Where are you, Josie?

I know you told me you needed to be alone and not to contact you, but it’s been two years now, and I have no idea where you are or how you are. Sometimes I worry whether you’re even alive. I try not to think like that because I believe you are. I believe you’re safe and well somewhere. I have no idea if you’re even reading these emails, but I’m never going to stop sending them. I’m never going to stop hoping that one day you’re going to get back in touch.

OK, I know this email is very long, so I’ll stop writing now.

I love you.

x

A Celebration of Life

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your flat cap. You look very smart.’

‘Gisele always liked me in this suit. Said I looked like Cary Grant.’

‘Cary Grant was gorgeous.’

‘I used to say to her, “I look nothing like bloody Cary Grant, you daft bugger—”’

‘Do you want a tissue?’

‘Nay, I’ll be right.’

‘I’ve got tissues.’

‘Look at me. Now who’s being a daft bugger?’

‘Here you go.’

‘Thanks, love.’

‘OK, Cary Grant, are you ready?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

Gisele passed away a few days after the fire. I was still reeling from recent events when I received the phone call. Valentine was with her, holding her hand. He said it was very peaceful. It wasn’t unexpected – she’d recently developed pneumonia and had been moved to the local hospital – but we still wept together on plastic chairs, when I went to pick Valentine up and found him sitting in the side ward with a carrier bag of her things.

The funeral was arranged for two weeks later and I helped him organize it. There’s a lot of practical stuff to sort out when someone dies. It brought back memories of Dad’s death; Josie couldn’t stop crying, so it had been down to me to make all the decisions. And there are so many decisions. Before you can even begin to grieve and deal with your emotions, you’re making tea for funeral directors who sit at your kitchen table, handing you brochures of coffins and asking if you want to fork out a grand for wicker or double that for oak. In which case, have you thought about what kind of handles you want? And will that be burial or cremation? And have you spoken to the local vicar to ask when he’s free to do the service?

Two weeks on Tuesday, as it turned out. Valentine wanted everything kept simple. Gisele wouldn’t have wanted a fuss. Just a few of her favourite hymns and some nice flowers to decorate the village church. She loved flowers. Pinks and purples were her favourite, so I contacted the local florists. I also made a simple notice and put it in the post-office window, announcing when the service would be. There was only one thing Valentine was adamant about. ‘Don’t call it a funeral. It’s a celebration of her life.’