“Bailey.” Kiera’s lower lip wobbles. “It still would have been good to say goodbye.”
I swallow hard. “If you still want to do that, I’ll be talking to the funeral director later today to talk about our plans.”
“Are we having a funeral?” Jason asks.
“Your father didn’t want one. Do you want to do something?”
He looks up at me, his eyes full of tears. We all knew this was coming, and I sheltered Jason from the worst of it, but he was the one closest to his father. There was no way he didn’t know something was wrong, but he’s seven and being Malcolm’s only biological son, Malcolm treated him differently.
“Can we?”
“How about we have a special dinner. Just the five of us. And we’ll order whatever takeaway food you want and talk about your dad?”
He nods. I’m not sure having a funeral would consist of many more people, anyway. Even once we left the church, Malcolm kept us mostly isolated.
I just woke up, and yet I’m so tired. It’s a delicate tightrope I’ll walk the next few days—relieved this is over but dealing with everyone else’s feelings.
Bailey’s gaze meets mine again.
When she was little, she worshipped her father—completely unaware of the undertones of our relationship. I struggled with post-partum depression made worse by the isolation, but somehow, we made it through.
“I’ll make you a coffee, Mum. Do you want something to eat?”
As if on cue, my stomach grumbles. “Toast would be nice.”
“You got it.” She pecks me on the cheek before heading into the kitchen.
It’s going to be a very quiet day.
Everything’s so … normal.
After dinner, Noah fills the dishwasher before joining me on the deck in the back yard. The TV blares with a movie—some superhero thing, and I smile at the sound of my children enjoying themselves.
Tonight, there’ll be no designated bedtime. We’ll take it slow over the weekend with no pressure before I pack up Malcolm’s room and we move forward with his cremation.
“How are you doing, Mum?” Noah asks as he takes a seat beside me.
“I’m tired. It’s been a long day doing nothing.”
He laughs. “I bet it’s been a long time since you’ve done that.”
“Years.” I look up at the stars. “I’m going to need your help next week. The one thing Malcolm did that was useful was leave detailed notes on what I need to get together for the lawyer to apply for probate. There are documents I need to get verified by a Justice of the Peace, and …”
“I’ll do whatever you need. Just promise me you’ll relax this weekend? It’s the first break you’ve had in years. Let us look after you.”
I sigh. “I’ll try. A quiet house will take some getting used to.”
“I hate this house.”
His words make me swallow hard. I’ve felt the same way for years.
“You know I remember before we lived here. At least there were other kids to play with, and the house didn’t feel like a tomb. But this?”
“I know,” I whisper.
“What are your plans? You’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”
I smile. “I want to sell the house and get out of Christchurch.”
