‘It’s calledThe Farm on the Hillby Alison Uttley. It’s about a girl who lives on a farm. Now get in and close your eyes.’
It was lovely to be in her bed, her pillow smelling faintly of the lavender oil she often sprinkled on it.
Helay on the bed next to her, his big shiny shoes nearly hanging over the end of it. It was supremely chaste and very sexy.
He began to read. ‘“Like a traveller to an inn, the darkness came …”’
He had a really beautiful voice. Of course she’d noticed it before but now he was reading aloud to her it sounded even more mellifluous and flowing. She hadn’t been read aloud to since she was a child and she loved it. Sadly, she couldn’t listen for long before her eyes closed and she slept.
When Fran awoke in the morning her first memory was of Antony reading to her. And then reality hit her. Amy had died. Alone in her bed, tears began to fall. She stayed there until she’d stopped sobbing and then she got downstairs and into the kitchen, to do what she knew would calm her: cook.
She decided to bake brownies for the care home, having to adapt the recipe to cope with gaps in the ingredients. Soon she had the kitchen smelling of vanilla and chocolate.
Then she made an improvised pesto, managing without the main ingredients of pine nuts, basil and Parmesan. She was very satisfied with the result – chives, random seeds, cheddar and a lot of garlic – which she was eating on toast when Issi came into the kitchen.
‘Youalways did cook when you were stressed. But if you eat any more garlic you won’t be able to kiss anyone.’
Fran laughed. She was surprised. She’d thought laughing would be something she’d be doing after a few months, not mere hours since she’d heard of Amy’s death.
‘Well, you know me. I like a world where I have control, at least some of the time.’ She walked across to put the kettle on. ‘I thought I’d give the brownies to the care home. They’ve been so good to Amy. I’ll brush my teeth really well before I go.’
‘Shall I come with you? There’ll be a lot to sort out. You won’t want to be on your own.’
‘That would be really kind. I might break down at any moment. It would be good to have someone there who could finish my sentences if I can’t.’
Fran did cry when she arrived at the care home. It seemed like five minutes ago when she’d last been there to see Amy and in fact it was less than twenty-four hours. She and Issi went into the office.
‘We are so sad about Amy dying,’ said Monica.
‘She was such a character,’ said another nurse. ‘And she seemed so well – completely recovered after her infection. Yet it was as if something told her she could go and she went.’
Fran was very grateful they didn’t say ‘sorry for your loss’, which she felt was an expression bestfittedto an American cop drama, and not an actual expression of sympathy.
‘We’re very glad you’ve come so soon,’ said the woman who was in charge, whose badge said ‘Moyra Jenkins’. Fran was grateful to be reminded of her name.
‘We’d have had to get in touch with you otherwise,’ Moyra went on. ‘As you can imagine, Amy left very strict instructions about what was to happen to her after she died. She gave them to us the day after she arrived in the home.’
‘Goodness me! She liked to plan ahead,’ said Fran.
‘She did. And thank you so much for these. Chocolate is always so comforting, I find. Have one?’
While Fran had found the smell of the brownies baking comforting, she didn’t want to eat one now. ‘No, thank you.’
Issi took one and Moyra went on. ‘Firstly, Amy’s already gone to the funeral director. She knew which one and already had a word. She wanted a conventional funeral—’
‘Oh. I’d fancied a green burial, with a wicker coffin,’ said Fran, who had added a horse-drawn hearse leading the cortège through the town to her mental picture.
Moyra shook her head. ‘Nothing like that. Maybe you’d better go and see the undertakers?’ She patted Fran’s hand. ‘It’s all right, the brownies will be just fine with us.’
Franlaughed. ‘Thank you for being so good to her. I know she could be difficult but I loved her.’
‘She was just fine, and we loved her too.’
Fran felt herself start to cry.
‘Come on,’ said Issi. ‘Undertakers next.’
The undertakers were very kind too, and ushered Issi and Fran into a separate room where they were soon joined by a woman in her early thirties.
