The Importance of Being Married (14 page)

To do

1. Go to funeral. Avoid Mr. Taylor. Hope that hell doesn’t open up in front of me and suck me in.

The day of the funeral was a washout—it started out dark, gloomy, and rainy, and it got progressively worse as the hours ticked on. After a brief attempt to flirt with Anthony had been foiled when Max came over and started talking to him about outstanding loans, I’d given up all thoughts of Project Marriage and instead focused on getting to the church and avoiding Mr. Taylor instead. It was only when I got off the tube to find the streets of South Kensington full of people hunched over under umbrellas while the rain tipped down like several thousand buckets of water being turned over at once that it hit me—today I was going to be saying my final farewell to Grace. I wasn’t sure I was ready to say good-bye, wasn’t sure how I’d react to seeing her buried.

“Ah, Jessica. I’m so glad you’re here.”

As I walked through the door, I immediately saw Mr. Taylor walking toward me, and bit my lip.

“Hi, Mr. Taylor. How are you?”

“I’m very well,” he said graciously. “I’m so glad you could come.”

I managed a smile. “Well, of course. I mean, I wouldn’t have missed it. No way.”

“Of course. Now, we must make an appointment to sort out the paperwork around the will. Are you free afterward? Perhaps we could go to my office?”

“You know,” I said carefully, “today isn’t that great.”

I saw Mr. Taylor’s eyes narrow slightly in curiosity and I swallowed uncomfortably.

“Not great?” he asked.

I nodded. Then I sighed. “To be honest,” I said, “I’m just not sure I want to discuss Grace’s inheritance on the same day that…well, you know…” I looked up toward the altar, and Mr. Taylor smiled.

“Oh, I quite understand. But believe me, Grace wouldn’t mind. She’d positively encourage it.”

“She would?” I asked hesitantly.

“Absolutely. So, later?”

“Later?” I gulped. “Well, maybe. I mean, I do have to get back to work, so maybe not, but…well let’s see, shall we?”

Mr. Taylor smiled. “Of course. And Mr. Milton?” he asked.

“Yes?” I asked, my heart stopping briefly.

“Is he here with you?”

I could feel myself getting hot. Of course. I should have my husband with me. Mr. Taylor was going to get suspicious. “Mr. Milton? Oh. No. No, he couldn’t come, I’m afraid. Business, you see. He’s…away a lot,” I said awkwardly.

“Yes, I see,” Mr. Taylor said understandingly. His eyes flickered down to my left hand and I blanched. My fingers were bare.

“God, look at that. Always forgetting to put my rings back on,” I said uneasily, quickly pulling the paste engagement ring and cheap wedding ring out of my coat pocket. I’d put them there that morning, thinking that I’d remember to put them on before the funeral. Which, of course, I hadn’t.

“Back on?” Mr. Taylor asked curiously. “I thought people usually wore their wedding rings all the time.”

“They do,” I said, flustered. “Of course they do. As do I. Except I was…washing up earlier. You know.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Taylor smiled, and I wiped a trickle of sweat from my nose. “And your husband is away, you say?”

“Yes, that’s right. Away working. It’s a nightmare, actually.” I forced a smile, wishing fervently that Mr. Taylor would leave me alone, wishing I’d never started this conversation. “He’s away a lot, Anthony. Always busy, busy, busy.”

Mr. Taylor nodded sympathetically, then he smiled. “Shall we?”

He motioned toward a pew just ahead, and, relieved that I didn’t have to talk anymore, I followed him, taking a seat next to him.

Music started to play, organ music—I think it was Bach. And then the vicar walked in and everyone stood up, and he said something about peace or God or something, and then everyone sat down again. Then, just as he was saying the immortal line (
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today
) that seems to start all the major services—weddings, funerals, christenings—I felt someone squeeze in next to me. I turned around in slight annoyance—there were plenty of spaces around and no need to sit quite so close.

My mouth fell open in surprise. “Max? Max, what are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I just thought…” He picked up a hymnbook. “Thought you might like some company. Funerals are shitty things, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are,” I said uncertainly. “But you came all the way here? You left the office to come?”

He shot me an enigmatic smile. “I do leave the office on occasion, you know.”

The organ started playing and before I could say anything, before I could interrogate him further, everyone stood up to sing another hymn—“Lord of All Hopefulness.” Duly, Max stood up; I followed. We were standing close together, and I felt his coat sleeve brushing against mine as we peered at our hymnals. My heart started to beat rapidly in my chest. I did my best to ignore it.

Instead I decided to focus on the talk at hand, namely trying to sing in tune. After all, I told myself, I didn’t like Max. The object of my attentions was Anthony. Or no one. It certainly wasn’t Max. And even if I did like Max a little bit, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like anything was ever going to happen. I knew better than to get carried away. Getting carried away was dangerous. It led to heartbreak, to loneliness, to all sorts of problems. I was far too professional, far too…

“Actually,” he whispered, “I did have an ulterior motive, coming here today.”

My stomach did a flip-flop. “You…you did?” I looked up at him, held his gaze for a second.

He smiled, and I found the corners of my mouth turning upward. “The style sheet you did for Marcia,” he said. “She appears to have lost it, and we’re seeing the client today so we need a copy urgently.”

I stared at him for a second as his words sank in. Then I cleared my throat, aware that there was suddenly a big lump in it. It served me right, of course. God, I was an idiot.

“You couldn’t have called me?” My voice sounded tight, strained.

Max frowned. “I tried,” he said. “Your phone must have been turned off.”

“Right. Of course.” I swallowed uncomfortably. “So, the style sheet,” I heard myself say. “I…well, I sent it to her by e-mail. So she should still have it…”

Max raised his eyebrows. “If Marcia had it, I wouldn’t have had to come all this way,” he whispered loudly to be heard over the singing.

“Right,” I said stupidly. I wanted to sink into the ground. Instead I shook myself and forced a smile. “Sorry, I forgot we were talking about Marcia. It’ll be in my sent folder. I’ll give you my password if you want?”

“Thanks, Jess. You’re a star.”

I wrote down my password on a scrap of paper and handed it to Max, who put it in his pocket. Then he picked up a hymnbook and started to sing loudly.

“He managed to get away, then?” Mr. Taylor asked, leaning in closely so he could whisper in my ear.

I looked at him vaguely. “Um, yes, I guess so,” I said, only realizing too late what he’d meant. “Not that he’s…I mean, this isn’t…” I whispered, frantically, but Mr. Taylor was already singing again and didn’t hear me.

Then the hymn came to an end, and the vicar said a prayer, then started to talk about Grace. And gradually, I forgot about Max sitting closely next to me, forgot about Mr. Taylor and the will and the rings. Grace had been named perfectly, the vicar said—she had been full of grace, but also, as anyone who had met her knew only too well, full of determination and strength. He told stories about her—stories I’d never heard before—and talked about the many years she’d done the flowers in this very church, every week, without fail. And then, as the funeral march started to play, and Grace’s coffin suddenly appeared at the back of the church, it hit me like a boulder. She was really gone, and she wasn’t coming back. My sweet friend, sweet Grace, would never tell me about the joys of coral lipstick again; would never tell me that happiness was around the corner if you could only make yourself turn it; would never laugh at my silly stories or write down little recipes for me to try. She was dead—not away on holiday, not out of town, but dead. And I was on my own. Like I always knew I would be.

Gripping the pew in front of me, I felt large, fat tears begin to cascade out of my eyes.

“You okay?”

I turned around to see Max looking at me concernedly.

“Fine,” I said quickly. “Look, you should go back to the office. You’ve got a meeting to go to.” I didn’t want his pity, didn’t want him pretending to care.

“I can stay,” he said, frowning. “The meeting’s not until this afternoon. Come on, you don’t want to be at a funeral on your own.”

“Maybe I do,” I said, sniffing. “Maybe I like being on my own.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I nodded just as the hymn came to an end. Immediately Mr. Taylor turned around and held his hand out toward Max, who shook it uncertainly.

“So, you finished your business early, did you?” he whispered, smiling.

“Business?” Max asked.

“Jessica said that you were very busy and couldn’t make it. I just wanted to say how good of you it was to come.”

My face drained of blood; Max looked at him curiously. “She did?”

“Yes, but you’re here now, which is all that matters.” He smiled again and sat back, as the vicar told everyone to kneel. Gulping, I pulled out a prayer cushion from in front of me and Max followed suit.

“What was all that about?” he whispered, as everyone started saying the Lord’s Prayer.

“That?” I asked, weakly. “Oh, that was just Grace’s solicitor. I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s just a bit…batty, I’m afraid. He must have thought you were someone else.”

“Someone else? Who?”

“Who?” I repeated vaguely. “Um, well, I’m not exactly sure. I mean…”

“He said you thought I was too busy to come. He can’t have just made that up.”

I smiled weakly. “He…he probably thought…” I said, racking my brains, “he probably thought you were my…boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“That’s right,” I whispered uncertainly. “He was going to come, you see. But then he couldn’t. And I told Mr. Taylor, so I guess he just thought…”

“You’ve got a boyfriend?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s right.” I nodded, then looked away, willing my face to lose its beet-root hue.

“Oh. Right. Sorry, didn’t know.”

“No, well, there you are.”

The prayers ended and we sat back down as the vicar introduced one of the readings.

“Well, look, I’d better go really,” Max said, leaning forward to pick up his umbrella.

“Right,” I said, trying not to feel disappointed, telling myself it was a good thing.

“Yes. I mean, work to do, preparation for this meeting, you know…”

“Of course.” I nodded. “You go. I’ll be fine here.”

“Good. Well, I’ll…see you later. Or tomorrow. Whenever.”

He got up and shuffled out; I forced myself not to watch him go. After all, I told myself, the empty feeling in my stomach had nothing to do with Max; it had to do with Grace. I was at a funeral, for heaven’s sake—I was
supposed
to be feeling empty.

“That’s a shame.” said Mr. Taylor, shaking his head. “Your husband had to go, did he? I was rather hoping to meet him properly.”

“Yes,” I said weakly, “it is a shame.” Then I turned around quickly. “But that’s my husband,” I said, forcing a big smile onto my face. “Busy, busy, busy.”

I didn’t stay for the drinks and nibbles that Mr. Taylor had organized—partly because I couldn’t risk him bringing over the paperwork for Grace’s will and partly because I needed some time alone. So instead I walked around the churchyard, then around the surrounding streets, looking around at everything and seeing very little.

I kept thinking about the promise I’d made Grace, thinking about all the stories I’d made up for her about me and Anthony. Wondering what advice she’d give me now, if she were still alive. Would she tell me to come clean? Or would she want me to make good my lies? Maybe this was my penance for engaging in deceit. That’s what Grandma would have said. She’d have shaken her head and told me that I’d gotten exactly what I deserved.