Page 106 of The Last Love Song
Sorcha shook her head.
‘The last one, to give me Dutch courage to face your father. Thinking of it, I always needed Dutch courage to face your father,’ she smiled weakly.
‘What time is the funeral?’
‘Two o’clock, but they’re coming to take him away at nine in the morning. There’s a mass at eleven just for the family. Father Moynihan wanted to take him this evening to have him lie in overnight, but I thought you might like to say a private goodbye.’
Sorcha grimaced then drained her glass. ‘Come on, Mammy, let’s go and get it over with.’
‘Yes, I suppose we’d better.’
The two of them stood up. Sorcha led the way out of the kitchen and across the landing to the closed dining-room door. She swallowed hard, then turned the handle and opened the door.
The coffin was lying on the highly polished dining-roomtable. Sorcha blessed herself, as did her mother. Then she reached for her mother’s hand and, together, they shuffled forward and peered inside the coffin.
Apart from the fact that he’d lost a considerable amount of his hair in the past five years, her father looked exactly the same. Clearly, he’d worn better than his wife. In death, his lips were tinged with grey and his skin looked like alabaster.
‘Shall I leave you for a few minutes?’
‘No, stay, Mammy, please.’ Sorcha gripped Mary’s hand, finding her father’s presence in death as intimidating as it had been in life. Both women stared at the body in silence.
‘Done a grand job, though, hasn’t he?’
‘Who?’
‘John the undertaker,’ Mary whispered, as though she might disturb Seamus from his eternal sleep if she ever raised her voice.
‘Yes.’
‘And you think the suit was right?’
‘Perfect.’
‘Well now, do you want to stay any longer?’
Sorcha shook her head and they both filed out of the dining room.
‘There, you’ve seen him and I don’t think we need to bother again.’ The relief on Mary’s face was evident as they made their way back to the kitchen. ‘Can I get you anything to eat, Sorcha? You must be hungry from your journey?’
‘No thanks, Mammy. I’m past eating.’
‘Well, what about a big Irish breakfast tomorrow morning?’
‘That would be lovely, but we might not have time.’
‘Ah, ’twill take me no time at all. Now, would you like a bath? I’ve heard it’s fierce filthy up in those aeroplanes.’
‘No,’ Sorcha smiled, ‘but I’d love a cup of tea.’
Mary crossed to the range and stood the large stainless-steelkettle on a hotplate. The visit to the dining room seemed to have sobered her up somewhat.
‘It’s a shame Con wasn’t able to make it.’
‘Yes. Unfortunately he’s off to the States next week. The band are giving a huge concert in New York and they’re rehearsing at the moment.’
‘How famous he’s become, Sorcha! Who’d have thought it? And him living like a knacker in a hut on the beach. Those I told will be disappointed he’s not with you.’
‘Really?’ Sorcha watched her mother pour the boiling water into the blue enamel teapot, still doing sterling service after all these years. ‘I would have thought Con was the last person people around here wanted to see. They couldn’t wait to rid the town of him.’
