Page 64 of Postscript

‘I bet you’re glad you brought me,’ she says, sitting down beside Patrick Kavanagh, with a satisfied look on her face. ‘And where are you going to leave the envelope?’ she asks, still smug. ‘With Paddy here?’ She looks at Patrick Kavanagh. ‘Paddy, I fear our friend has not thought this through, her grand master plan is turning to poo.’

Denise cackles her dirty laugh again, which irritates me. I throw an angry look at them both and they shut up instantly.

I look at the bench. I consider wrapping the third envelope in plastic and taping it beneath the bench but I know it’s not a practical solution. I don’t know how long Bert has to live, it could be hours, it could be days. It could be weeks, stranger things have happened. If people can be taken from the world earlier than expected, they certainly can live longer than expected too. I also don’t know when Rita will choose to begin the journey Bert has set out for her following his initial note. It could take her days, it could take her weeks, or it could take her months. A suspicious package beneath a famous city centre site visited by tourists, and who knows at night, will not last long.

‘I can tell she’s thinking,’ Denise says.

‘Because she’s barely blinking,’ Sharon finishes.

They giggle, feeling so proud of their poetic hilarity.

‘She’s got that look in her eye,’ Sharon begins.

‘And we don’t know why,’ Denise finishes.

I ignore them. I don’t have time to waste. I have four letters to deliver, Bert is dying, beginning his transition as we stand here in a powerful place of his past. I read the inscription and I suddenly realise something bad. Something terrible, and I’m filled with dread.

‘Wait a minute. Bert said they had their first kiss on this bench in 1968.’

I look at the girls. They’re cosying up to Patrick Kavanagh and taking selfies. Peace signs, and kissy lips.

‘This bench was erected in 1991.’

They finish their selfies, sensing the change in mood and stand up to read the plaque. We stare at it in silence.

I frown. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I read the message.

‘Perhaps you can check with Bert that he has the right place?’ Sharon suggests helpfully.

‘It’s too late,’ I say, looking up from the phone, my eyes filling.

The message is from Joy.

Our dear Bert has gone.

27

I sit on the bench, my head in my hands. ‘I’m an idiot.’

‘You’re not an idiot,’ Denise says simply.

‘I can’t do anything right,’ I berate myself. ‘People are dying, I’ve made promises and instead it’s like fucking amateur hour. And I broke up with Gabriel.’

‘What?’ Denise explodes.

‘Why?’ Sharon asks.

‘He wanted to move Ava into the house instead of Holly,’ Denise explains.

‘What?’ she explodes again.

‘It was … falling apart. We were dangling. So I snipped the wire.’

‘Well, actually,’ Denise says, turning to Sharon, ‘Holly was dangling. She didn’t want to have to answer to someone who didn’t want her to be part of the PS Club, because it was obvious it’s sending her bonkers, and Gabriel was probably afraid he’d lose her, which he has done anyway by not supporting her, and she didn’t want to have to face listening to the truth and admit he was right, so she cut him off like she does with most people who don’t agree with the way she’s living her life, which is probably why she hasn’t called you for weeks. Just like when Gerry died, remember?’

Sharon nods, looks at me nervously, then back to Denise. ‘The locking the door thing and not letting anyone in?’

‘Exactly, but this time she’s locked herself in with a ghost and cut off the real person who loves her, who, granted, may have had a really wrong reaction to all of this, but he doesn’t know her like we do, and frankly he’s human and none of us are perfect, so who can blame him?’