‘I’m not. I mean, I wasn’t.’ I shook my head as if trying to jostle the right words into place. I only needed two: ‘Madeline died.’
Then three more, after he’d come to sit beside me, my face buried in his new shirt as I sobbed. ‘I found her.’
‘I’ll make some tea,’ Elliot said once I’d composed myself enough to prise myself away from him and pat down my dungarees pockets until I found a tissue. ‘I think Isaac has chocolate biscuits in his cupboard.’
‘You were going to make lunch,’ I said, realising the time. ‘I’ve messed up your schedule again.’ I shook my head. ‘Ireallyneed to stop doing that.’
Elliot stood up, a look on his face that I was too overwrought to interpret. ‘I’d rather you didn’t. You messing up my schedule is the best thing that’s happened to me in years.’
* * *
‘I couldn’t tell. I didn’t notice anything different about her,’ I said, croaky from crying. ‘Should I have spotted it? I took a taxi home with her after riding Duchess.’
‘She rode the horse?’
‘Oh my goodness. She rode a great big, massive horse!’ I pressed one hand against my forehead, wishing for the millionth time that I’d held my ground the day before. ‘I was there. I let her, even though I knew it was probably dangerous. I gave in because it was Madeline. If it had been Veronica, or Rusty, I’ve had said no way. What if me giving in was what… what made her…’
‘No.’ Elliot’s voice was tender as he bent his head to meet my eyes, which were brimming with tears again. ‘The guy with the horse, he’s qualified in this stuff, isn’t he? Riding for the disabled? It was up to him to authorise it. And Madeline was perfectly capable of making her own decision. She wanted to do it.’
‘Jim wanted to pet lions instead of puppies, but I said no.’ I sniffed.
Elliot smiled. ‘Not quite the same.’ He adjusted his position to face me. ‘Think of it this way. The day before she died, you made her dream come true.’
I nodded, remembering our last conversation. ‘She said it was the best day.’
‘There you go, then.’
‘It’s not a terrible way to die, either,’ he said a minute or two later. ‘Sitting on her favourite bench, watching the horses.’
‘She…’ I stopped, took another shaky breath, waited until the lump in my throat had eased enough for me to speak. ‘She was smiling.’
Elliot nodded. ‘Feel sad, Jessie. Mourn your friend. Miss her. But promise me you won’t feel one second of blame for how she died.’
‘But if I’d not left her… if I’d only…’
He took my hand in his and I wanted to hang onto it forever.
‘Looking back with what ifs and if onlys: those kind of regrets will only hurt you. They can’t change anything for the better. Trust me, I learnt that the hard way.’
I could only nod. I’d learnt that the hard way, too.
* * *
Two weeks later, nearly two hundred people crammed into Houghton church dressed in their brightest and best outfits. As per Madeline’s written instructions, the funeral service followed an earlier cremation attended by family and close friends. Arthur greeted us with sympathetic smiles and reassuring handshakes as he pointed out empty seats and reminded us that we were all invited to the Barn for drinks and refreshments afterwards.
Elsa led the service with a warmth and sincerity that showed how she’d taken the time to get to know Madeline in the few months they’d been part of the same church. She put an arm around Madeline’s niece when she choked up half-way through her eulogy, and made the perfect, gentlest of jokes when a four-year-old boy asked, ‘Where’s Madeline gone?’
In between squeezing some air past the rock of grief in my chest, I thought I’d better at least try to be a comforting presence to her friends from the Barn. As we sat in the garden with plates of Wendy’s sandwiches and cakes, it soon became apparent that they were the ones offering comfort to me. These men and women had experienced loss countless times between them, and their pragmatic honesty, their ability to laugh and cry as they embraced the sadness, while at the same time celebrating a wonderful human being who’d lived a long life full of love, was a lesson I’d never forget. I caught glimpses of Arthur – often with Elsa – and his family, gliding through the mass of mourners as they ensured a seamless farewell, and for the first time I understood what his job really meant.
‘You were amazing today,’ I told him that evening, when we all gathered to sample Isaac’s first attempt at homemade meatballs around a new garden table. My housemates were pretending it was a coincidence that everyone was there, including Elsa and Connie, but I recognised a show of solidarity after my emotional day.
‘Oh, well, not really,’ he said, helping himself to another piece of garlic bread. ‘Madeline left clear, detailed instructions so it was straightforward enough. Nothing overly complicated.’
‘No, I mean it. I hadn’t appreciated until now how important it is, making sure a family and friends get to have a proper goodbye. What you do – I used to think it was a bit morbid. Like, something to hide from prospective dates in case they were creeped out. But your family get alongside people at their most painful, difficult times, and make it as lovely as you can. That’s incredible work and I owe you a massive apology for ever thinking it was anything other than that. You should wear that suit and hat with pride whenever you feel like it. Oh, and if I die any time soon, you’d better be the one arranging my send-off. Both of you,’ I added, looking at Elsa.
‘With all due respect, Jessica, and thank you for your insights, but I did already know all that,’ Arthur said, with a smile that was only as condescending as I deserved. ‘As did Elsa, hence her not being creeped out at all by my job. But I’m glad you thought today went well.’
‘Feel free to fire me,’ I said. ‘I did try to tell you I don’t really know anything.’
