Page 71 of The Mother-in-Law

‘It’s in the bedroom at the top of the stairs,’ I say. ‘The portacot is already set up in there. Have you seen your mum?’

Nettie shakes her head. ‘But Uncle Dave is looking for her—he and Auntie Rose are leaving, they want to say goodbye.’

Nettie takes Edie up the stairs and I keep pushing through the crowd, scanning the faces. Ollie is in the front room, listening to his cousin Pete re-enact a story that appears to involve a donkey. ‘Lucy!’ he calls out. ‘Where’s Mum? Everyone is asking.’

‘On it.’

I take the stairs to the second floor without much hope—Diana and Tom haven’t used this floor for a year. The door to the first bedroom—the one where I set up the cot for Edie—is closed so I creep past. I peer into the next room where Harriet and Archie are spread out on the bed, watching the screen, their eyes and mouths wide open. The door to the next bedroom, Tom and Diana’s old bedroom, is closed too. I hesitate in front of it, then tap lightly.

‘Diana?’

When there’s no response, I walk inside. I haven’t been inside this room before and it is, quite frankly, ridiculous. There’s a hallway, a sitting room, the actual bedroom (though Tom and Diana have been sleeping downstairs for over a year now) and a bathroom the size of our old workers cottage. Finally, behind the last door is a walk-in closet that would make Carrie Bradshaw weep, complete with shaker cabinetry and a ladder on a pulley that slides from wall to wall. An ottoman is in the centre of the room, and Diana is sitting on it, her head in her hands.

‘Diana?’

She looks up. She’s crying, but her face has not swelled or become red. No eye makeup has smudged. Diana even cries with composure.

‘Are you all right?’ I ask.

There’s something about her like this, so totally vulnerable. She gives me a pathetic excuse for a shrug, as if her shoulders are simply too heavy to lift. Then she sighs. ‘There are so many times you can say the same thing.Yes, it was a lovely service. Yes, the sun is beautiful. Yes, Tom would have loved this. I reached my quota so I came in here, to hide.’

I nod.

She looks around the space. ‘It’s nonsensical, all of this, isn’t it? This room was Tom’s idea, obviously. I barely have enough clothes to fill that cabinet.’ She points to one of the dozen cabinets in the space. ‘Tom was always so excessive. More is more. It’s bizarre that I didn’t hate him, isn’t it?’ She laughs, not waiting for me to respond. ‘I should probably move to a smaller place now. It makes no sense, me staying here alone. But now that he’s gone, I’m not sure I can leave. He’s part of this house. I feel him here.’

‘I feel him here too,’ I say.

Diana looks at me properly. Her lips press together and for an excruciating moment I think she’s going to lose it. Her lips bend at the edges, her chin puckers. But at the eleventh hour, she regains control. ‘Everyone is looking for me, I suppose,’ she says in a freakishly normal voice. ‘Is that why you came up here? To get me?’

She doesn’t move yet, but I can see she’s readying herself. She’ll wipe her face and straighten her blouse and she’ll go down there and do what she needs to do. That, after all, is what Diana does. But she shouldn’t have to, not today. And so I shake my head.

‘No one’s even noticed you aren’t there,’ I say. ‘Everything is under control. You stay up here for as long as you need.’

I spend the afternoon talking to people I’ve never met, taking donations for motor neuron disease research. Diana requested people give donations in lieu of flowers, and while I don’t think she meant in cash, I end up with an envelope stuffed with enormous amounts of money. I make a mental note to figure out how to donate it later.

I sign for the caterer and open the back gates when it’s time for them to leave, and then I stand at the drinks area and act as a barmaid myself. Ollie mills around speaking to relatives. Patrick and Nettie have had far too much to drink, and when Nettie comes back for another wine, I make her a cup of tea instead, though I doubt she’ll drink it.

By 7 pm the kids are all asleep upstairs.

By 8 pm people are hungry again and I order pizzas.

Diana is still in the walk-in closet, as far as I know. I’ve told everyone that she’s not feeling well and has headed off to bed early, and while I did hope people would take this as a hint to leave, they don’t seem to be getting it.

At 10 pm I make a tray of sandwiches and send them around. Nettie is flat-out drunk and Patrick is in a similar state. Ollie is comparatively sober, and once Pete and the rest of his cousins leave, he comes to give me a hand with Nettie.

‘Have a sandwich, Nettie,’ I tell her. ‘And shall I make you another cup of tea?’

She shakes her head sullenly. ‘I want wine.’

‘I think you’ve had enough, Nets,’ Ollie says. ‘Anyway, we’re all out of wine.’

‘Trust Mum to cheap out on drinks at her own husband’s funeral,’ she slurs. I try again to give her a sandwich—roast beef and horseradish—but she pushes it away. ‘She’s not even down here talking to people! You’d think she’d be a little more respectful of Dad’s memory. She’ll sell the house next, just you wait. Then it will be like Dad was never here.’

‘I don’t think she will,’ I try.

‘Shewill,’ Nettie says. ‘I know my mother. She’ll probably leave her entire estate to the Lost Dogs’ Home.’

I walk away from them, toward the kitchen. I need to unload the dishwasher and Nettie is in no state to talk anyway. I think of Diana up there in that huge room. I wonder if she’s moved since I left her. I make her a plate of sandwiches and a cup of tea, and then I head up to her room, let myself in. She’s in the bed now, but her eyes are open. She stares at the wall.