“You’ll never be able to have a proper reception with the house in this state. It’s a disgrace. I can’t see how you can bear to have people over.”
“I generally don’t.” Susan spoke more than half mechanically. The flat had never felt smaller, or colder. She’d expected it to feel empty, but honestly, this was worse.
“Nonsense,” Mabel Sims snapped, shutting the cupboard with unnecessary force. “You had company when I arrived.”
“Antony and Gillian aren’t company, Mother. They’re our dearest friends. You know them.”
Mabel sniffed hard. “This is a time for family.”
“They are family.”
“They are not, although I don’t expect the likes of you to understand that.” Mabel cast a cold eye over Susan before returning to her initial bout of criticism. “Honestly, this place is in a dreadful state. Show me your cleaning routine.”
Susan bit back a sigh. “We don’t have a routine. We clean up messes when we make them, we tidy up when we have the time, but we don’t expect to be able to keep the place up to showroom standards at all times.”
“You should have plenty of time to clean. What do you do all day?”
“I work, Mother.”
“Really, Susan, I thought you had given that nonsense up. You have a child. You shouldn’t still be playacting at having a job. How can you possibly fulfill your duties as a wife and mother if you’re spending all your time outside the home?”
This is the 1990s, not the 1890s, Susan retorted, but only in the privacy of her own mind. She got it. She did. Mabel was grieving and hurting and…okay, she’d never particularly liked Susan to begin with, but in this instance she was just defaulting to what she knew to make herself feel better. And yelling at the old bat would just cause problems she was not prepared to deal with. Paul maybe wouldn’t have minded her actually throwing his mother out on her ear for daring to speak to her like this—it was why she hadn’t been invited to visit since her husband’s death—but there was a good chance it wouldn’t work and she wasn’t prepared to call any of her colleagues to help her enforce it.
But damn it, she was grieving too.
Mabel kept going, yanking another cabinet open and then slamming it shut as she spoke. “A clean house is a Godly house, and a dutiful wife is a blessing to her husband.”
“Mother, please,” Susan began, feeling the edges of her self control beginning to fray.
A tiny sound from behind her drew her attention, and she turned to see two little figures standing in the doorway, slightly rumpled and far too downcast for their age. Jon was dragging his teddy bear by one leg, Melanie had a stranglehold on her rag doll, and they were clutching one another’s free hands like they were the only thing keeping the other from falling off the face of the planet.
Jon looked up at her with huge green eyes—Paul’s eyes—full of sorrow and bewilderment and pain. “Daddy come home soon?” he asked.
Susan glanced at the kitchen clock, but before she could even get her mouth open, Mabel turned around with a face like she was sucking on a lemon. “He won’t be home at all,” she said, her voice far too harsh to be used on a child. “He is dead.”
The teddy bear fell from Jon’s suddenly nerveless fingers, and Melanie’s eyes widened and flooded with tears. Susan gasped and started towards them. “Oh, no, sweethearts—” she began, hoping to head off the meltdown before it happened.
The door opened before she could get another word out, and Jon and Melanie both moved before she could register it, flying across the living room to launch themselves at the figure in the door and latch on hard as Melanie burst into tears.
“Here, hold on, let me in the door,” Antony said, trying to laugh as he did so. Jon’s only response was to wrap himself more tightly around Antony’s leg; Melanie, from the look of her hands, was not only bunching up his trousers but digging her tiny nails into the flesh underneath.
Susan whirled around and glared at Mabel. “Mother!”
“You won’t make things better by pretending,” Mabel snapped back. “If he keeps expecting a dead man to come in the door—”
“Tell you what,” Antony said in the voice Susan knew he used on recalcitrant witnesses to avoid his superior browbeating them. “Why don’t I take my new shoes here for a walk back across the way and get dinner started while you two ladies pack a bag for you and Jon? We’ve got that beef that needs eating up, and I think there’s the possibility of a strawberry bombe for dessert.”
Even the mention of their favorite dessert didn’t make either of the children loosen their grips on Antony’s legs. Mabel narrowed her eyes at Antony. “And what, exactly, do Susan and Jonathan need a bag packed for?”
Antony removed his hat and ducked his head respectfully towards Mabel. His tone stayed mild and his accent as crisp and clear as possible. “Well, ma’am, I know Paul’s brother and sisters are coming in soon, and this place isn’t really big enough for everyone, is it? My wife and I live right across the way, so we thought we would clear up that space before the rest of your family arrives and give you room to get things the way you want them.”
His winning smile, his guileless blue eyes, and above all his well cut suit charmed, or at least mollified, Mabel. She sniffed once more, then turned back to her cleaning. “Be sure she makes the appointment with the priest tomorrow.”
“You have my word that I will make sure Susan does everything exactly the way Paul would have wanted,” Antony said solemnly. He bowed to Mabel, dropped Susan a swift wink, and turned around, making big, exaggerated steps that normally made Jon and Melanie giggle until they couldn’t breathe.
They didn’t even really seem to react.
“God help me, Gil, I’m going to strangle her,” Susan muttered as they hustled towards the bedroom.
“That’s why we’re getting you out of here, Sue,” Gillian muttered back. “Come on.”
“What are we packing for, anyway?”
“Er, at least a week. Might as well bring your funeral clothes as well, if George and Mary and Martha are really going to be staying here.” At Susan’s confused look, Gillian shook her head and gave her a gentle, sad smile. “Jon needs Melanie. And you need us. And Mabel Sims needs a tranquilizer dart directly to her arse, but since I think those are a bit harder to come by in London we’ll have to go with ‘space’, so you and Jon are staying with us at least until the funeral. Or until she leaves.” She opened the closet and hauled out Paul’s Army duffel bag, then opened it on the bed. “Best to take everything you don’t want her to throw out or appropriate.”
Susan held it together—barely—until she and Gillian had packed the duffel, thrown a quilt over it to keep Mabel from pitching a fit, put together a bag of Jon’s things, done a dance of brittle politeness in getting past her, and crossed the road to where Antony and Gillian were still living. The second she stepped through the door, Gillian lifted the bag off her shoulder and pushed her unceremoniously onto the couch. “Sit. I’ll go put things up…kids! Mummy’s here!”
There was a sudden thunder of footsteps, and Susan only just had time to brace herself before Melanie and Jon launched themselves into her. She scooped them into her arms and kissed the tops of their heads, murmuring soothingly. “It’s all right, loves. It’s going to be all right. Mama’s here. Mummy’s here. Daddy’s here.”
Melanie looked suspiciously towards the door, eyes narrowed. “Dat Fucking Woman?”
A clatter and a crash came from the kitchen, and then Antony appeared in the doorway, tie and jacket off and sleeves of his dress shirt pushed up to his elbows. “I did not just hear that.”
“Papa say,” Jon said defensively. Tears brimmed up in his eyes as he said it, and he scrubbed at them roughly with his arm.
Susan looked up at Antony. Despite everything, she found herself fighting the urge to laugh. “What is it they say? Children listen, and often repeat word for word exactly what you wish they hadn’t heard?”
“Something like that. Dinner’s almost ready.” Antony crossed the living room and threw the deadbolt on the door, then slid the chain into place. “There. See? Grandmother can’t get in now.”
Melanie hmmphed and nestled into the crook of Susan’s arm. Jon did the same on her other side, rubbing his cheek absently with his free hand. Susan sighed heavily and tipped her head back against the couch. “Thank you. For the space and the…barrier.”
Antony smiled kindly down at her and brushed her hair back from her face, then leaned over Melanie to kiss her forehead quickly. “As for the barrier, that’s what we’re here for. As for the space…it’s not like we’re giving up on the Plan just because we’re down one rat, Nicodemus.”
“Christ, I’m so tired I can’t even think about it,” Susan confessed.
“It’s been less than a day, Sue,” Antony said gently. “And you’ve had to deal with your mother-in-law. We’re giving you space to think, too.” He straightened. “I’m going to go finish up the stew. What are you drinking tonight? Pulling out the champagne we were saving for Monday seems a bit much, but there’s beer and probably whiskey.”
Susan opened her mouth, looked down at the tiny dark heads, closed it, and sighed. She didn’t normally drink, but…“The hell with it. I’ll take the whiskey.”
She ate because she had to, not because she thought Jon or Melanie wouldn’t if she didn’t but because they were watching her closely and she could not, would not add to their worries, little as they were. It was objectively good food, but she just…didn’t want to eat. She wanted to drink whiskey all night, but that wouldn’t be good on an empty stomach and wasn’t an indulgence she could risk allowing herself anyway, so she made herself eat. She gave Jon and Melanie their bath and read them their bedtime story—unsurprisingly, it was Paddiwack and Cosy for the two hundred and ninth time—then tucked them into Melanie’s brand new “big girl bed” with a kiss. She didn’t even bother putting them head to foot; she hadn’t even made it as far as the light before Melanie had cuddled herself around Jon, while he clutched the back of her nightgown like a lifeline. Their lashes fluttering shut over their cheeks was the last thing she saw before she hit the switch.
Antony, now wearing knockabout clothes, and Gillian were waiting with three tumblers of whiskey when she came out and collapsed next to them. “Tell me this gets easier,” she muttered, reaching for one.
“I don’t know, Susan,” Antony said quietly. “I’ve never lost a spouse before.”
“Well, now we all have,” Gillian said dryly, raising her glass in a mock salute. “At least you don’t have to do this alone.”
“I would not have made it through the last twenty-four hours without you two.” Susan took a swallow of the whiskey and coughed at the burn. “Especially when, as our daughter said, That Fucking Woman showed up this morning.”
“I still cannot believe she said that,” Antony muttered. “I’m just glad she didn’t say it in front of Mabel. We’d be having a double funeral.”
“Triple. You honestly think Jon wouldn’t have said something too?” Susan rubbed her forehead. “Christ. There are so damn many hoops to jump through, and now I have the added joy of having to race Mabel to them.”
“You’d think a reasonable mother would go with what her son would have wanted.” Gillian scowled. “Of course, that assumes the woman who made the appointment to have her grandson baptized without actually consulting his parents could be defined as reasonable.”
“She doesn’t care what he actually would have wanted. It’s all about her,” Susan said, fighting to keep her voice from rising and waking the children. “She wants a full church funeral. She wants him buried in the ‘family plot’ in Bournemouth—they don’t even have a ‘family plot’, it’s just where his father is buried. She wants me wearing all black and not venturing out of the house for a year—”
“Three months. And I don’t think that starts until after the funeral.” Antony hesitated, then asked, “Did, uh—did Paul ever tell her about Lucy?”
“I’m not sure,” Susan admitted. Involuntarily, her free hand went to her stomach, even though she knew there was nothing to feel. “I know he didn’t want her to know until we absolutely had to tell her because he didn’t want her coming up and trying to take over—”
“Gee, I can’t imagine why he would think she might do something like that,” Gillian muttered, glaring in the direction of the door.
“—and, well, he didn’t want her doing too much math, I don’t think,” Susan completed. “She thinks I’m a godless heathen as it is. Last thing she needs to know is about the arrangement.”
“You talk like that’s a formal thing and not just ‘we’re always in one another’s pockets right now so this might as well happen.’” Antony shook his head. “Anyway. We do have a family plot, so she can kiss our collective arse. We’ll reach out to the funeral director tomorrow to start getting that in motion, hopefully before Mabel calls the priest.”
“I’m not sure if they’ll be open on a Sunday, but we can try.”
Gillian groaned. “Christ, tomorrow’s Sunday. You know she’ll talk to the priest as soon as the service ends.”
Susan frowned. “She can do what she likes with the church, even if we don’t attend, but legally there’s nothing she can do about the funeral itself, or the disposition of his body. That was the whole reason behind any of us getting married, wasn’t it? So that nobody else could decide what happened to us after we died?”
“I think it was also for tax purposes.” Gillian took another swig of her whiskey. “The two inevitabilities.”
“And also so we didn’t have to pick out a microwave,” Antony quipped, then grew serious. “Is the office open Monday?”
“Should be. Old Dry as Dust doesn’t like letting the opportunity for billable hours to slip past,” Susan muttered. “I’ll be there with the milk delivery.”
“Whoa, hold up.” Gillian set her glass down with a sharp thump. “You’re going back to work already? Are you saying the son of a bitch you work for won’t let you have two weeks bereavement leave or—”
“No, it’s not work related, I won’t be going back for a couple of weeks at least,” Susan assured her, giving her a quick kiss on the temple. “But our wills are on file with them. I registered his death this morning, just before Mabel turned up, so as soon as I have the death certificate in hand we can apply for probate. And I know that sounds ghoulish, but—”
“No, you’re right. The longer you wait, the more likely it is Paul’s mother tries to do something sneaky and underhanded,” Gillian said with a sigh. “God. I hate that we can’t even grieve him properly because we have to spend all our time trying to stay one step ahead of his mother.”
“You don’t have to—”
“The fuck we don’t. Just because your name is the one on the marriage certificate doesn’t mean we didn’t love him, too. Or you.”
Susan sighed. “I know. I just don’t want to put you two in her crosshairs.”
Antony shrugged. “Better me than either of you. I’m a white man, she’s less likely to treat me like garbage.”
“I really hate that you’re not wrong about that.”
“Paul did, too, which is why he did his level best to cut her out of his life.” Antony glanced down the hall. “He didn’t want Jon or Melanie exposed to that. It’s ironic that the only person in the family who was more their father’s child than their mother’s is the only one that lives close enough to have to deal with her.”
Susan swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “Lived, past tense.” She paused, then added, “And his sister’s in Paris, which isn’t that far, all things considered.”
“Seven hours to the three it took her to get to us,” Gillian reminded her. “Where are the others? One’s in Potsdam and the other…”
“Kilmarnock, I think. I forget what her husband does. They were the ones that were too busy to come to Edward’s funeral.” Susan snorted. “I’ll honestly be shocked if they actually turn up for Paul’s.”
Antony hummed. “Well, he was the baby.”
The three of them sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the rattling of the pipes and the soft, sighing snores coming over the baby monitor. Susan finally broke it quietly. “He was so close. So close. Just two more weeks and…it wasn’t even anything impressive. Just a stupid accident.”
“On the other hand,” Antony pointed out, “at least he wasn’t deployed. Imagine if he’d been gone on a mission or whatever and we’d all been looking forward to this being the last Christmas we had to spend apart.”
“I…honestly can’t decide if that would be worse,” Susan confessed. “I’m just thankful we didn’t have to see it.”
Gillian dropped her head to Susan’s shoulder. “At least it was quick. He got a better death than your mum did, or my parents. And, hey, at least we’ve done that part before.”
“True. And we’re not going to school on top of it.” Susan sighed and snuggled deeper into the couch. “I’m so glad you’re both here with me.”
“Where else would we be?” Antony leaned his head against Susan’s. “Face it. You’re stuck with us for life.”
Susan smiled, for the first time in what felt like ages. “You know, I think I can be okay with that.”