The Cruellest Game (14 page)

Gladys suggested that if I told her a little about Robbie then her husband could give a short address.

‘He’s surprisingly good at that sort of thing, is Gerry. Still, plenty of practice, I suppose,’ she remarked.

She also said that if I wanted to lay on a little ‘do’, as she called it, after the service, I might prefer to use the village pub, the Lamb and Flag, rather than have a load of
people descending on Highrise.

I agreed to that with alacrity. I would have preferred nothing at all, but if there had to be a ‘do’, and I supposed that there did, then the pub was definitely the best
alternative.

‘But I doubt there’ll be a lot of people,’ I said. ‘We’ve never mixed much in the village, you see, and we don’t really have many friends . . .’

I finished the sentence lamely, letting it trail away. Of course we didn’t have friends. Robert had seen to that. Friends might have found him out, I supposed.

Gladys had begun to speak again. I tuned in halfway through.

‘. . . and you can be quite sure there’ll be more than you think. There’s a tradition in this part of the world to turn out for the funeral of one of their own. All the regular
congregation will be there, you can be sure of that, and goodness knows who else . . .’

I drifted off once more. The very thought made me feel sick. Would I be expected, then, to make polite conversation with total strangers? Was this the price I had to pay for ensuring my son had
a decent burial and was laid to rest somewhere that was special to him?

Gladys did have a bossy side, as I’d suspected, and a conviction that she was in the right. Although I also suspected that she probably was, more often than not, I considered challenging
her. Or even just backing out of the whole thing. But I didn’t. I just went along with it.

On the day of the funeral, Friday the 11th of November, eight days after Robbie’s death, it was tipping down with rain. From the windows of Highrise only a veiled curtain
of water and mist could be seen, effectively masking the moors from view. It seemed appropriate.

My father drove up from Hartland that morning. I had managed to keep him at bay until then and I’d asked him if he’d mind driving home again after the service as we didn’t feel
able to cope with having anyone to stay right then, not even him. I felt guilty but I had no choice. Apart from anything else, the more time he spent with us the more likely he was to pick up on
the atmosphere between Robert and me and to start asking questions I couldn’t deal with.

I dressed in the navy-blue suit I’d bought for my gran’s funeral all those years ago, navy chosen because she’d so hated funereal black. Rather miraculously, it still fitted
me, more or less, but I knew I had already lost some weight since Robbie’s death. There was a navy hat, a kind of trilby, to match, and, coincidentally, my best raincoat, which was certainly
needed that day, was also navy. I couldn’t wear the black patent court shoes which would have been my first choice because my burned feet continued to pain me, but in any case sensible
brogues were rather better suited to the weather.

The service was scheduled to begin at 2 p.m. At 12.30 Robert was still sitting slumped at the kitchen table, unshaven and dishevelled, looking every inch the rough and ready rigger I now knew
him to be.

‘You’re going to be late,’ I told him sharply.

‘I wasn’t even sure that you wanted me to come,’ he mumbled.

‘What, to our son’s funeral?’ I snapped. ‘Have you completely taken leave of your senses? Whatever happened last week, that boy worshipped you. Though, with what I now
know, I rather wish he hadn’t.’

Robert winced, as if in pain.

‘Of course you must come,’ I commanded. ‘Just go and get ready. Quickly.’

He left the room and reappeared half an hour later, clean-shaven, hair washed and slicked down. He was wearing the beautiful black suit he’d bought for our wedding. That still fitted him
pretty well too and, of course, had barely been worn since. He was carrying his Burberry raincoat over one arm. His shirt was bright white and crisply pressed. I’d always enjoyed looking
after Robert’s shirts and presenting them to him in the best possible order. Not any more, I thought. He could iron his own damned shirts.

Then I noticed his tie. It was Robbie’s county swimming tie, of which our son had been so proud. Indeed, the only tie he had ever really wanted to put around his neck.

I felt a lump in my throat. In spite of myself I was affected by Robert having thought of and chosen to wear that tie.

I reached out and touched it lightly. He lifted a hand towards mine, and I knew it was his intention to wrap his fingers around my fingers. The way he’d always done before. We both
withdrew at the same time. Those days were over. For now anyway.

‘Shall we go?’ I asked. He nodded.

Dad was waiting alone in the sitting room, as if unsure what to do. He glanced up as I put my head round the door. Robert had let him in when he’d arrived earlier, and Dad had quite
obviously been shocked by his appearance and demeanour. He looked relieved when he saw Robert now, smartly dressed and reasonably composed, standing by my side.

‘We’re ready if you are, Dad,’ I said.

If he’d noticed that Robert and I were not as we should be together, Dad had so far made no comment. But then, we’d just lost our only son and Dad his only grandson. Amidst the grief
and despair of that one dreadful reality he was probably unlikely to have noticed anything much else that might be amiss.

‘I thought you’d like some time on your own,’ he said. Dad was not a big man and he seemed to have become smaller since I’d last seen him. He was in his mid-sixties, and
the thin hair which barely covered his head had turned grey many years previously. His face also seemed grey that day. He too had loved Robbie dearly. Yet he could still be thoughtful and
considerate. Which is more than I had been able to be in my behaviour towards him since Robbie’s death.

Even then all I could manage was a brief ‘Thanks’. Followed by: ‘The funeral car is here.’

Gladys had arranged that too. I’d said I’d drive. There were only ever going to be the three of us setting off from Highrise, and I’d told her we didn’t want any fuss or
ceremony.

‘You won’t want to drive, though, you really won’t feel able,’ she’d said. ‘Trust me, luvvie.’

I’d thought she’d been showing her bossy side again. But, of course, she’d turned out to be absolutely right. As our sad little threesome left Highrise on that terrible day,
the day when Robbie was to be buried and reality could no longer be denied even for a second, I didn’t feel as if I could have unlocked a car door and started its engine, let alone actually
driven the thing.

Gladys was also right about the turnout.

The church was packed.

Dad, Robert and I walked in behind Robbie’s flower-strewn wicker coffin. It had been made not far away by craftsmen on the Somerset Levels, the undertaker had told me.

I’d thought Robbie might have liked that, and that it would seem less grim than a wooden box. But I couldn’t even look at his coffin. I knew if I did I would break down.

To me, the congregation was just a sea of faces upon which I could not properly focus, but I did become aware that there were a lot of young people in the church. Robbie’s schoolmates and
fellow swimmers, I assumed. Although it was obvious, I had not even thought of them being present.

Gladys had told me that there would be someone taking down names and I would be given a list of mourners so that I would know who’d attended.

‘You’ll not be able to take it in on the day,’ she’d said.

At the time I hadn’t given a damn. Now, even before the service began, I found that I really wanted to know who had bothered to come out on this dreadful wet and windy November day to
mourn my beautiful boy.

I began to think about him, which I had tried not to do all morning. The tears welled up behind my eyes. I felt myself stumble.

A strong arm grasped mine and gave me support. It was Robert. I turned and looked up at him. There was such anguish etched on his face.

‘I loved him so much,’ Robert whispered. ‘And you, Marion. Whatever else you doubt, never ever doubt that.’

He grasped my arm a little tighter. For the first time since I had learned about his double identity I did not pull away. He was my man and Robbie’s father. Whatever might come next, I
told myself, on this day of all days, that was all that mattered. If I needed to cling to anyone, then it would be to Robert that I would cling. There was, after all, no one else.

The funeral itself was a blur. I was only vaguely aware of the hymns being sung. I didn’t really listen at all to Gerald Ponsonby Smythe’s address. After all, that man had nothing to
do with my Robbie. He’d never even met him as far as I knew. But people told me later that the vicar had done Robbie proud, whatever that meant.

When we gathered at the graveside I could hold myself together no longer. The tears began to flow. I was aware that Dad was crying too, and that made me worse. When Robbie’s body, in its
quite flimsy-looking wicker casket, was lowered into the ground I broke down totally. I would have collapsed onto the mud and wet grass surrounding the newly dug grave had Robert not held on to
me.

‘Come on, girl, we’ll get through this together,’ he whispered in my ear. Just the way he’d always done whenever we’d had any kind of problem. But, of course,
we’d never really had any bad problems before. This wasn’t a problem. This was Armageddon.

I found myself holding on to Robert, my tears staining the strip of white shirt exposed where the raincoat he’d slipped on as we’d walked through the churchyard had fallen open. He
seemed strong again, grateful, I supposed, to be allowed to look after me. Just as he had always done before, or at least as I’d thought he’d always done before.

We both threw clods of earth onto Robbie’s coffin, me half carried by Robert to the edge of the grave. The rain still poured from a leaden sky, swirling around the churchyard, and a good
strong gust of Dartmoor wind hit me full in the face as we moved forward. My hat was blown from my head and would probably have landed in Robbie’s grave had not a young man I vaguely
registered to be one of the village lads leapt forward like a limited-overs cricketer and taken a smart catch.

Robert took the hat from the boy and helped me replace it, then he led me away to the far end of the graveyard, dabbed at my eyes with his hanky, told me again how much he loved me, and asked me
if I was sure I wanted to go to the ‘do’ at the pub.

‘It’s your choice. If you want us to go straight home that’s fine with me,’ he said.

I thought about how determined I’d been that Robbie should have a good send-off and be laid to rest in the right place. I had Gladys Ponsonby Smythe to thank for making that happen, and
even at that moment my innate good manners kicked in and I felt I shouldn’t let her down. Nor the ‘load of people’ she’d promised, who had indeed turned up. They’d
come to pay their respects to Robbie. Now I had to show my respect for them. He would have wanted that. He’d been a polite boy. We’d brought him up that way.

I blew my nose loudly.

‘I want to go,’ I said. ‘I can’t explain, really, but I do.’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘We’ll go then. And I shall be by your side, right through it, and ready to take you away just when you want.’

I nodded. It felt good, even on this day, or maybe particularly on this day, to lean on Robert again, to let him take over.

The funeral car took us to the Lamb and Flag. Robert held my hand as we drove through the village, and I didn’t stop him from doing so. Just this day at least, I told myself, just this day
it had to be right that we, Robbie’s parents, were together, were united. Outside the shop a farmer, or perhaps a farm worker, I didn’t even know by sight, was climbing down from a
tractor connected to a trailer full of ewes. He removed his cloth cap as we passed and bowed his head. I was touched. He was just a young man. But Blackstone was that sort of place, as were its
people: old-fashioned and steeped in the traditions and ways of some bygone age.

The pub was full of people I didn’t know, or knew only vaguely, coming up to me and offering their condolences. I peered around me, remembering suddenly that I hadn’t seen Bella at
the church. I switched on my phone. There was a text from her waiting for me:
So sorry, Marion. Daughter fallen off bike. Concussion and prob broken arm. Taking 2 hospital. Sorry not to be with
u. Send love and thoughts. X
.

I found that I was curiously disappointed and was about to tell Robert, but he was talking to the landlord about whether or not extra food should be provided as even more people than Gladys had
expected had turned up. In any case he wouldn’t have been interested.

He was certainly attentive to me, though. Throughout the afternoon, just as he’d promised, Robert barely left my side. And Gladys continued to be a tower of strength, right from the moment
she’d greeted us at the pub door to say she’d reserved a little corner table so that we had somewhere to sit where we hopefully wouldn’t be too overwhelmed by the gathered
throng.

I introduced her to Dad, then remembered she and Robert didn’t know each other either and introduced them too.

‘Oh, so this is your husband,’ she responded quickly. ‘We have met, of course.’

I glanced at Robert. Had he turned even paler than usual again, or was that my imagination?

‘Perhaps, but just in passing,’ he said.

I studied Gladys. Was she looking puzzled? Or was that my imagination too?

I was considering questioning her when a young woman, who looked as if she had only recently stopped crying, approached us.

‘I just wanted to introduce myself,’ she said. ‘I’m Sue Shaw . . . Robbie and I, uh . . .’ She hesitated. ‘I . . . we swam together.’

Immediately I forgot all about Robert and Gladys. After all, this was a small village and there could have been many innocent occasions when Robert might have encountered the vicar’s wife,
even though he had always been reluctant to leave the house any more than he had to.