Prologue
I straightened my chiffon scarf so the small forget-menots lay flat against my crisp, white shirt. A quick tug
of my sleeves, brushing off imaginary fluff, a pat of my
hair, tied back in a neat ponytail, and I was as ready as
I would ever be. My rubber-soled shoes allowed me to
silently do the last check of the small room. Every seat
was presentable – the flowers arranged just so – and the
windows and mirrors were spotless. Not a fingerprint
or smudge in sight. The lights were set to the correct
level, the gaudy air freshener that had been here when
I’d arrived was where it belonged – in the bin – the
synthetic lily of the valley scent no longer catching at
the back of your throat. I smiled at the calming space.
It looked perfect.
It had been another late night, preparing for today
and the other services I had this week. I could hear my
boss Frank’s voice warning me that I was going to end
up burnt out if I wasn’t careful. I’d already had niggles
with my neck and shoulders that he was convinced were
stress-related, despite my insistences that I was fine. I’d
catch up on sleep this weekend, I promised myself.
The sound of car tyres pulled me away from giving
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one of the red ribbons I’d looped though the end of the
pews a final flourish. The family hadn’t specified a colour
scheme but, as Mr Oakes had been a lifelong Liverpool
FC fan, I thought they’d appreciate the gesture.
I straightened up and nodded to Leon, who was giving
the sound system a once-over. He was my favourite of
the team. He understood what I was trying to achieve
without too much questioning, usually a slight raising of
his bushy grey eyebrows or pressing his thin lips together
would be all he’d say about some of my more ‘out there’
ideas. I ran a finger over the lectern. Clean as a whistle.
‘Leon, before I forget, did you get my message about
next Wednesday? The Rivers family want to change their
dove release from before to after the memorial slot.’
Leon nodded. ‘Don’t you worry. When would I ever
let you down?’
‘Thank you.’ I was about to mention something else
when a soft tinkle of an alarm began playing.
‘That’s our two-minute warning,’ I said, fishing my
phone from my pocket, switching it to silent and double checking the time.
Earlier I’d received a call that the cars had left precisely
on time. I’d asked the drivers to take a slight detour that I
hoped would bring some comfort to the family, if it went
to plan. I had already checked the online route map for
any last-minute traffic jams, diversions or roadworks,
and had breathed a sigh of relief – everything looked
clear.
I’d also made sure to check the weather app in case
we needed to provide more umbrellas – Spring had been
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all over the place. I’d learnt quickly that small things like
bottles of water in the cars and even sunscreen could
make a huge difference. People didn’t remember to take
things like that with them on days like these.
‘Seriously, Grace.’ Leon nodded at my phone, unable
to hide a smile. ‘An alarm?’
‘You get on with your job and I’ll get on with mine,’
I replied politely.
‘I forgot, organisation is liberation,’ he parroted. I
think it was meant to mimic me. A flourish of blush
spread across his cheeks at the look I gave him.
I let it go and cleared my throat.
‘It’s time.’
He composed himself, gave a solemn nod, then pressed
play.
The room was suddenly filled with the sound of
Gerry and the Pacemakers’ ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’. It
played at just the right volume from the hidden speakers
that had recently been installed at my suggestion, the
sound optimised so that the acoustics were the same for
all the guests.
‘Show time,’ Leon whispered and pulled open the
doors.
We took our positions. We were mere background
players from then on. There to observe, supervise and,
above all, ensure everything went to plan. The family
slowly walked in, steely determination etched on their
pale faces.
A light oak-veneered coffin was carried over the
threshold.
Heads bowed, feet shuffled, the odd gasp of
breath was just audible over packets of tissues rustling.
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As the service got underway, I scanned my eyes around
the congregation. Mr Oakes had clearly been a popular
man. I’d gone to the liberty of printing off extra orders of
service just in case the numbers given by his family were
off slightly, and I appeared to be proven right. Nearly
every seat was taken.
I sensed Leon smiling at me.
‘You’re miming the words again,’ he whispered. I
looked away to hide any sign of blushing. I had a habit
of doing that.
Mr Oakes’s son, Edward, made his way to the
lectern. Each slow step was painful to watch. He
tugged at his shirt collar and fidgeted in his black
suit. Clearly a trip to the dentist or a gruelling job
interview would be a walk in the park compared to
this. Some people revelled in being centre stage, no
matter what the occasion. Edward Oakes was not one
of those people.
He took two deep breaths to compose himself. The
microphone whined that he was too close, a jolting sound
that clearly didn’t help with his nervous state. He jerked
back and wiped his glistening forehead.
‘I’ve been asked to give a reading and then introduce
the piece of music Dad loved so much.’ He swallowed
and tried to focus his red-rimmed eyes on the card in his
trembling hands. I ran through the short, concise speech
in my head. His mother had chosen the text and the song
was one they’d danced to on their wedding night.
He cleared his throat once more and began to read.
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*
Before long, guests exited the room, blinking back the
bright spring sunlight and exclaiming what a good service it had been.
‘He would have been proud.’
‘It summed him up perfectly. He’d have been sorry to
have missed it.’
I bowed my head as they filed past.
‘Grace? Thank you.’ Mrs Oakes had come up to me and
was now gripping my elbow. Her mascara had smudged
and her voice trembled with emotion but she was doing
a remarkable job of holding herself together. I wondered
how long she would cope, keeping up this pretence.
‘You’re more than welcome. I hope everything went
well?’
She let out a loud sniff. I subconsciously patted in my
back pocket for the packet of tissues I always kept with
me.
She kept in the threat of tears and gave my arm a rub.
‘He would have been delighted. I noticed the red ribbons. A lovely touch. I didn’t know we’d mentioned him
being a Liverpool fan – he was mad for them.’ She flicked
her eyes heavenward and smiled sadly. ‘We were driven
past his favourite pub on the way here, where he used to
go and watch the games on the big screen. The landlord
and the staff all lined up as we went past. It was very
touching. I didn’t even know they’d been told the news.’
I’d go and thank the team for pulling that off. I’d
had a long chat with the landlord, who’d insisted he do
something to mark the passing of one of his locals.
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‘I’m so pleased it all went to plan. You had quite the turnout too. Your husband was clearly a much-loved gentleman.’
Mrs Oakes blinked at the guests still making their way
out from the ceremony room. For a second it seemed like
she’d forgotten why she was here. ‘He was.’
‘I won’t keep you, but if there is anything else you need
then please don’t hesitate to give me a call.’
She smiled and sniffed again. Her game face going
on. ‘Oh and thank you for your lovely note, it was very
thoughtful.’
I had popped it through her letterbox yesterday evening, wanting to let her know that I was thinking of her.
The night before you bury your husband was never going
to be a pleasant one.
‘You’re welcome. My phone number is on there if
you ever can’t get me at work. Take care of yourself,
Mrs Oakes.’
I left her surrounded by her family and friends and
allowed myself a slight rush of pride as I walked over
to my car. Another success. Mrs Oakes and the other
families that I helped would never know the lengths I
went to in order to deliver on the day. I was proud of the
unseen ways in which I ensured a personal and heartfelt
tribute to the people in my care. I took it upon myself to
see the side of people that others don’t see. I knew how
important this was. It made the late nights, extra work
and long shifts worth it – knowing I had done as much
as I possibly could.
This was not a dress rehearsal, after all. You only get
one chance at the perfect goodbye.
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