‘Sorry?’
‘The green barn.’
‘Here? Behind the house?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you not think to call someone? Me, the hospital, an undertaker?’
I felt like I was in trouble, like I’d done something wrong.
‘He told me to put him out with the bins.’
‘He … what? He was joking, he didn’t mean that!’
‘He didn’t tell me it was a joke.’
‘But how can you be sure he was dead?’
‘He wasn’t breathing. Do you want to see the incinerator?’ I asked.
Her eyes opened wide. ‘That’s not the way to dispose of … Sally, this is serious. Only a medical professional can certify a death. Didn’t he leave any instructions about his funeral?’
‘No, I don’t …’ and then I remembered about the envelope. ‘He left this for me.’ I pulled it out of my pocket.
‘And what does it say?’
‘I haven’t opened it yet.’
I was getting bothered with all of this talking. Either I don’t talk at all, or I talk too much and I say things that don’t make sense to anyone but me.
I put my hands over my ears and Angela moderated her voice.
‘Would you like me to open it? May I read it?’
I threw the envelope at her and went to the piano, but it didn’t calm me. I went to my room and crawled under the duvet and the soft blue blanket. I began to pull hair from my head. I didn’t know what to do. I wondered when Angela would leave. I listened to hear the front door shut.
5
A soft knocking sound woke me up. It was dusk outside. I must have blacked out. It happens when I am distressed, though it hadn’t happened in many years.
‘Sally?’ Angela whispered. I looked at my watch. She had been there for three hours and twenty-five minutes.
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve made some tea and beans on toast. You should get up because we have to talk.’
‘Is there sugar in the tea?’
‘Not yet,’ she said, ‘but I’ll add some.’
‘Which mug did you use?’
‘I … I’m not sure.’
I opened the door and followed Angela down the hall.
She gave me my tea in Dad’s Scrabble mug. I added a spoon and a half of sugar and an extra teaspoon of milk. She had made herself tea in a china mug that neither Dad nor I had ever used.
