Chapter 5
Cherry Blossom
At Essie Starling’s funeral there would be no magnificent floral displays or limousines waiting to whisk mourners to a local hotel for finger sandwiches and warm brandy; no photographs of her as a child or of her hairstyles throughout the years lining the walls; no friends or family members sharing inspirational stories about her life; no publishing people, press or fans. Just how Essie wanted it.
The service was to take place in Greengate, a tiny, old-fashioned place five miles outside Manningham city centre. The village’s terraced houses were built from grey stone and the village store still sold tweed hats and carved walking sticks. It was the kind of place where everyone knew each other’s name, and the name of their cat, too. If Essie craved privacy, this was the right location.
Liv hunched against the rain and hurried past a small grocery shop with boxes of soggy vegetables outside, towards the address of the crematorium that Anthony had given her. She was glad the day was grey and dull, fitting weather for a farewell.
It had been twelve days since he’d informed her about Essie’s death and since then Liv had functioned like a zombie.She’d told Jake, Johnny and her mum that she had a bad cold and was staying at home so Essie didn’t catch it. Keeping the author’s death from her family was like a hairball in her throat she longed to cough up.
She left a message advising her cleaning agency she wasn’t well enough to work at Platinum, and then rang Hannah to call in sick, affecting a croaky voice.
‘Oh, sweetie, I hope you’re okay. When will you be back?’ she cooed. ‘I promised Tarkers and Jules you’d help them make a wormery.’
Liv felt numb and stayed in bed. She stared at the ceiling in disbelief. Tears waterfalled down her face, wetting her pillow.
What had happened to Essie? Why had she left such strange demands, and why specify secrecy for six months? None of it seemed real.
She heard Jake downstairs on the phone with Katrina, pacing around the kitchen and slamming cupboard doors as he talked about their parents’ pensions and the cost of new printing equipment. But Liv felt curiously blank, as if Essie’s death had stolen her worries about Paperpress away.
Johnny occasionally appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, whispering to ask if she knew where his football socks and shorts were. Liv pulled the bedcovers up around her shoulders and read Essie’s debut novelThe Moon on the Water, never growing bored of the book that had been so important to her growing up. When she finished it, she reached forOlive Kitteridgeby Elizabeth Strout and found comfort in the familiar prickliness of the main character.
After a few days of lying in bed, Liv forced herself to get up.Her skin cried out for Jake’s strong arms to wrap around her. Not being able to tell anyone about Essie or the huge task she’d left behind made her feel like a prisoner in solitary confinement.
She cleaned her house from top to bottom until it smelled of grapefruit and lavender. She made packed lunches and matched up socks, but all the time she could see Essie in her head, typing in her writing room with her back to the world. When Liv sat with Jake on the sofa in the evening, their bodies sank against each other like bags of treacle. They stared vacantly at the TV. He was too exhausted from his dealings with Katrina to talk, and she was still in shock.
In order to make sense of the author’s bizarre request, Liv tried to view it as Essie’s last wish. Perhaps she’d been woozy after the anaesthetic, or even smuggled a bottle of gin into the hospital, so wasn’t coherent when she wrote in her notebook. Hopefully, Anthony would realize she hadn’t meant what she’d written. After all, Essiewasa storyteller.
When Anthony phoned her with the funeral details, Liv had furtively taken the call inside the coat cupboard.
‘It will take place on May the fifteenth, at Greengate Crematorium. Four thirty in the afternoon, the last service of the day,’ he said.
Liv wrote the date on her hand. She’d once gone to a friend’s birthday party a day early, and another time missed one of Johnny’s important football matches.
‘Ah, she also made another request,’ Anthony added.
Liv flopped her head against the coats with a sigh. ‘Really? Was this written in her notebook, too?’
‘It’s something she told me personally.’ He cleared his throat.‘In her own words, she doesn’t want anyfussing or faffingat her funeral. There should be no hymns, flowers or eulogy. You and I may attend but no one else.’
Liv didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Will a minister be there?’ she said.
‘Actually, no.’ His voice expressed little emotion.
Liv felt like she was sinking into mud, and she replied more sharply than she meant to. ‘This is just weird. Why doesn’t she want to be remembered properly? If she asked you to jump off a cliff would you do it?’
‘As Essie’s solicitor and the executor named in her will, it’s my legal responsibility to carry out her terms,’ he said. ‘Insisting that no one else attends her funeral is the most straightforward of her requests.’
Liv found the smallest smile at his comment, and the shared strangeness of their situation. For a moment she felt like a fine strand of silk connected them together somehow.
When Liv pushed the huge oak crematorium door open, she shivered as she stepped inside. The main room was spacious and light with a large window looking out onto a garden with a rockery and waterfalls.
She couldn’t help memories of her dad’s service creeping into her head. She’d been so distraught her teeth chattered and her whole body shook. Afterwards, Liv tried to blank out the agony and memories of that heartbreaking time. The anticipation of attending a funeral could still bring a knot to her throat and her emotions bubbling to the surface.
As she made her way past rows of wooden benches, she couldn’t stop tears from rolling down her cheeks and dropping off her nose. Inside her head, she heard Essie’s voice, heavy with exasperation.‘You’re not crying are you, Olivia? Please use a handkerchief.’
Liv had washed the bee-printed one Anthony had given her, and wiped it across her face, soaking it again. Her insides tangled with feelings – sadness mixed with disbelief, and a flash of anger that Essie had vanished from her life, just as they were getting to know each other. Her death felt like a stab to her heart that would always leave a jagged scar.
