Cover

Dedication

To my Auntie Jennifer, a beautiful woman taken too soon.

For all those who are affected by Parkinson’s and dementia, and specifically to Auntie Jennifer’s family with love xx

1

Jemma

Three years ago – 21st May

‘Mum!’ I called up the stairs. ‘Mum! The hearse is here.’ I cocked my head to one side, listening for her reply. Nothing. What was she doing up there? She’d told me forty minutes ago that she was ‘almost ready’ and, as she isn’t one of those women who spends hours teasing one strand of hair into place, there was no reason to disbelieve her. Of all the mornings to take forever, why choose today? Shaking my head, I opened the front door to Mum’s cottage, Bear’s Pad, before Mr Golding, the funeral director, had a chance to lift the grizzly-bear knocker.

‘Good morning, Ms Browne.’ He gave a reverential bow of his head. ‘We’re ready when you are.’

‘Thank you. We’ll be out in five minutes.’ I glanced back towards the stairs. ‘Actually, it could be ten. Do we have time?’

‘Ten minutes is no problem.’

My throat tightened as I glanced past him to the black limousine parked on the sloped driveway and the hearse parked on the road. It was still hard to take in. This wasn’t a day I’d expected to experience for several decades.

I tried not to curl my lip up at the orange and yellow floral lettering arrangement resting against the side of the coffin. I hated it but Logan, my seven-year-old brother, had requested it because his best friend Billy Thomas had apparently told him that people who didn’t have one were mean and that the dead would come back to haunt them. I could have throttled Billy Thomas. Logan also wanted a floral teddy bear to thoroughly protect him against any risk of ghosts but Mum and I had managed to talk him out of that. The deceased would not have been impressed with a bear. He probably would have haunted us for that.

‘Mum!’ I called again after I’d closed the door. Still no answer. Just a lot of clattering and banging.

‘What’s Mum doing?’ Logan looked up from where he was playing with his Lego on the lounge rug. ‘She’s being very noisy.’

‘I’ve no idea, but I’m about to find out. Have you been to the toilet?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Can you do that while I check on Mum? And make sure you wash your hands.’

He put down his Lego and pouted. ‘I always do.’

‘Logan! What have we discussed about telling fibs?’

‘Okay. I promise I’ll wash them. You can smell them if you want.’

I smiled at him. ‘Tempting, but I might pass on that.’