she won’t have had the deeds altered, or anything.’
‘And he’d take that land away from you?’
‘With the utmost pleasure. He’d put houses on it.’
Lucas bit his lip, struggling to keep back his anger. ‘Jesus, Peri, I wish you’d told me about this before, when I could have done something about it!’
‘I probably would have told you sooner or later, but I didn’t expect her to die so soon.’
He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘No. We none of us did. Her death was expected, but still a shock. Is the doctor coming to do the death certificate?’
‘Before morning surgery. The undertaker’s coming later.’
‘Are you going to leave her here for a bit?’
‘I don’t know. What do you think?’
Lucas looked at Kitty, lying with her mouth slightly ajar, her new haircut bent out of shape, her eyes closed. ‘I think it’s up to you. But somehow I don’t think Kitty would like people looking at her when she’s not at her best. You could get out lots of photographs of when she was alive and well, instead.’
‘That’s what I’ll do. I’ll let the undertakers take her away, and get out photos. There are some lovely ones. She was very photogenic, though she’d never admit it.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll go and find a clean nightie for her.’
‘They will provide a robe, you know.’
Perdita shook her head. ‘No, that would be wasteful. She would want a clean, but old nightdress, one that’s not quite fit for dusters, but that hasn’t much more life in it.’ She almost smiled. Lucas almost smiled back.
Perdita sent Lucas away when the doctor and the undertaker had been. Like the doctor, the undertaker had looked at her dry eyes suspiciously. Perdita, painfully aware that she was not behaving as expected, hoped she didn’t appear hard-hearted. She said as much to Thomas.
‘I know I should cry, I know people must think I don’t care, that I’m glad Kitty’s gone so I don’t have to look after her, or because I’m supposed to inherit her money. But I just can’t.’
‘No one who’s known you for more than five seconds could think you were hard-hearted, love. You just do what you feel you need to, and don’t worry about what people think. Have you rung your parents?’
The corner of Perdita’s mouth lifted. ‘I don’t feel I need to do that.’
‘If I ring them, they’ll think you’ve lost it. They don’t know me – imagine how they’d feel hearing a rough old cockney voice telling them that Kitty’s dead. They’ll worry themselves sick that you’ve got involved with a bad boy.’
Perdita smiled. ‘Again.’
Thomas chuckled. ‘That was a bit of a surprise, although, in a way it wasn’t. You seem to suit each other.’
Perdita shuddered. ‘Not really, it was a dreadful marriage.’ She changed the subject. ‘Thomas, would you be willing to stay on? Just until after the funeral? I know you’re being paid to look after Kitty, but could you look after me too? I’ll never get the house organised on my own.’
‘I wouldn’t leave you now, Perdita, love. As long as you don’t think Lucas will mind us being alone in the house together.’
Perdita frowned. ‘Lucas? What on earth has he got to do with it? I’ll ring Roger and get that over, and then I’ll call my parents.’
Roger was very nauseatingly sentimental about it, referring to Kitty’s ‘passing over’, and then he mentioned the funeral. ‘Just a few sandwiches and cups of tea for anyone who comes back to the house, but I don’t think we should encourage it. After all, it is a bit of a mess, and most of Aunt Kitty’s close chums will be dead already. No point in spending money unnecessarily.’
Perdita drew a deep breath. ‘Roger, I don’t care if Kitty’s left you every penny in her will, but she is going to have the sort of funeral I know she would have wanted. You may be her closest relative but I was her friend for nearly twenty years. If you think we’re going to fob people off with tea and sandwiches, you don’t know me or Kitty very well. The very idea would have her turning in her grave before she’s even in it!’
Elated by this outburst, she felt more than able to handle her mother.
Perdita’s mother was very good on the phone. She checked that Perdita was all right, was glad she wasn’t sobbing hysterically, and said she and Perdita’s father would be over within three days. ‘Will you be OK on your own until then?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ve got Thomas, the carer. I thought he might as well stay and help me get ready for the funeral next Thursday. We won’t get a rebate on him now.’
‘No, of course not. But what about Roger? Couldn’t he do all that?’
‘He’s got a bad back,’ Perdita lied. ‘And he’s a bit – well, you know, gropey. Thomas is a mate and strong as a horse.’
‘Well, I’m sure you know best,’ she said, meaning just the opposite.
‘I do. Thomas is brilliant and we’ve got lots of furniture to move before the funeral.’
‘Now, Perdita, dear, you must be sensible about the furniture. I’m sure none of it’s as valuable as Kitty thought. Just get a house-clearance man in and get him to give you a good price.’
Should she break it to her mother about Roger row? No, it was a long-distance phone call and not worth the uproar the news would cause. ‘It’s OK, Mum. When the time comes to sort out the house, I will be sensible. But Kitty’s only just died. I won’t be getting in the removers for a while yet.’ Although Roger had mentioned skips, he’d probably insist on trying to sell every last jam jar and plastic flowerpot.
‘There’s no point in being sentimental about things. It’s people who matter.’
‘I know you’re right. And I will be sensible. But not just now.’
‘Oh, darling, how tactless of me. Now you go and have a good cry, and I’ll ring you tonight to tell you our arrangements.’
Perdita didn’t have a good cry, she dashed across to her poly-tunnels and did some work. She sorted out the deliveries, and when William arrived, told him about Kitty.
‘Of course, it is sad, but it would have been sadder if
she’d lingered too much longer. Her quality of life was going every day. It’s a relief, really.’
she’d lingered too much longer. Her quality of life was going every day. It’s a relief, really.’
William nodded. His relief was at the fact that Perdita wasn’t sobbing and he didn’t have to feel obliged to comfort her. He was very fond of Perdita, and putting his arms round her wouldn’t have been a hardship, precisely, but he was too young to handle a weeping woman he couldn’t take to bed.
‘I will have to depend on you rather a lot, I’m afraid, as I will be a bit frantic until after the funeral, but you’ve been so great already. I think you actually like making deliveries.’
William nodded. ‘It’s all right when you get used to it. Janey always checks the order for Lucas now, and Ronnie’s OK when you get to know him.’
‘I’d be grateful if you’d go to Ronnie first today, and tell him about Kitty. He’ll want to know, but I’m a bit tired of telling people over the phone.’
‘He’ll be sad. She was much loved, your – Kitty.’
Perdita nodded. ‘She was. Now, I must get on. Is Janey in the kitchen, or has she gone?’
‘No, she’s there. She’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’
Perdita reflected that no one offered to make anyone a nasty cup of tea, although other people’s tea frequently was.
She shared breakfast with Janey, but got away as quickly as she could. While she was working, Perdita could forget that Kitty had died, and all that that entailed. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Kitty as a person: Kitty when Perdita had first met her; Kitty in the garden, pipe between her teeth, muttering curses on the aphids; Kitty with a glass of whisky in her hand, looking at the sunset, a smudge of earth on her cheek. Kitty reading intently, pencil in hand, annotating the books in her old-fashioned, slightly untidy writing. That was the real Kitty. The sick, invalid Kitty had died, and left these vibrant memories behind.
Perdita’s positive attitude lasted until she went back to Kitty’s house. Thomas had cooked her lunch.
‘You’re taking your duties as my carer too seriously,’ she said, seeing the sausages, mashed potato, peas and green beans set out on a plate for her. ‘I don’t need to be cooked for, you know.’
‘Yes you do. If I didn’t cook for you, I’d have Lucas after me. He’s always saying you don’t eat enough, which is why he sends meals over. Now, get that down you. Will you have a glass of red wine with it?’
‘At lunchtime? Thomas, what a suggestion!’
‘It’s what Mrs A would have wanted. You know she would.’
‘You’re right, of course, but I still won’t have it. I must think about the funeral service. I want it to be really Kitty-ish. I don’t want the dearly beloved gathering round to mourn a sweet old lady. Kitty was so much more than that.’
‘Have you arranged to see the vicar?’
Perdita nodded. ‘I’m a bit nervous about it. Kitty wasn’t religious in a conventional way. And although she did used to open the garden for church fêtes, that was before this vicar’s time. He’s popping over at tea-time.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Which means I must finish this and be off.’
Thomas tutted. ‘You eat your lunch. You’ll do yourself no good gulping it down. You’ll get a hiatus hernia, and you don’t want that at your age.’
‘I’m sure I don’t want that at any age,’ she said with her mouth full.
‘I did meet Mrs Anson,’ said the vicar, who was young, untidy, and asked Perdita to call him John. ‘It was at a coffee morning in the village. She was wonderful – absolutely charming.’
‘Her beliefs weren’t exactly conventional, I’m afraid.’
‘Don’t be afraid. We had a long talk about her beliefs,
and I must say I enjoyed the conversation, even if she did challenge me on rather a lot of my best points.’
and I must say I enjoyed the conversation, even if she did challenge me on rather a lot of my best points.’
Perdita chuckled. ‘I hope she didn’t offend you. She thought about spiritual matters a lot, but her ideas didn’t really fit in with the good old C of E.’
‘No, but they were near enough for me to be able to bury her without too many qualms. She’s got a plot, you say?’
‘Yes. When her husband died she bought a doubler, as she put it. I could show you it, if you like.’
He shook his head. ‘Not necessary, I can look it up. Now, have you thought about hymns, music, readings, stuff like that? You may have talked about it with her.’
‘I did try, but she didn’t really want to think about it. I think she felt that funerals were for those left behind, and it was up to them to decide what they wanted.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a pity, really. It would have saved me so much trouble.’
‘Would you like to read something? Or say something? You could write a bit about her life, tell those who only knew her as old what she did when she was younger. I bet it was interesting.’
‘It was, of course, and I wouldn’t mind writing something, but there’s no way I could read it out loud in church. I’d sob hysterically, and Kitty would be so disappointed. She’d say – she would have said – that it would have been better to get someone else to read it.’
‘That’s OK. Get someone else to read it.’
‘But who? Would you do it?’
‘Of course, but it would be better if someone else did, someone who knew her well. Why don’t we talk about music, and perhaps you’ll think of someone, or someone will volunteer?’
‘I must say, you are making this as painless as possible, but I’m not sure …’ Then she brightened. ‘She was very fond of “I know that my redeemer liveth”.’
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