‘That was...’ What was it? Too much and yet not enough. But as I tip my head, looking up into the heart of him, I know it was, ‘The end.’
Chapter Thirty
WILL
‘I see you’ve got your funeral face on.’
‘What?’ I look up from watching the three children playing outside on the terrace, all dressed in dark colours, they’re the only happy faces in this house. Who brings children to a funeral? I shake my head, rousing myself.
‘Your face,’ Keir prompts. ‘You look suitably sombre.’
‘Do I?’ I turn from the French doors, throwing back the rest of the whisky in my glass. Andrews, my father’s aged and trusted valet, immediately appears with a bottle of Talisker in his hand.
‘My lord.’ He proffers the bottle and I hold out my glass, watching as he pours exactly one fingers width in.
‘Let’s not be stingy.’ I smile, still holding the glass in the air
‘Of course, my lord,’ Andrews replies, tilting the bottle again as he bows his head. It’s not an obsequious pose but rather one that allows him to conceal a his smile. The man has been part of my familial furniture for as long as I can remember, and over the course of my childhood he’d delivered many a cuff to my ear for my light-fingered and greedy ways. The last time he’d caught me stealing I was sixteen years old. I’d pilfered a bottle of whiskey from the drawing room. That time he’d turned a blind eye, probably on account of my mother’s death the month before.
‘Sir?’ Andrews offers the whisky to Keir, who politely shakes his head. Then, with another brief bow, he moves away to keep an eye on the caterers and other staff hired for the day.
‘I hope you’re not going to expect me to call you my lordship now.’
‘No, of course not,’ I say with a shrug. ‘I’ve always preferredmy lordas a form of address.’
‘Fuck off,’ he coughs into his hand, causing me to smile for probably the third time this week. And it has been a long week. After Andrews call to inform me of my father’s untimely demise—while he was watching porn—my life has been a whirl of activity. And none of it fun.
‘That’s a terrible cough. I’d get that seen to if I were you.’
I want to tell Keir I’m thankful for his friendship. I want to say I really and sincerely appreciate his, Mac, and Ella’s support. Instead, I point at his morning suit and say, ‘Where on earth did you get that awful get up from?’
‘I was told,’ he begins, dragging in a deep breath, ‘that morning dress was a requirement.’ I look down at my own dark suit; grey striped pants, black waistcoat, and the black morning jacket that makes me look like a penguin. ‘And before you ask, no I didn’t hire it,’ he says. ‘There was a time I used to get invited to weddings, you know.’
The implication hangs silently in the air; when Keir got divorced, his wife may have given him custody of their daughter, but not their friends.
‘Well, I’m glad you dusted it off for this shindig,’ I reply sincerely. ‘But honestly? You could’ve turned up in a pair of speedos and a sombrero for all I care.’ The important thing is that he’s here. And for that I can’t say thanks enough.
‘She might care,’ Keir says, tipping his head in the direction of my father’s Aunt Prudence, an austere woman, but for her choice in hats. This one’s a corker; black velvet with a jet veil that was probably part of her mother’s wardrobe.Circa turn of the century.
‘Maybe only for the scandalous aspect. My father often said she was only interested in pussy.’ And by that I mean her numerous felines.
‘Y ’can’nae say pussy at a funeral,’ he hisses.
‘I can say what I want. It’s my house now,’ I reply with a sigh.
‘Well, he might’ve been an auld bastard, but you’ve done him proud.’ His gaze falls on the room full of mourners. But the truth is, other people have had a hand in this. The vicar took over the service side, Andrews dealt with the announcement in The Times, the caterers, and a million other details. I’ve had very little to do with the planning. I will, of course, have to pay the bills following.And pay. And pay.
‘I’d have chucked him in the ground without any service, if it were up to me.’
‘That’s not very seemly.’
‘Well, you know me.’ I take another sip from my drink, relishing the slide of it over my tongue.
‘But I sense the suitably sombre face has nothing to do with your loss.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean. Other than I’m now responsible for this place for the rest of my life.’ I raise my glass, but not my voice, and indicate the faded grandeur we’re in.
‘Aye, but it’s no’ that is it. That’s not why you were staring out of the window just now.’
