“Oh my gosh, Sara!” she screeched. She flopped down onto the bed and placed her handbag down on the carpeted floor. “We were all so worried about you.” At the age of thirty-two, my sister lived the perfect life I’d dreamed of; she had a normal husband and two wonderful kids. My niece and nephew meant the world to me, but my relationship with Anita was always teetering on a knife’s edge as the years went by. She criticised every aspect of my life, and though she never quite got around to saying it, I knew my mediocrity made her feel better about herself. If I fucked up, she would insist on telling me how she would’ve handled the problem, but then again, she wouldn’t get herself into the messes I somehow managed to get myself into. “Married an abusive husband did you?” she’d say, “Well that was silly of you, wasn’t it? You must’ve done something to provoke him…”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t be there yesterday,” my mom said. “Your stepfather had a work thing, so I had to wait till Anita could bring me. And then we had to find a sitter for the grandkids, of course.”

“It’s OK,” I reassured her again, pasting a weak smile on my face. It was probably best they hadn’t arrived last night, I thought. They would’ve hovered around and pestered me with their lukewarm, drama-induced sympathies.

Facing away from me, my mother looked over her shoulder and sent a grateful but cold smile towards her stepson. “Thank you for looking after her, Harvey,” she said, her voice taut and forcibly polite.

“No problem, Victoria,” he replied without looking at her. I could feel the tension in the room rise and felt helpless to do anything from my weak position in the bed. Trapped between my mother and vile sister.

“Well, we’re here now. There’s no need for you to stay,” my mother continued.

My mom divorced my father a long time ago, and there’d been a string of relationships, and more than a few marriages until she met Harvey’s father, Russell. But my mom and Harvey had never seen eye-to-eye. He saw her as just another gold-digger, a woman who used marriage as her meal ticket. And like a career, each marriage proposal was equivalent to a promotion, a rung up the never-ending ladder.

From my position on the bed I saw a flicker of annoyance cross the side of his face. He turned. “Fine, I’ll go.”

I mouthed a “thank you” as I watched him leave and close the wooden door to my room, leaving me with two women that would, as soon as Harvey was out of earshot, peck at me and ask me how much Eric’s life insurance policy was worth.

5

Sara

Days flew by in a blur after Eric’s death. Later in the week, I found out that the cause of his death was a head-on collision with a concrete lane barrier about ten miles down the road. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the idea of losing him forever. That he was actually gone. I fully expected to see him walk through the front door at any moment, or to be there lying on the bed staring at me with his curled up lips when I woke up first thing in the morning.

I stood by my husband’s coffin, a dry tissue clutched tightly in my hand as I watched a couple of bystanders lower his cold body into the ground. A light shower spattered against the polished wood surface. Mud, tears, and sniffles surrounded me. How could they cry for a man they didn’t truly know?

But I nodded my head and accepted their condolences while they patted my arm.

Mourners stood beside me, their hands gripping their handkerchiefs and swiping at their tear-stricken faces. My mother dabbed at her eyes; she made a great widow, I thought. Her husband before Russell gave her the opportunity to play the part so well—she knew exactly what to say, knew exactly how to act around the mourners. But I couldn’t be as tactful and was in danger of slipping off the handle at any moment. If anyone else told me “Eric was a good man”, I was likely to scream in their face.

The preacher’s voice sounded in the background, muttering a few words, recalling Eric’s lifetime achievements.

Not listening, I studied the circle of people dressed in black. The only other person without a trace of emotion or tears on his face stood opposite me. Harvey lifted his head and caught my eye. He didn’t give me a reassuring smile, or nod his head in respect—he just stared at me, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

A shiver ran up my spine, and I forced myself to look away.

Finally the service was over. Rain dripped down my black umbrella as we walked back to the cars.

An elderly woman, a distant relative—a great aunt of Eric’s if I remembered correctly—walked towards me. “I’m sorry for your loss. Absolutely dreadful what’s happened. Do they know what caused the crash?”

I smiled gently and muttered a weak “thank you” as she continued to question me. Just as my head was about to explode, her watery, blue eyes boring into mine imploring for me to respond, Harvey took my elbow and interrupted the old woman.

“We have to get Sara back home now; it’s been a long day,” he said politely, his authoritative tone putting a stop to her enquiries.

“Of course, of course. I didn’t mean to pry…”

Without letting go of my arm and expertly dodging other mourners who wanted their five minutes with the supposedly grieving widow, he led me to his car instead of the funeral car reserved for the family and settled me inside, away from everyone. My mother’s and sister’s faces flashed by the window; they called for Harvey to stop but he ignored their pleas to slow down. He drove back to my house, the journey taking much longer than it should, as he deviated—literally going all around the houses—as I sat quietly, with my hands covering my face, desperately trying to shut out the world.

Grievers had already set up shop at the house, gathering to pass the time and reminisce with strangers, family and friends who’d known Eric. I tried to mingle as if it were just an ordinary social event, but instead I hid away in the kitchen, laying out food for the hungry guests, unable to talk about my deceased husband in glowing terms.

I tried to walk away from the horde, but none of them would let me, and the kitchen was full of persistent bodies.

“Could you make sure to take out the next batch of sausage rolls from the oven, Anita?”

Her sharp eyes narrowed at me. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Upstairs, I need to lie down.”

She shook her head. “No, you have to stay. People want to talk to you. They’ve come all this way for the funeral. You can’t go hide in your bedroom. Look, I’ll go get you a chair so you can sit.”

I turned away from her and braced myself against the kitchen counter. The last thing I needed was to get into a fight with her today.

Huffing, she dragged in one of the dining chairs that had been moved from the kitchen to the living room to make space.

“Here you go,” she said, as it it’d been my idea for her to get the chair.

“Thanks…”

Wedged in the kitchen, an endless stream of requests and enquiries came my way. It felt like it went on for hours.

A light tap on my arm, a bump from someone reaching behind me to get a napkin, brought me out of my hazy thoughts. My head shot forward, and I caught Harvey’s gaze. He stood by a group of mourners, dressed impeccably in his black suit. People moved to make way for him as he strode towards me.

“How you doing?”

“As well as expected, I think.”

“You don’t look so good. Do you want to get some fresh air? It’s stopped raining.”

I smiled; nothing would be better right that moment. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” he questioned, frowning down at me.

“Anita said—”

“Fuck Anita,” he said loud enough to cause a middle-aged woman beside us gasp.