‘Then he will be removed by a verger and be condemned to the fiery pits of hell.’
‘Okay then. I’ll be thinking about you,’ he said, and he reversed out of the door. She knew what he meant, but she wanted to say “I’ll be thinking about you too. Because that’s what I do most of the time. And it’s really bloody annoying when you pop up in my head like whack-a-mole.”’
‘Regan?’ Charlie was waving at her. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
She pulled herself back to the moment. ‘Sorry, I zoned out there. Go on – you need to leave and I need to make copious amounts of jam.’
Charlie faltered. ‘Right. Well, don’t burn the place down.’
‘I’ll try not to … but if I do, it’s okay because I know a fireman.’ She fluttered her eyelashes in a very non-Regan way, making Charlie shake his head and leave.
Regan wasn’t working today. The market was still running, but the funeral was in the middle of the day and it hadn’t seemed worth it to set up just for a couple of hours. But she still needed to keep herself busy until it was time to leave.
Jag had handed over a large tray of strawberries beforeshe’d left the day before, but strawberries were the last thing she needed. She had a big stock of strawberry and black pepper jam and of balsamic strawberry jam, and she wasn’t sure what else to put with them to make the jam unusual and ‘Reganify’ it. She’d done some googling but nothing had popped up that had seemed to tick the right boxes.
She sipped her coffee and considered her dilemma. She was still pondering when she entered the kitchen, Elvis at her heels.
‘Nuh-uh. You know the score.’ She shooed him out and he skulked away with his head held low, bestowing maximum guilt.
She got everything out ready to make jam, but still had no idea what to put with the strawberries. She decided to hunt through Charlie’s cupboards in the hope of finding something to trigger some inspiration. Tinned tomatoes – yuck. Marmite – double yuck. Regan measured out the sugar and hulled the strawberries, and while they began heating up she had another hunt through the cupboards. There at the back was the answer to the question she had been trying to figure out.
With a twinkle in her heart, she set about creating another unique jam for Sticky Situations.
Chapter Thirty-Three
A few hours later, Regan had swapped an apron for her black interview suit and was waiting outside the crematorium for Elvis to have a final wee. Regan had brushed out so much hair from Elvis’s coat she was surprised he wasn’t bald. He’d fluffed up quite nicely. Elvis found a watering can and peed against that, the empty metal vessel making a spectacular noise and alerting gathering mourners to their presence. She gave the gawpers a curt smile and scuttled inside.
Regan slipped into a seat near the back in case she needed to make a quick exit. Elvis had a good sniff around and then flopped down at her feet. The crematorium was echoey and, despite the sunshine outside, there was a chill in the stale air. Regan wasn’t very comfortable in churches and this seemed somehow worse. It was the first funeral she’d been to, having been too young to attend her gran’s, and luckily all her other close relatives were still alive.
Bernice arrived and smiled at Regan on her way down the aisle. She paused. ‘You should be at the front with me and the family.’
‘It’s okay. He might kick off,’ said Regan, with a nod at Elvis.
‘That’s fine – he’s family too.’ Bernice ushered her out of the pew and down to the front, where they sat in silence. At last some music started. It was ‘The Scientist’ by Coldplay, one of the songs Regan had suggested. She didn’t know if it was a favourite of Kevin’s, but he’d whistled along to it the night they’d sat under the pier and it was a time he had been happy, so in Regan’s books that meant it qualified. It was somehow appropriate too. She took a deep breath and Bernice gripped her hand.
Regan turned to see Kevin’s coffin being carried in. She choked back the tears. Elvis jumped up onto his back legs and she feared she’d have to take him out, but he steadied himself against her like he was trying to get a better view or give her a cuddle – she wasn’t sure which. She got the feeling he knew there was something wrong. When the coffin was set down, Elvis slumped back to the floor.
Regan looked around; there were only a handful of people there. Malcolm had come and he was sitting at the back. Hillary was also there, and another older man she recognised from the homeless community. Then there were a couple of smartly dressed men who she guessed might have been naval friends, and that was it. So many people would have seen him and walked past him every day, and yet when it came to it, so few people actually knew him.
The civil celebrant taking the service was excellent. Talking about Dale’s time in the Navy and his time on the streets, he painted the picture of the kind and caring soul she had known. The service went by in a flash, and soon they were watching the coffin disappear behind a curtain to theTitanictheme tune – not one of Regan’s suggestions. Elvis began whimpering and Regan bent down to comfort him, rubbing tears from her own eyes at the same time. Elvis pulled her forward as if he wantedto follow the coffin. ‘No, mate. It’s time to say goodbye,’ she whispered in his ear, and with a deep groan he lay heavily on the floor. Perhaps animals understood more than humans gave them credit for.
They watched the curtains slowly close. There was something horribly final about the drawn curtains. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it didn’t seem enough to end a life by closing a bit of material. Surely people deserved to go out with something more impressive, like fireworks, or one of those video montages they did when people left reality shows?Let’s have a look at your time here …
‘You okay?’ asked Bernice, dabbing at her mascara with a tissue.
Regan blinked. She’d shed a few tears, but she was better than she’d expected – no full-on blubbering, which was a result. ‘Yes. How about you?’
‘I think Mum and Dad would have approved.’
Regan knew what was required here. ‘I’m sure they would say that you’d done him proud.’
Bernice smiled. ‘Pub?’
Regan liked this side of Bernice; it was a shame it had taken something so traumatic for it to be revealed. ‘Definitely.’
The pub was dog friendly and Regan was well prepared, having brought along a large chew bone to keep Elvis occupied. A few people stayed for one drink before making their excuses and leaving. Bernice’s aunt and uncle led the conversation, reminiscing about Dale as a child – they frowned every time Regan referred to him as Kevin, but she couldn’t help it. When they left it was just Regan, Bernice and a snoozing Elvis.
‘The other day you said you knew who had killed my brother.’ Bernice fixed her with a stern eye.
