Page 64 of The Mother-in-Law

Apart from the fact that it’s your mum’s funeral, your business is failing and the fact that we’re financially ruined?

‘Actually,’ he says, ‘I was just thinking about how bad my eulogy was.’

‘It wasn’t bad.’

He cocks his head. ‘Come on.’

I put my arms around his waist. ‘Listen. It’s not as if she was there to critique it. Just let it go. It was fine.’

He opens his mouth to respond but we are interrupted by an elderly couple coming to say their goodbyes. At the same time, Harriet comes to tell me that ‘Edie wet her pants and Auntie Nettie wants to know if she has spare undies’.

‘I’ll deal with the undies,’ I say to Ollie.

I follow Harriet through the throng, turning sideways to squeeze past people. Harriet and I come to a clearing on the deck outside where Edie stands naked apart from a pair of gold sandals. Tipsy adults smile.Sweet. Nettie squats next to her, drying her legs with a wad of paper towels. There’s something so maternal about it, it stops me short. I have to remind myself that Edie is my daughter, that I’m her mother.

A chink of spoon against glass steals everyone’s attention, and when I turn around I see Ollie is standing on a chair. I leave Edie with Nettie and dash back. What onearth?

‘Can I have everyone’s attention please?’ he is saying, as I slip through the door.

A hush goes around the room and I feel my insides squeeze tight. This smacks of a drunk idea. Ollie isn’t the type to give impromptu speeches, he is a planner, a practiser, a reader of index cards. I glance around for support, but there is only Nettie, who is still outside dealing with Edie. Patrick is over by the bar.

‘Sorry to steal you away from your drinks and conversations. I just feel that I didn’t quite say everything I wanted to about Mum today.’

One by one, people whisper hushed endings to their conversation and give Ollie their full attention. I grab a glass of champagne from a circling waiter and throw it back.

‘The fact is, Mum wasn’t the warm and fuzziest of people. Actually, she was a pretty hard taskmaster. If there was ever a spider or rodent to kill, guess who we went to? I’ll give you a hint, it wasn’t Dad.’

A gentle chorus of laughter rings through the room. It reassures me.

‘As kids, whenever we sat down, Mum would always hand us a bag of donated baby clothes and make us sort them into sizes. We’d complain usually, and she’d tell us that she’d be more than happy to take away our clothes and make us accept donations and then see if that changed our tune.’

At this Ollie’s voice starts to wobble.

‘I remember folding up a tiny white knitted jacket once and putting it on the top of a pile of newborn clothes. Mum noticed it and yanked it out of the pile, saying it was stained. I told her they’d probably still accept it and she said: “It’s not my job to give them what they would accept.”’ Ollie does a pitch-perfect Diana impression. ‘“It’s my job to give them what they deserve.”’

He glances at me, and I nod. Perfect.

‘Mum could be difficult, but that was part of what made her great. And that’s what made her a lifeline for some people.’

‘Come on! Give me a break!’

The voice, coming from the back of the room, over by the bar, is booming and unapologetic. Heads whip around. It isn’t hard to find Patrick, a full head and shoulders above the crowd.

‘Diana wasn’t a “lifeline”,’ he says, ‘she was a life-sucker.’

Ollie looks startled. Like most people, he’s been so caught up in his lovely tribute he didn’t see it coming. I, too, am startled. The crowd shifts to look at Patrick. I start toward him, but the room is full and it is like walking through sludge.

‘If we’re honest, we’ll admit that no one is upset that she’s dead, we’ve just come for the free food and booze. And why not?’ Patrick spots me charging toward him through the crowd. ‘Save yourself the trouble, Lucy, I’m done.’ He raises his glass to the crowd. ‘To Diana. May she rot quickly.’

He tips his glass to his mouth and swallows the drink in one mouthful. Then he plants it on the bar and stares back at the crowd, defiant. I glance around for Nettie and find her standing in the corner of the room. A single tear runs down her cheek.

38

LUCY

The past . . .

Isnap a photo of Harriet, asleep in her hospital cot. The morning light dapples on her and I feel hyper-aware of the preciousness of it. If things had gone differently a few days ago, she might not be here, and I don’t take this second chance for granted.