Heathen/Nemesis

Twenty-Six

There was a bird singing in the tree close to the grave. It chirped happily throughout the service, bouncing from branch to branch, rejoicing in the blue skies and the warmth of the day.

Donna heard its shrill song but the priest’s words were lost to her. The words of the service were meaningless; it was as if he’d been speaking a foreign language. All she was aware of was that solitary bird in the tree. And the sound of a woman crying.

The crying woman was her.

Supported by Julie, she stood at the graveside surrounded by crowds of other mourners. Dressed in black, those paying their final respects to Christopher Ward looked like a menacing horde against the green of the cemetery grass. Splashes of brilliant colour afforded by the flowers at the graveside made the dark mass of mourners look incongruous in the peaceful setting.

A light breeze stirred the cellophane wrappers on some of the flowers, causing them to rattle.

Donna, looking down into the grave and seeing the coffin, was aware even more now of the appalling finality of the occasion. When they shovelled six feet of earth on top of that casket her husband would be well and truly gone. Nothing remaining except a marble marker which bore his name and an inscription:

CHRISTOPHER WARD, BELOVED HUSBAND

SLEEP UNTIL WE ARE TOGETHER ONCE MORE

Not much to signify the sum total of thirty-five years, Donna thought.

All around the grave others were standing in orderly lines, some with heads bowed, others gazing around as the priest spoke.

Beyond them stood the line of cars that had ferried the mourners from the church.

Again, Donna found it difficult to remember what had happened in the church or, indeed, since she had got up that morning. She had seemed to be moving like an automaton, not really aware of anything she did or said, or of anything which was said to her.

Julie had tried her best to coax her along but she too had found the solemnity of the occasion sometimes too much to bear. As she stood beside Donna now there were tears rolling down her cheeks. Inside the church she had stared at the coffin, raised up on a plinth and surrounded by flowers, her own mind struggling with the thought that inside that box lay her brother-in-law.

She had ridden in the leading car with Donna, neither of them speaking as the driver guided the vehicle towards the cemetery, never more than a few yards behind the hearse.

And then to the grave itself, yawning open to swallow the box that contained Christopher Ward.

Connelly had acted as one of the pall-bearers. He now stood on the other side of the grave, his hands clasped across his groin, his head bowed. Beside him were people from Chris’s publishers, friends and relatives. There were even some fans there, readers of his books who had come to pay their last respects.

More than once Donna felt her legs weaken; she was sure she was going to fall.

Fall into the grave, perhaps?

But she held onto what little strength she had left and felt Julie’s arm around her waist, supporting her but also needing that closeness herself. And Donna had felt this terrible feeling before, the night they had first told her that her husband had been involved in a crash. As she looked down into the grave she felt the same crushing desolation she’d felt as the coroner had pulled back that green sheet in the hospital morgue. How long ago was it now? Four days? More? Time seemed to have lost its meaning since his death. She wondered if life would lose its meaning, too.

As the priest came to the end of his service he stepped back a pace, beckoning Donna towards the graveside.

It was a monumental effort for her to walk those few steps; again she felt as if her knees were going to give way. Sobbing gently she made that short journey, Julie close by her. They both looked into the grave then Donna stepped back, her head lowered.

The breeze brought the smell of flowers to her, an aroma so strong, so thickly scented she felt sick. The cellophane rattled again and a petal from a red rose came free and fluttered across the grass towards the graveside, where it was blown in, floating gently downwards until it settled on the coffin lid.

Julie, trying to control her own emotion, led Donna away. The other mourners filed past.

From the tree close by the bird took flight, soaring high into the blue sky.

Like a soul en route to heaven.