Page 1 of This is Where I Leave You

CHAPTER 1

As the box was lowered into the ground Cady wanted to scream. Scream and jump into the gaping hole and cry like an infant. The man in the coffin was gone forever. She felt cheated.

Cheated out of the final showdown; cheated out of mowing down the philandering bastard herself. Stupid taxi. The white hot rage in the pit of her stomach snarled and wailed. It was all she could do not to rip off the coffin lid and poke his dead eyes out with her fingers.

She raised her head and looked around at the sea of mourners dressed in black standing around the graveside. Was she here? Or was she watching from a distance? Did she really have the balls to stand here and weep? There were plenty of wailing women here; many from his office; it could be anyone of them. Cady glanced at her mother-in-law who was crying and shaking. She never did cut those apron strings. Not that Richard ever wanted to, it had always surprised Cady that he still did not suckle on her when she visited, which was often. A sketch from Little Britain popped into her head. David Walliams as a suit type taking his girlfriend to meet the folks for the first time and then breastfeeding on his mum. ‘Bitty, bitty!’

A laugh burbled in her chest and Cady choked it down, turning it into a muffled sob, or what she hoped sounded like one. Georgina squeezed her hand. Cady looked at her best friend and knew she felt her pain, anger and rage.

The mourners gradually moved away, muttering and sniffing, to the cars that would deliver them to the wake. Georgina and Cady stood there till they were alone with Richard. The breeze ruffled the plastic wrappings and ribbons around the flowers. The big motionless wooden box stuffed in the ground looked at odds to the surroundings, all bending and yielding to the wind. It was surreal; actually, surreal was a great word to describe her life at present. Surreal. Cady would laugh again if she didn’t think it would wrench apart her chest and leave her in a bloody heap.

“You coming, or want me to wait in the car?” Georgina said tactfully.

“No, I’m coming. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Cady, I..’

“NO! I am done Georgina, let’s go.”

Georgina nodded and headed to the car. Cady glanced at the coffin in the ground, turned on her heel and strode away.

The wake was a pretentious affair. Richard, the organised soul that he was, had planned his own funeral and stipulated his desires right down to the caterers and golf club setting. He had left it with his will he had devised with his father, Richard senior, head partner at Everett and Stokes. Cady had been only too glad to let him and his mother deal with the arrangements. His mother thought it was grief she was suffering, but what Cady really felt more was an acute nothingness. It was like going to the dentist, that numb, tingling around the edges feeling you get just before you go under; except the numbness had lasted for days. Cady had not been home since it happened; she couldn’t face it. Georgina had kindly put her up, and brought her some clothes and bits she needed the night it happened…ugh, she could not even think about that.

So here she was, sat in a black dress Georgina had picked up for her in Debenhams, staring at a lot of people milling around, quaffing champagne and triangles of cucumber sandwiches, while a harpist played in the corner of the room. It reeked of Richard and his family. Cady could have walked in naked and no-one would have noticed. She was just the wife after all, the secretary who ‘married up.’ Fucked herself up more like. Now she was a 29 year old widow with an empty, soulless house full of crap, a job in the firm he worked for; and a clinic appointment the following Tuesday to check if the son of a bitch hadn’t left her with a nasty parting gift from his skanky hook ups. To say that turning 30 was a bone crunching, gut wrenching thought was the understatement of eternity.

Cady’s dull senses picked up a soft tinkle of laughter. Looking towards the noise she saw Angela. She was laughing and joking with Richard’s mother, Priscilla. Angela was a blonde leggy Amazon. A solicitor in his firm, and a high flier by all accounts; with her Gucci handbags, kick ass court records and cocktails after work. Angela flicked her honey highlighted long hair over her elegant figure hugging black dress, let out another soft ripple of laughter and stroked Priscilla’s arm warmly. Cady headed over.

“I know darling, but I really do think that Richard would have made you a lovely husband, it’s such a tragedy, it really is, and now my only child has gone and I will never have a grandchild to look forward…oh, h-hello Cady dear, I wondered where you had gotten to, have you eaten? You look pale…”

Cady stared at Priscilla, scarcely believing her own ears. How dare she try to set up her son posthumously with another woman! And grandchildren, what a joke! Richard never wanted children! Cady herself had tried for years to get him to have a family with her. Now what? Priscilla just brushed her son’s wife under the carpet on the day of his funeral? What was she supposed to do, shuffle off quietly and start knitting cardigans and rescuing flea bitten moggies? Start erecting her Richard shrine?

Cady stood up straight, and pushing out her boobs and her British stiff upper lip, coolly eyed Angela.

“Why hello Angela, lovely of you to come. Such a tragedy yes, for dear Richard to die so young, shame you never knew each other better, I agree! How AWFUL!”

She was aware that she was raising her voice and practically shouting now, but she didn’t care anymore. How fucking dare Priscilla! She glanced around at the posh strangers; their hands stuck midway between shovelling more sandwiches down their snotty, elitist mouths. Georgina caught her eye and was edging towards the emerging ugly scene, pleading with her eyes for Cady to hold it in and get through it - but it was too late for that.

Priscilla, rotund and sweating in her dark garb, placed her hand on Cady’s shoulder. “Ah…dear, I was just saying, that’s all, it’s such a waste and I miss him so much, a...as, I am sure you do, it’s just…”

“Well, all is not lost, dear Priscilla, maybe we could go and dig him up and Angela can have a crack at him, eh? Plenty to talk about, I’ve no doubt, degrees and Tort, that kind of thing, yes?”

Angela’s eyes widened and Priscilla’s mouth dropped. A collective nasal gasp reverberated round the room. The harpist had even stopped playing. Cady felt hot and sweaty and angry. She realised she’d gone too far and there was only one way to go now.

Priscilla rallied, exclaiming, “Cady, I can’t believe your behaviour, at your own husband’s funeral! Are you drunk?”

Cady was stone cold sober and felt more alive than she had in years.

She laughed bitterly and spat back at her mother-in law, “No, Priscilla dear, I am not drunk, but I soon will be! You’ve never accepted me; you’ve belittled me and sidestepped me all my married life - and one good thing to come out of all this is that we will never have to cross paths again!”

Cady turned and headed for the French doors next to the bar area. She needed to get outside; the air in here was choking her and she could feel sweat running down her back onto her dress, her rage and disgust potent and bubbling within her veins. The incredible hulk would have done a double take crossing paths with her today.

She heard the crowd murmur comments of disgust and discreet enjoyment, and Priscilla called after her, “Cady, you get back here, you silly young girl, you can’t disrespect me like this!” Cady turned and eyed her, steel rods shooting out of her eyes and poking Priscilla in her fat sausage like body.

“Oh and by the way, dear mother-in-law, your chances of a grandchild are not completely dashed yet, your precious son was shagging half of the office, so maybe a precious little bastard will pop up for you soon eh? Chin up!”

And clattering away on her heels, Cady hooked a bottle of champers under each arm from the drinks table and high kicked the French doors open, striding across the lawn every inch the elegant, grieving widow.

CHAPTER 2

---