Daksha spoke firmly, calmly. ‘I don’t think she would have wanted to know that everything was her last. Knowing Prim, she would have wanted a happy day in the sunshine with you, and that’s exactly what she got. My mum said it was a blessing, really, to fall asleep in her chair and not to have suffered with an illness, like some.’
Victoria nodded again, not letting on that she had heard the whole exchange.
‘I did think one thing, though.’ Daksha bit the inside of her cheek as if unsure whether to share the thought or not.
‘What?’ Victoria sat up on the bed and leaned back against the pillows, resting her bare feet on the bedding.
‘I don’t know if I should say.’ Her friend looked at her lap.
‘Say it!’ She clucked her impatience, wanting to feel something, and anger seemed easiest to reach.
‘It’s just that Prim was such a classy lady, charming and cultured.’
‘Yes, she was.’ Victoria ran her fingers over the exquisite ivory counterpane.
‘And I bet she would be mortified over her last words.’
‘Her last words?’ Victoria wrinkled her brow.
‘Yes, I think Prim might have imagined a refined exit – you know the way she used to wave her hand or adjust her beads or pat her hair, I think she might have liked to have done something like that and said simply, “Adieu, darlings!”’
‘I guess . . .’ Victoria felt a small smile play on her lips as she pictured just this.
‘But instead . . .’ Daksha paused. ‘The last thing she said to you was, “Grab me a balaclava or two!”’ The laughter bubbled from her friend’s mouth, and Victoria followed suit. It was quite hilarious, Daksha was right. Her glamorous, elegant grandma had shouted, ‘Grab me a balaclava or two!’ Hardly the most delicate of phrases or topics. Victoria placed her hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle, which felt illicit. Her laughter found a way to squeeze past the weight that filled her gut, burbling from deep inside until she was bent double, and it was only when rendered quite weak with something close to hysteria that her tears came. Finally. And once she started crying, it felt like she might never stop.
Daksha rushed forward and took the mug of tea from her hand before placing it on the nightstand. She then wrapped her friend in a hug, and there they sat on Prim’s bed, enveloped in the smell of her perfume, with chins resting on each other’s shoulders, as Victoria sobbed until she could barely take a breath and Daksha whispered, ‘Shh . . .’ in the way a mother might do. Although this Victoria could only guess at, as her mother had injected heroin into her veins and left the Earth without so much as an ‘adieu!’ before Victoria had even got the chance to know her. And yet, strangely, today she missed her more than ever.
The sound of the front doorbell jolted them apart.
‘I’ll go.’ Daksha jumped up and thundered down the stairs. Victoria blew her nose and wiped her eyes, before her friend hollered up the stairs, ‘Vic! Gerald is here!’
Of course.
She hadn’t considered what this meeting with Prim’s boyfriend would be like, hadn’t really thought about how others might be grieving, and she had never seen Gerald without Prim in touching distance. She didn’t like the thought of it; more proof, as if that were needed, of how her world had changed. Painting on the best smile she could manage, Victoria gripped the bannister, wary of her wobbly knees and shaky legs as she trod the stairs. There was something about the sight of the impeccably groomed Gerald, the side part to his grey hair and the stiff crease to the front of his slacks, that tore at her heart. At first glance, he looked as he always did, dressed to impress the woman he wooed, but there was something slightly altered about him: he looked a little stooped, a little gaunt. And in truth she found his grief a comfort, to know that someone shared her loss, the thing that united them. Victoria knew she needed all the allies she could find.
‘Oh, Victoria!’ He attempted a tight-lipped smile, in defiance of the sadness that misted his eyes. ‘How are you?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I feel like the world is spinning.’
He looked at her knowingly. ‘I don’t want to keep you or intrude, but I heard the terrible news from Joan at the Over Sixties Club. And then I saw I had a missed call from you and heard your message. I guess that’s why you were calling?’
She nodded.
‘I can’t believe it.’ He paused. ‘I just wanted to come and say . . .’ He paused, and his sadness was hard to witness. ‘That the world – my world certainly – is less bright today, less fun.’
‘Thank you, Gerald.’ She barely knew what to say, but understood completely, as her world too was going to be less bright, quieter.
‘I got a card.’ He handed her a small, pale blue envelope. ‘None of them were appropriate, they were all maudlin and embossed in gold; Prim would have hated them all. I settled on a scene of the Lake District, which was left blank for my own message – I thought it was the least worst.’
‘Thank you,’ she repeated.
Daksha looked on. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or something, Gerald?’
‘No, no dear.’ He shook his head and raised his hand. ‘I need to get on, and I am sure you two need nothing less than visitors right now.’
Victoria did nothing to correct him, watching as he made for the door.
‘I am so very sad. I was extremely fond of her.’ He spoke over his shoulder.
‘I know she was very fond of you too.’ Victoria wasn’t sure if it was her place to speak this way to the older man but thought it important to say so. She felt his beaming smile more than justified her forwardness.
He closed his eyes briefly. ‘She made me laugh, always coming up with some rather bonkers scheme or idea; I never knew what she was going to suggest next,’ he smiled.
‘Like your zip-wire trip?’ she remembered.
‘Like our zip-wire trip,’ he confirmed. ‘Not that we would have actually done it, but part of the fun was talking about zip wires or shark diving in South Africa or going to a full-moon party in Thailand – those discussions kept us young! We lived the adventures through our chat and I shall miss them very, very much.’ He bowed his head.
‘See you soon, Gerald. And thank you.’ She held the envelope to her chest, knowing that she too was going to miss Prim’s wonderful ability to plant a picture in her mind, whilst encouraging her to go and see the world!
‘Let me know if there is anything I can do, and when the funeral is, of course.’ He spoke matter-of-factly as he left. His words were like bolts, fired casually yet pinning her to the reality of the situation.
A funeral! I have to organise a funeral! And not just any funeral, but Prim’s . . . I need to call her solicitor too. Who is it? I know she told me . . . I don’t know what to do, as the person I would usually ask for the details is Prim . . .
‘I need to organise the funeral. Can you help me?’
Daksha squeezed her arm. ‘Of course I will. Don’t worry about that right now. Would you like a cup of—’
‘Don’t. Even.’ Victoria held up her hand, cutting her off mid-question.
In the rather grand drawing room she sat back on the pale green dupioni-covered sofa, pulling the pink, cobweb-wool blanket from the arm and placing it over her legs. She thought of all the incredible and extraordinary things that Gerald would miss about Prim, but for her it was quite the opposite: she was already missing the very ordinary things. The bustle as she dusted, her scent lingering in the hallway and the sound of her warbling alto shattering the peace of any day. This recollection alone was enough to invite a fresh batch of hot tears.