Page 101 of Sleep

“Mr Templar?” The funeral director approached me, a young woman with a nervous handshake. “I’m so sorry. It seems we have attracted a bit of a crowd. I know Mabel said it was only the immediate family, but there was a Facebook post, and then it got mentioned on the local radio. People were asked to ring in and tell stories, share memories. Turns out a lot of people had their wedding dresses made by Trudi Donovan and…”

“What’s all this about?” Francis arrived beside me, looking frazzled.

“These are all people who had their wedding dresses made by Mum?” Mabel gasped, grasping on to my arm.

“Apparently so,” the funeral director said. “It was a lovely section of the show, people remembering sharing how their weddings made them feel, wearing those dresses. There were mentions of you as well, Francis.”

This was all becoming a bit much, even for me.

“Jonathan!”

My mother, dressed to the nines, was heading straight for us. Air kisses. A small tap on Mabel’s shoulder.

“What a terrible commotion, but your mother must have been much loved.”

“Mother,” I warned.

“Oh, shush. I’m here for Mabel, not you. And I’m sure Mrs Donovan would appreciate a good send-off. Father is just parking the car. You would think with all the space out here, they would plan better.”

Mabel looked pale. Poor Francis swallowed loudly.

“And anyway, we’re family now. I hear you’re coming for Christmas dinner, Francis? I’m Emilija. A pleasure.”

I wasn’t sure Francis found it a pleasure, but we could confer later, as we were being ushered inside, me grasping on to Mabel as hard as they grasped on to me.

A group of people were already in there and greeted Mabel warmly. Kisses. Hugs. Not a hugger, eh? How things had changed. I loved this Mabel, though. Warmth. Tears. Love.

We found our seats, and someone, who introduced himself as Bruce but looked remarkably like my mother, took a seat next to Francis, grasped his hand, passed him a tissue.

Love. Friendship. Family. So much of it I could barely breathe.

As Trudi had wanted, it was only a short service, yet it was packed with people there to honour the woman who had made hundreds of women feel their best on the most important day of their lives.

I wondered if it was another awakening.

I held it together, but it was a struggle. Too many emotions. And the rain. Everything was wet and cold, yet there was so much warmth around me—the way other families worked, the way mine did. Different, but the outcome was the same. My parents were not perfect. But they were there because they loved me.

In the evening, we sat around an old-fashioned kitchen table, in a house that was far too small, but we were all there. Me with Mabel’s hand in mine, them leaning their head against my shoulder.

“You know,” they said. “It was unexpected, but when I sat there, surrounded by all those people, I thought…maybe Mum deserved this. All those people who remembered who she’d once been. It felt right to celebrate that.”

Rickety mismatched chairs, odd cups filled with tea, my parents seemingly fully at ease, even my father, who would no doubt have received a stern brief from my mother beforehand. He’d even kissed Mabel’s cheek, taken their hand, offered polite and gentle condolences.

“She was amazing with customers, my Trudi,” Francis said. “Always made them feel at ease, complimenting them and doing all that talk, the same as Mabel does. They learned from their mother. It’s a real skill, making people feel comfortable and special.”

“She was brilliant,” Mabel said. “I’m so happy that this day is over. It hurt, awfully so, but I’m glad about how things turned out. Glad we didn’t do this on our own, Dad.”

“Like we would have let you do this on your own. Mabel, darling,” my mother said. “We’re all family now, and we look after one another, especially in times like this.”

“It’s been a nice distraction,” Francis said, always bluntly frank, and raised his teacup to my mother. “To new friends.”

“It’s Mrs Donovan’s day. We toast in tea,” my mother said gently, not missing a beat.

“A whisky would have been the thing,” my father chipped in.

I sighed.

“I have a bottle of Teacher’s stashed somewhere,” Francis said and promptly got up and found a bottle. They were ridiculous. We all were.

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