Simon gets out of his car where he’s been sitting waiting for us to arrive. He’s wearing a cable-knit patterned jumper with a roll neck and looks like a member of the cast ofFisherman’s Friends, which I haven’t seen, but I thought it looked funny in the trailer. Simon, on the other hand, does not look funny at all, but quite murderous.
‘Erica, is that an appropriate amount of make-up for a funeral?’ he says as he walks towards us.
‘Hello, Semen. Is that an appropriate amount of knitwear? Why are you dressed like you’re off to trawl a fjord for salmon?’
We glare at each other until Mother Pells ushers us towards the crematorium entrance making that clicking sound with her tongue that people use when toddlers try to eat houseplants. I can tell it’s mainly directed at me.
Inside, I see Carol’s children, Kristin and David, who are also in their forties, in the front row. They smile at Simon (why, in that jumper?) and shoot daggers at me, as they have done ever since the rabbit incident. Move on – it would be dead by now anyway, decking or no decking.
The three of us sit a couple of rows behind them and wait insilence as the room fills up.
‘Sally?’ A bald man sitting in the row in front turns his head. Mother Pells smiles politely but clearly doesn’t know who this is.
‘Clive. Carol’s cousin. We met a few times,’ says the man.
‘Of course,’ says Mother Pells. ‘Do you remember my daughter, Erica, and my son, Simen?’
She’s actually introducing him as seminal fluid. This is a new low. Fortunately, at that point, the pallbearers enter with the coffin, followed by Carol’s husband, Mike, and the service starts, so Clive turns to face the front.
It’s a long service. After half an hour (Kristin’s poem, David’s reading, two hymns and a blessing) I’m bored. I manage to use the order of service, tilted at an angle, to hide the fact I’m watching Cassia Carver’s Teeth Whitening Treatment Reveal (#smilemakeover). All her followers have been excited about this one, she’s even been wearing a surgical mask on her Stories for the last week so she doesn’t give away the surprise.
Someone is saying something about ‘entrusting our sister to God’s mercy’, and I decide now is as good a time as any to press play on the reel. I’m sure I checked it’s on silent mode, so what could go wrong? Taylor Swift, singing ‘Are you ready for it?’ – that’s what could go wrong. And timed perfectly with the coffin disappearing behind the curtains too.
Scrabbling to turn it off, with Mother Pells and Simon glowering at me, it dawns on me that at least there’s a new reason for Kristin and David to hate me. Bloody Cassia Carver. It’s quite unnecessary to have such dramatic music for a teeth-whitening reveal, in my opinion.
After the service, I dodge the line-up for obvious reasons and go outside to lean on the Kia and reply to a message from Gabe asking me if I like apple chutney.
A few minutes later, Simon appears, marching across the car park towards me like he’s in a long queue at the supermarket and just spotted another check-out opening.
‘Hi, Semen.’
He scowls at me. ‘It’s SIM-en, not SEE-men.’
I pull a face that I hope expresses the fact that there’s very little difference.
‘I know you think everything is very funny Erica, but that’s because you don’t really have any responsibilities.’
‘What responsibilities do you have? I mean… apart from, well, the kids. And Alannah, and I mean, your job and…’ I really wish I hadn’t started this list.
‘And Mum, Erica. Mum. She’sourresponsibility. And she’s not getting any younger. So, stop messing about with all your make-up and your memes or whatever that was in there’ – he waves his hand towards the crematorium – ‘and grow up. You’re nearly fifty.’
Nothing winds me up more than hearing ‘nearly fifty’. I roll my eyes. ‘Stop telling me how to live my life, Semen. And Mum’s fine. I don’t know why you keep going on about it.’ I get into the Kia and slam the door, then roll down the window. ‘Sod off back to your sauna.’
