Chapter 6
Alice
After reluctantly handing Harry back to Tess and Joy, I head to the village shop. Pat Campbell greets me with a smile, a green apron tied around her waist and her half-moon glasses balanced on the end of her nose. She has a clipboard in her hand which she places down on the counter as she sees me, pushing her glasses up into the nest of her grey hair.
‘Hello, dear,’ she says with a smile.
‘Hi, Pat, how are you today?’
She waves a hand.
‘I’mfine, how are things over at the farm?’
‘Busy as ever. Getting ready for the arrival of our visitors later.’
‘Of course, it’s today, isn’t it? I remember Lorna when she was a wee lass. I do hope she pops in while she’s here. Will you make sure of it?’
‘Of course I will.’
I pause, remembering why I’m here.
‘I wanted to talk to you about placing a food order for the wake.’
There’s still so much to organise for the funeral. I told Jack I’d take care of it all. I don’t want to bother him with all the details, he has so much on his mind as it is and the few times I have brought it up he’s looked so dazed, as though he isn’t really hearing what I’m saying. I’ve spoken to the minister – he usually comes to the island once every two weeks for regular Sunday services but makes special trips for other occasions. He’s a newer appointment, thank goodness, not the severe, sombre old man who performed our wedding. I would have preferred to get married in the village hall but Jack’s parents insisted and as usual, they had their way.
I’ve sorted the flowers, shared the details with the islanders and been in touch with the funeral home on the mainland. I’ve decided to hold the wake at our house. I thought it would be easier for Jack than doing it at the village hall – that way if he needs some space he can sneak off upstairs without any fuss.
‘Of course,’ Pat replies, picking up her clipboard again and the pencil that’s tucked in her apron pocket. ‘What are you thinking?’
What do you eat at wakes?I think back to the ones I have been to – grandparents, distant relatives and one old school friend who died suddenly a few years ago.
‘Sandwiches?’
‘Sandwiches, for sure. Any particular kind?’
I try to imagine what my in-laws would prefer. But it feels impossible to decide – whatever I pick I feel like it will probably be wrong. I never did seem to be able to get it right with them.
‘How about I get in supplies for a mix?’ Pat says, a kind smile on her face. ‘You’ll need plenty of mayo, I’d think. Some tuna maybe?’
I nod gratefully.
‘That sounds perfect. And drink. There should be drink.’
That is the one thing I know my father-in-law would approve of. Would insist on, in fact.
‘Of course. It will all be fine, love,’ Pat says, reaching out and touching my hand. ‘You’re doing a great job. That husband’s lucky to have you. We were all so happy when he managed to persuade you to stay, you know.’
It’s something she’s told me many times over the years but it still makes me smile. I feel the lucky one really. When I first came here I was a teenager with no real plans and no real future. I found a new home and a family that might be small at its core, but which includes in its wider circle all one hundred and eleven islanders plus fifty sheep, twenty highland cattle and the gulls on my own stretch of beach.
Pat and I discuss a few more details and then say goodbye. Outside, clouds are starting to roll over the sky, blocking the sun. The weather is so changeable here, just one of the many things I’ve had to grow used to over time. I’ve come to enjoy the unpredictability though – it means you never know what kind of day you’re going to get. Keeps you on your toes. As I pause outside the shop, watching the grey roll in over the sea like a blanket, I think about my parents-in-law.
The truth is, I feel a bit of a fraud planning all of this for them. If it was one of my own parents, heaven forbid, I’d be grief-stricken, devastated. But I’d be sure of what they’d want. White lilies, Joni Mitchell and a tasteful reception in her favourite hotel in Edinburgh for Mum. Elvis, a ban on wearing black, and a small family gathering to scatter the ashes over his favourite rose bushes in the garden for Dad. Now, I feel lost, guessing at details and feeling guilty for not feeling sadder. They were Jack’s parents and Molly’s grandparents. But what I feel is not as straightforward as grief. If I feel any grief at all it is for Jack and the complexity of what I know he is going through right now, even if he doesn’t tell it to me in words. And for Molly, who has lost her grandparents and is experiencing her first taste of death. I desperately want to get everything right. If I choose the right sandwiches and the right music and flowers, perhaps it will make up for the part of me that is pleased that they are gone. Now, Jack is free. I just wish that he could feel it.
As I head to the car, I decide to pop in on Jean on the way back. I know Emma has already been over today, but I’d like to see her myself. I spot her sitting in a deckchair outside her house, a wide-brimmed sun hat tilted over her face and a cup of tea resting at her feet in the grass.
‘Alice!’ she says with a smile. ‘Do you know how many butterflies I’ve seen so far this morning?’
There’s an empty deckchair beside her, usually occupied by her husband Christopher, but he must be inside or out on his daily walk. She motions for me to sit down and I sink into the chair.
