He glanced at Imogen who sat with her parents. Their grief-stricken faces sent a tearing pain through his heart. Sam was sitting with Henry’s parents at the next table. His father thankfully had recovered somewhat from the eulogy. Henry couldn’t bear to see his father crying. Trevor and his girlfriend were arguing about something, their faces cross, and their lips tight. Henry sighed. You would have thought his funeral would have put everything into perspective for them. Henry noted there was no sign of the lone man and he wondered what had happened to him. Their neighbour was leaning over Imogen and would occasionally pat her on the arm. A long table had been set out with an assortment of finger food. Everyone glanced at it, but no one wanted to be the first person to take some. It seemed disrespectful to want to eat after just dropping someone into the ground. Ray looked over at the table hungrily.
‘Shall I be the first,’ he said to no one in particular. Helen followed him and began to fill a plate with mini-quiches and salad.
Henry sat next to his parents and listened in to their conversation but couldn’t bear to see his mother so sad, so he moved to where Imogen sat with her parents. He didn’t think they seemed quite as sad at his passing.
‘You can’t be on your own darling,’ her mother was saying.
‘I’ll be okay,’ said Imogen, staring into a glass of sparkling water.
‘I’m happy to come and stay with you but you really don’t have to go back yet, you know. You can stay with us for as long as you want.’
Imogen lifted her head. Her make-up had streaked and there were bits of mascara on her cheek. How she has changed, thought Henry, from that young girl of eighteen years ago.
‘I need time to think,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I want to do.’
‘Yes,’ said her father. ‘Of course. There is a lot to sort out.’
‘Things to go through,’ agreed her mother.
‘What things?’ Henry questioned.
‘My accountant can help with that,’ said his father-in-law. ‘Get the insurance sorted as soon as possible. You don’t want to be worrying about money.’
‘Hold on,’ interjected Henry. ‘Don’t start messing with things yet. I’ll be coming back soon.’
‘I’m not worried,’ said Imogen.
‘All the same, the sooner these things are done.’
‘Just a minute …’ began Henry and then realised he was wasting his breath.
He stood up and walked over to where Rita was sitting with Ray and Helen.
‘How do you know Henry?’ Ray asked.
‘I worked with him. He was such a nice person. He always said good morning,’ said Helen, nursing a glass of lemonade. ‘It was such a shock when they told us.’
‘You never said good morning back,’ snapped Henry.
Everyone went quiet as Imogen strolled by. Henry got a whiff of her perfume. She opened the door of the ladies’ toilet and Henry stood up to follow her.
‘Imogen,’ he said while knowing it was most likely futile.
The fluorescent light flickered chaotically above them. Imogen stood in front of the soap-splattered mirror and looked at her reflection before splashing her face with cold water and removing the black mascara streaks from her cheek.,
‘Oh, Henry,’ she said softly as though she could see his reflection behind her.
‘I’m here love. It’s going to be okay. I’ve just got to get this sorted.’
‘Where did it go wrong Henry?’ she asked.
Henry frowned.
‘It didn’t go wrong love. I’m sure it will all be put right soon.’
‘Oh God Henry, how will I ever deal with this?’
He reached out to touch her arm but withdrew in shock when instead of her arm he felt nothing but thin air. He looked down at his hand, which was trembling. Imogen glided past him and he was suddenly alone in the ladies’ toilet. I can touch Rita, he thought. That doesn’t seem right. Not right at all. A man should be able to touch his own wife, even if he was dead.
