‘Hello.’
He takes out the knee cushion from beneath the bench and, to my surprise, immediately kneels and begins to pray, silently moving his mouth to unknown words. When he sits back, he says, ‘Were you a friend, then?’
‘Me?’ I say, stupidly. ‘No. I mean. Yes. I used to be.’
Derek takes this in, then pats my shoulder.
‘Difficult times,’ he says. ‘Difficult times.’
I pick at the skin around the cuticle of my left thumb. There is a hangnail that has been annoying me for days. After a while, I become aware that Derek is expecting me to say something.
‘And you?’ I proffer, a touch too late.
‘Yeah, yeah. Met her in Bali. You know what it’s like.’
I don’t.
‘She was a lot of fun.’ Derek gives a sad laugh. ‘Didn’t know she was going to take her own life though, did I?’ He starts talking to himself, muttering plaintive words. ‘Why did you do that, honey? Why?’
Now he is crying. Not just crying but sniffing and sobbing, his shoulders shaking.
I offer him my pocket square. He takes it, gratefully, and mops his eyes. He tries to give it back to me but I let him keep it.
‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure I quite heard … Did you say …’ I tread carefully. ‘That Fliss … killed herself?’
‘Well, that’s not what this lot are saying.’ He jerks his head towards the family pews. ‘I dunno why they’re spinning that story. Makin’ her sound like a junkie strung out on drugs an’ drink an’ all sorts. She were clean. Good as. She killed herself.’
‘And you know that because …?’
‘She left me a note, didn’t she?’
‘What did it say?’
Derek glances at me. He gives a long, slow blink.
‘She just needed to end the pain. She’d been through hell. What they did to her …’
He trails into silence and I am prevented from pushing any furtherby the organ striking up. Rhythmic, mournful music fills the chapel. The coffin, held aloft by six pallbearers, makes its slow way down the aisle. The black feathers on Lady Katherine’s hat shiver as she stands. Ben and Serena are next to each other now in the front pew. I watch as Serena grabs the computer game from her youngest and exchanges it for an order of service. I wonder why Ben hadn’t been carrying the coffin too. His hair is long at the back, curling over his collar. I used to know that neck so well, the way it felt after he’d been to the barber’s, the velveteen stubble of it.
I experience a moment of pure dissociation. Here I am again, in the stately home where I used to spend my school holidays trying so feverishly to be accepted as an honorary Fitzmaurice. The scholarship boy whose fear could only be salved by self-betrayal. I can picture the teenage Fliss now: sitting on the window seat of her bedroom, one leg dangling down. Doc Marten boots and a faded AC/DC T-shirt tucked into denim cut-offs. A single purple strand in her hair.
What they did to her. Derek’s words ricochet in my head, pinball sharp.
I watch as Ben rises from his seat and steps up to the pulpit.
Ben removes a folded piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and smoothes it out with a sweep of his hand. The audience – for that is what we now are – holds its anticipation like a physical object. All of this is intentional pacing. A politician’s trick. In a moment, he’ll be clearing—
Ben clears his throat. He presses the knuckle of his thumb to his right eye, though there are no tears. When he removes his hand, his gaze is soulful.
‘My sister Felicity was utterly unique,’ he starts.
Next to me, Derek murmurs in agreement.
‘She could alter a room’s energy simply by walking into it. And often, she wouldn’t just walk in, she’d rush in, filled with passion for the latest project she had or the latest person she’d met or this wonderful new spice she’d found on her travels that we really had to try. And as many of you know, Fliss loved her spices. Like, really loved them.’
A hum of rueful laughter. God, the smugness of it. How could they stand themselves?
‘She was also, as many of you know, a complicated person—’ He breaks off.
