Alice glared at the young couple who looked settled in for the afternoon until they were so uncomfortable—less than five minutes later—they left.
‘Honestly, Alice,’ said Lizzie, laughing.
They arranged themselves around the table, Alice half-expecting that at any moment Claire would sweep by in one of her floaty pastel dresses, kiss them hello and chide them for thinking she would leave without saying goodbye.
‘Jane spoke beautifully,’ said Lizzie.
As goodbyes went, Claire’s was one of the better Alice had attended. And she’d attended quite a number. She loathed funerals and wakes, particularly dry wakes, with only a cup of tea to sustain you. At her age, something stronger was required, to cast reality in a softer light.
It was also the not knowing what to say, and when eventually whatever it was had been said, hearing immediately how meaningless the words you’d searched for sounded. Lizzie filled their glasses.
They toasted. ‘To Claire and Jeremy.’
How strange it was to see Lizzie, no Claire beside her. Thank goodness for the grandchildren, thought Alice. And Margot.
Margot hadn’t been an easy child, headstrong and defiant; the loss of Tom, and absent parents, had surely contributed to Margot going off the rails. Alice might have had her suspicions about what going off the rails had meant, but it was one of the many things Claire and Lizzie hadn’t shared with her.
Still, Alice had been terribly afraid when Margot disappeared that Lizzie might lose her daughter, too. She’d rallied around, but it was Claire to whom Lizzie turned; Claire always with the right word, unfailingly optimistic that Margot would return. And one day she had…
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