He senses my presence in the doorway and smiles. He beckons me over to join him and for the next few minutes we bend at the waist, fists balled, arms surging and criss-crossing, dancing in typical ska fashion. This is our private tribute to the woman we will always love. Afterwards, he leads me to a table where there are open brochures, a notebook and pencil.
I squeeze his hand, and this time he doesn’t let go. ‘What are we going to do without her?’
Sugar hugs me close. I sink into the security he has offered me since I was a child. Then he shares what he’s been doing with the brochure and notebook on the table. ‘I’m trying to write the epitaph for Cherry’s headstone.’
This is typical Sugar, always getting on with things.
‘Do you really need to be doing this now?’ I ask, rubbing his arm. ‘You should be resting.’
‘Resting’ is a dirty word in Sugar’s book. He shares what he’s written. ‘What do you think of this?’
Cherry McNeil
Loved by her husband Sugar and her daughter Eva
Always in their hearts. Always in their thoughts.
‘Where the wicked cease to trouble and the weary are at rest.’
Rest in Peace
The fingers of grief squeeze my throat, my eyes swim. These simple words finally bring it home more than anything else today. This is real. She’s gone.
The lamplight shows Sugar’s eyes are bloated with tears. ‘Do you want a drink, girl? I mean a proper drink.’
‘I’m driving.’
‘Let that good man you married drive you for a change.’
‘Put like that, why not?’
Sugar shouts towards the open back door. ‘Ronnie!’
Ronnie? Who’s that?
To my confusion and surprise, the oddball who was clearing up appears.
‘Mister Sugar?’ she asks, in a voice full of grit and gravel. But it’s not her voice I notice, it’s her face. She’s staring at Sugar with open adoration.
‘There’s a bottle of rum in one of the kitchen cupboards. Can you bring it along with two shot glasses, some ice and water?’
‘Of course,’ she agrees with a nod that verges on a bow.
Sugar squeezes her arm. ‘Thanks.’
Ronnie heads back into the house. My mouth moves, but I can’t find the words. Inside me a fire kindles and starts burning. Frantically jabbing my thumb at the open doorway, I find my voice. ‘Who is that woman?’
‘That’s Ronnie,’ he answers, his tone precise and matter-of-fact. ‘She’s helping me out now that Cherry’s gone. A bit of housework, some cleaning, that sort of thing.’
I swallow back the heated words ready for take-off because Ronnie is back with a tray. The gorgeous tray with the map of Barbados that Cherry brought back from the island of her birth in 2012. We exchange looks while Ronnie pours the rum.
Her words are honeyed. ‘Is that everything, Mister Sugar?’
‘Yes. Leave the rest for tomorrow. You should be in bed.’
In bed? His bed? The one he shared with Mummy Cherry?
The fatigue, grief, confusion, stress and anger of this long and tragic day are all stoppered within my heart like a champagne cork. And while Ronnie goes back to the house, another penny begins to drop.
My voice starts doing a very un-Eva thing; it rises. I storm to my feet. ‘How long has this thing with Ronnie been going on? Were you cheating on Mummy Cherry while she was dying?’
A vein pulses beneath Sugar’s eye, distorting the skin. ‘I don’t like what you’re suggesting.’
Sugar never outwardly loses his temper; my adoptive father is a man of extreme self-control.
I can’t stop. ‘You know exactly what I’m suggesting. Mummy Cherry hasn’t even been in the ground one day—’
I gulp back the words as Sugar rises to his full height. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about—’
‘What is this? Some late mid-life crisis?’ The shape of my mouth turns ugly. ‘How long has it been going on?’
Sugar’s pointed finger stops me. He’s still in control. ‘Leave. Now. Only come back into this house, Cherry’s home, when you’re ready to apologise to me. And to Ronnie.’
This is too much. ‘You don’t need to worry. I won’t be coming back here until you’ve got rid of that dog-eared woman. Moving her in to this house while Cherry’s body is still warm.’ I realise that I’m shouting. My words echo through the neighbours’ back gardens. ‘You’re a disgrace!’