‘Oh, thank goodness,’ she cried. ‘I thought … I thought.’
She began to cry in earnest.
‘I thought that you were really dead,’ she finished.
‘Oh, Rita,’ smiled Henry. ‘There’s no need to cry. Everything will get sorted out.’
‘Where is everyone?’ he asked.
‘They’re outside by your grave. Oh, Henry, this is too awful.’
Henry wasn’t listening to her. He was remembering his house and the garden that had been his pride and joy for so long. He’d forgotten all about the swing. Why had she wanted that? Moreover, how had the vestry managed to turn into his living room of eighteen years ago? Thank goodness, they hadn’t bought a flat and that his parents had offered to loan them the deposit on the house.
‘Best to buy a house,’ his father had said. ‘It’s a better investment.’
‘The garden will be lovely for the children,’ his mother had said.
‘We’re not having children,’ Imogen had informed them.
‘Oh,’ his mother had responded.
‘We’re both agreed on that,’ Henry had said. ‘We’ll have a more ordered life without children and less stress.’
All the same the garden had been useful, and Henry had grown some prize marrows there.
‘What are we doing now?’ asked Rita.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Henry. ‘But we can’t stay here.’
‘Will we go to the wake?’ she asked.
Henry hadn’t thought about a wake.
‘I don’t know if there is going to be one.’
‘Oh yes, there is,’ said Rita, taking his arm. ‘They said all are welcome. You were in the vestry.’
‘Ah,’ said Henry.
‘What were you doing in there?’ asked Rita curiously.
‘I was visiting my old living room.’
‘Oh,’ said Rita, hooking her hand into his arm. ‘The wake is at The Black Prince; do you know it?’
‘Yes,’ said Henry.
He couldn’t imagine why Imogen wasn’t having the wake back at the house. Just as well though, he decided. There would be a terrible mess afterwards.
‘I am a bit peckish,’ said Rita.
‘Yes,’ agreed Henry. ‘Let’s go there.’
‘Henry?’ said Rita tentatively.
He looked at her. She had beautiful blue eyes, he thought. One could easily drown in those eyes.
‘Yes.’
