Fran suddenly felt less positive. ‘Yes. It’s very short and simple. I just hope I get it out without breaking down.’
‘You don’t want Roy—’
‘No,’ said Fran, just as Roy came into the kitchen.
‘Are you girls making coffee?’ he asked.
‘I think if you’re going to inherit it, you should learn your way round this kitchen,’ said Fran.
‘No point. I won’t be keeping it.’
Rather than have Roy cover her kitchen – she felt it was her kitchen – with coffee grounds and mess, she elected to make another cup for him. She realised it wasn’t only Amy who was a mass of contradictions.
It had been arranged that Seb and the funeral cars should drive to the outlying farms and villages to pick up people who wanted to go to the funeral but didn’t have transport. There had been quite a long list.
WhenIssi had said to Fran and Antony how kind this was, Fran said, ‘Well, this way you and I don’t have to travel in a funeral car with Roy. I don’t think I could have borne it.’
So Antony was taking Fran, while Issi and Tig were taking Tig’s mother Mary. Roy was making his own way, and Fran wondered if Megan was going to drive him so he could drink at the wake. But seeing him in his suit, borrowed from a mate and far too loud for a funeral, stopped her. He looked like a man on his way to the bank after winning the jackpot at roulette. She hoped he wasn’t going to win anything but not with any conviction.
Antony and Fran had hardly seen each other recently, so when he came to pick her up to take her to the church, for a few moments they just enjoyed the bliss of being together in silence.
‘I just hope I don’t make a complete fool of myself and sob uncontrollably,’ said Fran after a few minutes.
‘That would be fine. No one would mind. Although Amy might think you were making a fuss.’
She laughed gently. ‘She would. At least she won’t have to accuse Roy of displaying unseemly grief.’
‘Unlikely,’ said Antony, smiling. ‘Although he may surprise us all by breaking down in tears.’
‘I wish I could believe that was likely to happen!’ Fran smiled back at him, in spite of everything.
Antonyglanced at her. ‘I will look after you, you know. Afterwards.’
She nodded. ‘I know. To be honest I’m more worried about Tig and Issi. They stand to lose more than a job, but their home. And of course, as Issi said to me, the cows are like family members to Tig.’
Antony didn’t say anything reassuring, but just put his hand on hers for a second and squeezed it. Without asking, she knew he thought Roy would get the farm. She did too.
The church was completely full. Although they weren’t late, Fran and Antony were nearly the last to arrive. People had obviously been aware of Amy’s popularity and got there early.
Fran spotted Seb, looking magnificent in a dark suit, surrounded by a cluster of old ladies, sending him adoring glances from time to time. It made her smile inside. It was a very sad occasion, but it was also a day out and a chance to meet up with old friends. Funerals should be enjoyed, she felt.
She was dreading giving the eulogy. The thought of Roy doing it – and in some ways it would have been more appropriate – was too awful to contemplate. He hadn’t ever really understood Amy, Fran felt. To be fair, Amy was tricky, but to listen to him spout a series of clichés about ‘a wonderful old lady’, when she was so much more, was unbearable. He hadn’t objected at all when she said she’d do it.
Itwas brilliant having Amy’s choir there. They sang the hymns vigorously which meant anyone too overcome to sing didn’t have to worry. Fran sometimes could join in but sometimes her throat closed and only tears came.
Eventually, Fran was beckoned forward by the vicar. It was time.
‘Chin up, chicken!’ Antony whispered and she couldn’t help smiling. She knew it was the last thing he’d say usually and meant it to stop her feeling gloomy.
She walked up to the lectern and began.
‘I didn’t know Amy long, but it didn’t take much time to realise what a very admirable woman she was. A role model …’
She got through it without crying, but when the congregation applauded as she walked back to her seat she couldn’t stop herself and hid behind Antony’s very large, ironed white handkerchief.
‘That was a wonderful do, dear,’ said an old lady to Fran. ‘Worthy of a great woman. How were you related?’
‘Distantly, I’m afraid,’ said Fran, more afraid than she cared to express. If she were more closely related, what lay ahead of her would have been less daunting.
