The Collared Collection (24 page)

She could hear David’s voice, but not what he was saying.

‘We’re at Ginny’s, Susan Williams is staying too – seemed the most sensible thing to do, as tomorrow’s wake has been moved here.’ David spoke again. ‘You know women, mate – she couldn’t decide what to wear, so she’s brought half her wardrobe with her.’ From the relaxation of Mike’s face, she gathered David had accepted his explanation. ‘She’s asleep now; it’s been a long and traumatic day.’ He yawned, ‘I’m about done in myself. See you in the morning.’ He ended the call.

His hand clenched her shoulder, ‘Callie, think about it – there’s no way David could be Balaclava Man. For one thing, you were both driving back from Cornwall when Ginny was killed.’

She hugged him tight, ‘You’re right! How could I have been so dumb? Poor David …’

‘My lips are sealed. Come on … we’ve all got to be up early tomorrow, so let’s hit the sack.’

As she lay alone in bed, she longed for the reassuring warmth of David’s body next to hers, and cursed herself for being so utterly, utterly stupid.

Chapter Thirty-eight

She was awake long before the alarm went off next morning. Her eyeballs felt as though they’d decamped to the back of her head. Heavy rain fell outside, clattering against the bedroom window and that seemed fitting, somehow – sad weather for a sad day. Dread of events to come and the fear of not being able to hold everything together swirled round her head, and she felt strangely detached from reality.

She had to get up, make a start. Once vertical, she felt an overwhelming craving to smoke a cigarette – though she’d never indulged, except for a few experimental puffs at school. Hoping to appear ultra-hip, she’d let herself down somewhat by turning green and gagging when she tried to inhale. That was enough – she vowed to earn her Cool Chick wings by some other means, though she never did. She knew she’d always been a follower, not a trendsetter or leader. Ginny was a leader … an Alpha Female of the first order …

After a quick shower, she grabbed on some tatty jeans and a sweatshirt and went downstairs quietly, so as not to disturb anyone else.

Where to start?

Ginny’s bijou mews house was quite small and the garden tiny – not that that the latter would be an issue, unless the rain stopped. The dark, oppressive sky showed no sign of that happening – she thought she saw forks of lightening way off in the distance and willed them to stay there.

Callie drew up a mental blueprint of how they should lay out refreshments, deciding the kitchen was the only place for the bar and soft drinks. They’d need to move some lighter items of furniture upstairs, to make mingling room. Even then, it was going to be a tight squeeze to fit everyone in. There was nothing she could do about that now. She started to shift things around, still feeling as though she was having an out-of-body experience. She’d given it her best shot and was slumped on the sofa with a black coffee, as there was no milk, when Susan came down, yawning and stretching.

‘Callie! You should have given me a shout; you’ve done all that humping by yourself.’

She wasn’t in any mood to give voice to the facetious remark that suggested itself. ‘Don’t worry; you can help me stash stuff upstairs to free up more space – but get yourself a coffee first. Sorry, there’s no milk.’

‘No problem, I think my system could probably do with a shot of neat caffeine.’

Susan grabbed a mug of instant and came back to join her, looking a great deal better than she had the night before. She asked, ‘Do you think the rain will clear before this afternoon?’

‘I doubt it – that sky doesn’t look hopeful, but I haven’t actually seen the forecast.’

‘I love to dive in this sort of weather.’ She strolled over to look out the window.

‘Really?’ Callie couldn’t think of anything worse, but then she’d never been a keen swimmer, let alone diver. It had to be a sizzling hot day for her to venture anywhere near the water’s edge, preferably in the Caribbean. She remembered the magic day she’d spent on the beach in Cornwall with David, Sam, and Alex – she missed the boys so much it hurt; though she would be seeing them later at the funeral, it was not the happiest setting for a reunion. She felt the urge to ring David and apologise for being a complete plonker, but it was still too early. Soon … She realised Susan was talking to her.

‘Yes, the ocean bed is quite spooky, it gets the adrenaline pumping. And your wet suit keeps you warm. I’ve got my digital camera in my bag, if you want to see a few pics of my weekend? Some of them are underwater.’

No, she didn’t much fancy that at all. It was hard enough for her to form the words for a basic conversation – oohing and aahing over someone’s happy snaps might well prove too much. But she could tell Susan really wanted her to say ‘yes’ and so she obliged. ‘Please, if it’s not too much trouble.’ Why didn’t she just say ‘no’? She cursed her mother for bringing her up to be too polite.

When Susan came back downstairs, Mike joined them, looking haggard. She gave him the same spiel about taking furniture upstairs and coffee without milk, while Susan fiddled with her flashy, complicated-looking camera.

‘That’s me, with my surfing buddies.’ She pointed to a handsome young man. ‘That’s Matt, we were at university together.’ But Callie wasn’t concentrating on the lovely Matt – she couldn’t get over how like Balaclava Man Susan appeared in her wet suit and mask. She looked up at Mike, who was peering over her shoulder. His expression was annoyingly deadpan so that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, if anything – she’d have to manoeuvre him into a quiet corner later to find out. While she automatically nodded her head and made appropriate noises at the twenty or so frames that Susan prattled through, she debated with herself whether the woman could be her sworn enemy, Balaclava Man – even if Callie couldn’t for the life of her fathom what her motive might be.

But no – like David, a cast-iron alibi removed her decisively from the list of suspects; she was in Paris when Ginny was killed. It did make Callie think, though – they could, after all, be looking for a tall, slim woman … Oh great, the number of possible suspects had just doubled.

From early on, the house resembled Piccadilly Circus.

David was first to arrive – before she’d gotten a chance to ring him – closely followed by Elizabeth, and then the Colander Girls with Karen.

Everywhere she went there was a hive of activity – people unpacking stuff, arranging stuff, moving stuff. She felt spatially-challenged and needed to get some fresh air – though she had to make do with damp air. She stood for a while in the garden, doing her best to shelter from rain that had lightened to a drizzle, under the large leaves of some kind of jungle fern. So far, she’d managed to avoid a confrontation with David; her resolve to grovel had done a bunk as soon as she saw him in the flesh. Physically, he could very well be Balaclava Man – except that was a non-starter, as pointed out by Mike. But she still had niggling doubts and the memory of Sally’s last words wouldn’t leave her alone. Nor had she spoken to Mike about the possibility of BM being a woman. As the time for Ginny’s funeral approached, none of the above seemed the least bit important.

David came out to join her – there was little room to swing a cat in the garden, let alone avoid anyone – as she’d found with Sally. Poor Sally; as far as Callie could recall, that was the last time she’d spoken to her properly, face to face … now she was dead too. How many more? ‘Shouldn’t you be getting changed?’

‘Yes, I suppose I should.’ She made no move to do so.

‘Why did you stay here last night, Callie? You knew I’d get away eventually.’

‘I … I don’t know … I was shaken by what happened to Sally and I just wasn’t thinking logically.’ She noticed his jaw clench.

‘Will you stay here again tonight?’

This was a conversation she didn’t want to be having just then. ‘I don’t know, I’ll think about it later. All I can concentrate on at the moment is getting through the funeral. I’m really, really dreading it.’

His face didn’t soften; his hand reached forward to touch her arm, then changed its mind. ‘Perhaps you’d be good enough to let me know, in your own time.’

Piss off and leave me alone, she told him telepathically. And, damn it – he did. That wasn’t supposed to happen …

She travelled to the crematorium with Susan, Mike, Doris, and May, cramped in the back of one of the funeral cortège cars. A herd of elephants were doing the Jungle Book march through her intestines – she didn’t (couldn’t) say a word, for the whole of the journey.

Dominic and the boys were waiting at the main portal. When she hugged Sam and he sobbed in her ear, she very nearly lost her hard-won self-control. She had to bite hard on the inside of her lip to keep herself on track; the time for tears would be later, when she was alone – after she’d done her best for Ginny.

She was on another planet as she drifted around, shaking random hands of the rapidly expanding group of mourners. They all sheltered under umbrellas, waiting to go in to pay their last respects – she was pleased to see the majority had left their black clothes at home, as per Ginny’s wishes.

Clutching the hands of her sons too tightly for their comfort, they walked slowly to the front pew – she had neither the strength nor inclination to tell Dominic to move elsewhere, when he joined them. Hypocritical joined the long list of uncomplimentary adjectives she could use to describe him. David, Elizabeth, and Susan sat at the front across the aisle – Mike was to be a pallbearer, along with Bernard, Simon, George, Harry, and Anthony Brewer, who’d flown in from Sydney.

Callie did a visual scan of the chapel; Mr Flanagan had done everything she’d asked of him. To the front, was a large raised projection screen upon which
It’s A Wonderful Life
played silently in black and white – James Stewart was about to meet Clarence on the bridge and learn what the world would have been like had he never been born. She knew her own life would have been very much the poorer but for Ginny being a part of it.

Large arrangements of yellow roses and white flowers were placed on every available surface and to either end of each pew was tied a yellow helium balloon, bearing the legend ‘To Ginny, With Love’ She’d have liked that touch, of that she was sure.

The congregation stood.

To the organ’s strains of Handel’s ‘Entrance of The Queen of Sheba’, Ginny made her own, final entrance. The coffin tilted slightly toward the back, because Harry was several inches shorter that his fellow bearers.

‘Is Ginny in that box?’ Sam asked her, in a whisper.

‘Yes, she is. It’s all padded with silk and she’ll be very comfortable – we took great care choosing it,’ she assured him. She didn’t see the need to explain the finer points of cremation.

The service began, but she couldn’t hear the words being spoken – she was meeting Ginny again, on their first day at university. They’d been allocated adjoining rooms in the Halls of Residence – and so, by sheer fluke, began a firm friendship that would last longer than Callie’s marriage. She’d known and loved Ginny for more than half her life.

Bernard spoke eloquently about watching Ginny bloom over the years, from gauche teenager to respected Queen’s Counsel, plus all the stages in between. Some of his anecdotes intentionally raised a laugh – this was, at Ginny’s request, to be a joyful occasion. Callie hadn’t realised how very hard that would be to achieve. She caught Mike’s eye and he sent her a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes – evidently, he was finding this just as harrowing as she was.

It was Callie’s turn to deliver a eulogy. She didn’t think she could, but when Alex squeezed her hand and grinned encouragement at her, that gave her the impetus she needed. She stood at the lectern, notes shaking in her hand until she laid them down. Looking around, she saw so many familiar faces and as many again that she didn’t recognise. Ginny had touched many lives.

She was surprised that when she opened her mouth, her voice worked. ‘Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you all for coming to say your farewells to Virginia Montague, known universally as Ginny. This cannot help but be a terribly sad day for all of us who have lost a dear friend and colleague, however, it was Ginny’s wish that we all gather to celebrate her life and not mourn her death. For those of us left behind that is very hard, but I’ll do my best. Ginny and I met on our first day at university and we have been friends ever since. For that, I am truly grateful – and frankly, I don’t know how I’m going to manage without her from now on. She was a breath of fresh air, intelligent, accomplished, kind, and very often outrageous – and I loved her dearly. There will be lots of tributes to Ginny and so I will keep mine short, but sincere.’

She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and looked ahead, seeing nothing and no one, speaking only to Ginny.

‘Ginny, I’m so glad that you were my friend. Thank you for all the fun, the laughter, and a few tears. You will always have a precious place in my heart and I will never forget you – I’m only sorry we didn’t get to grow old disgracefully together. Goodbye, Ginny, and rest in peace.’

She walked back to her seat on legs of cotton wool. Lost in memories, she wasn’t aware of anything else, until the coffin started to disappear behind gold velvet curtains. She wanted to leap up and scream that it was a mistake, that Ginny belonged there, with those who loved her.

But it wasn’t a mistake … this really was goodbye.

They exited the chapel to ‘It’s Raining Men’ by The Weather Girls – played at maximum volume, just as when they used to ‘dance’ to it all those years ago. Because everyone present knew Ginny and what a nutcase she could be, nobody thought it a strange choice, and it actually made a lot of people smile, including Callie.

Back at the house, she handed one of the balloons from the chapel to each of those who had been closest to Ginny. They stood in the garden and let them go – so they floated up and away, symbolic of Ginny’s soul.

‘Goodbye, Ginny,’ whispered Sam tearfully, as he let go of his and watched it soar high.

‘Look, Mum, the sun’s coming out!’ Alex beamed. ‘That means Ginny really likes her balloons.’