William wants to be indignant at the two women making arrangements for him, but all he can think is how good it would be to have Martin there. ‘I could drive down after work in your car next Friday, stay the night and then we could leave first thing.’
‘It’d make more sense for me to come by train to Birmingham and then drive with you from there. Saves you going to and fro.’
‘You sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Thank you. Robert and Howard want to get there in time for a pub lunch. They hate being hungry at weddings.’
‘The prospect is getting better by the minute.’
Apart from sleeping, embalming, and eating comfort food served by Howard and Robert, the only other things William does in the next week are buy a grey suit, so there’ll be no mistaking it for his undertaking uniform, and arrange for an audition for the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra Chorus. Boys in his sixth form played in the CBSO youth orchestra, but Robert recently told him about their brand new amateur choir, all set to perform challenging works to the highest international standard. William applied before he let himself think about it too much and has been invited to an audition in a week’s time.
Very quickly, it’s Friday, with the wedding tomorrow. Howard is cooking beef bourguignon. The kitchen is relaxed, full of the smell of itself. William is laying the table, and Robert is getting a head start on the washing up with the saucepans.
‘Quick drink before we eat?’ says Howard. ‘Beer? Gin and tonic?’
They sit at the table; him at the end, Howard and Robert on either side.
‘Ready for tomorrow?’ Robert asks.
‘Not sure.’ William flips the caps from the three beers and slides a bottle in front of them both. ‘Have you, even for a moment, felt sad for Dad?’ he asks Robert. ‘That she’s marrying someone else?’
‘I’m sad at how short his time with your mum was, but if anyone knows that this is what he’d want for her, then it’s us.’
Howard lets out a mixture of a sigh and a gentle laugh, and nods. Are they referring to something he should know about?
‘William,’ Howard says, apparently reading his confusion, ‘you do remember, don’t you? What he said to us just before he died?’
‘No,’ he says, ‘I wasn’t there. You were, but me and Mum got there too late.’
‘You don’t remember at all?’ Robert seems incredulous.
‘I remember you both leaving us on our own with him, but he was already dead. And Mum was so upset we’d missed it. She was talking to him, and I was embarrassed for her, because I knew he’d already gone.’
He’s suddenly at the edge of a precipice, a feeling that something’s coming to push him from behind. A pulse is thumping in the ball of his right foot.
‘That’s not what happened, William,’ Robert says.
Howard gently puts his beer down on the table.
‘Your mum had been at the hospital all day,’ says Robert. ‘We’d been looking after you. She called us early evening and said we needed to come. When we got there, she was in quite a state. She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t even had a cup of tea or been to the loo. We said she should take a few minutes.’
‘She didn’t want to,’ Howard said, ‘but she went anyway.’
A smell: antiseptic, something sickly sweet. A cloudy glass on the bedside table. Wanting to leave with his mum, but wanting to stay. The door to the memory flies open and it’s all there before him.
His dad has lost so much weight, his hip bones make miniature mountain peaks under the sheets. His face is all juts and dips. No longer Robert’s identical twin.
Robert lays his hand on Dad’s arm. Howard’s firm hands are on William’s shoulders, pushing him gently towards the bed.
‘If you don’t say goodbye now, you might wish you did later.’
His dad’s eyes open. His neck twists to face him. A bony hand lifts slowly and rests briefly, clumsily on his head, before sliding off. How light and weak it feels! This hand that tickled and lifted, cuddled and played.
‘Where’s Mum?’ The voice is as weak and clumsy as the hand.
‘Having a wee and getting a cup of tea.’ It all sounds so silly and he wishes he hasn’t said it.
‘She’ll be back in a flash, Paul,’ says Robert gently.
His dad’s finger points at each of them. ‘The Three Musketeers.’
‘What’ll we do without you?’ Robert strokes his dad’s arm, his voice all over the place. Howard remains behind William but his hands tighten on his shoulders.