Page 8 of The F*cking Fabulous Forties Club

‘Take a deep breath, and let’s settle ourselves,’ I whisper as we shuffle forwards towards the front room, with me thinking this really is the worst idea in the world and I’d have been better off staying at home with Daniel, picking up his poo. There would be less chance of a disaster there than being anywhere near an occasion as stomach-churningly solemn as this.

But, when I see Laura, and see her face masked with grief, my urge to laugh disappears. I feel Niamh stiffen beside me and I know she feels the same.

We three were inseparable once. We used to joke that when one of us felt something, all of us did. We convinced ourselves we had some special psychic bond. The truth was that we were all just a little prone to being over dramatic, or at least I thought that was the truth. Because now, when I spot Laura, it hurts to see her so clearly in pain. Even though we’ve not spoken in ten years, I feel the urge to go straight to her and hug her and tell her I know how awful all of this is and that she doesn’t have to go through it alone. Even the fear of her rejecting me doesn’t hold me back. Before I know it, I am in front of her and I am trying to tell her how very sorry I am for her loss but the words are caught in my throat.

She stares back at me, her expression a mixture of shock and grief and something I can’t quite put a name on.

‘Laura, we’re so very sorry,’ I hear Niamh say from where she’s now standing beside me. ‘We were so shocked to hear the news and we just had to come and pay our respects.’

Laura’s gaze flits between the two of us while I stand here like a mute eejit, trying not to blink, knowing that if I do my tears will fall and if I start crying, I might not stop.

‘Girls…’ she eventually says and suddenly I’m looking at all the different Lauras I’ve known over the years: the precocious six-year-old, obsessed with Sindy dolls and My Little Pony; the eleven-year-old who walked into big school that first day holding my hand and telling me it would be okay; the teenager who had been the first of us to get her period and who thankfully didn’t try to scare the life out of us with horror stories about how awful it was; the Laura who had been my bridesmaid, and Godmother to Saul; the Laura who, despite our estrangement, still had a life interwoven with mine, and with Niamh, and the Laura who I’m now pulling into a tight hug while Niamh wraps her arms around us both and all three of us sob.

God only knows what our fellow mourners are thinking at the sight and sound of us but right in this moment, I don’t care. As we eventually pull apart, sniffling and shaking, I notice the room has emptied of everyone except us. And Kitty, obviously, who is lying in peaceful repose in her open coffin, hands clasped and a slight hint of a smile playing on her lips.

‘She looks well,’ Niamh says, softly.

‘Well, she’s dead, so to be honest she could be better,’ Laura says with a watery smile and the three of us burst into laughter, already so comfortable once again in each other’s company that we’re immediately back in tune with each other’s sense of humour. Grief is never very far away though, and while she is laughing, Laura is still wiping tears from her face.

‘But yes, she looks well. A lot better than she did in her last few days, if I’m being honest,’ Laura says, gently touching her mother’s face. ‘The cancer had left her grey, you know. Old looking, and she was never old looking. But she looks beautiful now. At peace, you know.’

The three of us nod. ‘She does,’ I say.

‘She had a hard time,’ Laura blurts, prompting a fresh flurry of tears. ‘I wanted to call you both, you know. She’d have loved to have seen you. I’d have loved to have seen you. But it’s been so long and I was afraid you might tell me to get lost. You’d have every right to. You especially, Becks. After everything.’

I swallow down the uncomfortable feelings those words bring. ‘After everything’ covers a multitude of things it is absolutely not the right time to start poking at.

‘Look, the important thing is that we’re here now,’ Niamh says as I turn my gaze from Laura back to Kitty to break the tension between us. ‘And we’ll be here for you in whatever way you need us to be. Isn’t that right, Becca?’

I nod and take a deep breath – this is not the time for a faint heart. Big girl pants are on. I look at Laura again. ‘Absolutely, just say the word!’ I tell her and she tears up again, as do I – which of course prompts Niamh to let tears fall as well. And once again, we find ourselves part of a triple-strength hug and it feels so nice, and so safe and so…

‘Dear me, what’s all this wailing about? Kitty wouldn’t have wanted that!’ bellows a voice that sends a chill through my bones.

Ladies and gentlemen, Simon – the ex-husband who has to be the centre of attention at all times – has entered the building.

6

JE NE REGRETTE RIEN – EXCEPT SIMON

I suppose a tiny part of me feels sorry for Simon as three pairs of eyes turn to look at him and he spots that one of those pairs belongs to me. I see the colour drain from his face to the point that lovely Kitty looks positively glowing with vitality in comparison.

‘I didn’t think…’ he begins, which could pretty much sum up everything you need to know about my ex-husband. ‘I was just trying to lighten the mood a bit.’

‘It’s my mother’s wake,’ Laura says, through gritted teeth. ‘We don’t need any mood lightening.’ I’m glad it’s she who has spoken and not me because I might not have been so polite. But then again, I’ve not remained besties with Simon for the past ten years, while it seems Laura has.

Simon and I function on a strictly need-to-know basis; that is, we are in touch with each other when, and only when, we need to be to discuss some issue in relation to our boys. The last time we had any contact with each other was before the boys left for university, to make final arrangements for their financial support, and I’m absolutely okay with that. He’s not someone whose company I particularly enjoy – which is probably part of the reason it hurt so much when Laura chose him over me. Was I really that unsufferable? The thought nips at me and I have to push it down. My friend is in pain. She needs me. She clearly recognises that Simon can be a gobshite at times. I don’t have to say a word. He is hoisting himself by his own petard and I have ringside seats.

‘Sorry,’ he blurts, his pallor now replaced by a fiery red glow of embarrassment. ‘I didn’t think I’d find Rebecca and Niamh here.’

I bet he didn’t. I feel Niamh take my hand and squeeze it tightly – a friendly reminder to keep my cool.

‘We just wanted to pay our respects,’ I say. ‘Kitty was a great lady. A real friend to us.’

‘She was, for sure. There’s no doubt Kitty will be greatly missed,’ he says in a sombre voice that screams am-dram enthusiast. There’s a lack of authenticity to him that irks me. Everything about him is a performance. Even grief.

‘We wanted to offer our support to Laura,’ Niamh says.

‘That’s very thoughtful,’ he says, and I want to tell him we didn’t come here for his approval. This has absolutely nothing to do with him. It’s infuriating to me that his very presence can get under my skin this way. I feel Niamh squeeze my hand once again and I glance at Laura who looks more than a little uncomfortable. Now is clearly not the time to start digging into the train wreck that was my relationship with Simon.

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