Return to Belfast

I was mooching round a vintage shop when I got the text.

 

I’d been going to mum’s anyway so the news hurried me along. 

 

As always, arrangements were made between mum and Catherine. The pair of them would shop together on days off, like friends. I tagged along once; Catherine had coo’d about her grandchildren while all I could talk about was Twitter and the latest news from Syria. I hadn’t been invited again.

 

It was decided; we’d all get a return day flight from Stansted, then hire a car in Belfast. This meant we could make the memorial service up in Coleraine before driving back to the crematorium. My brother-in-law would be our driver because it was his fault (his words) that we were too many for a cab. I wondered who might be doing the drive home, thinking already about the possibility of an alcoholic wake in a cosy pub after the service.

 

We arrived half asleep at Stansted after the 4am start. We were saying goodbye to my great uncle and my cousin didn’t have any siblings to support him. We’d only recently lost our own father, my sisters and I. Our family was dwindling. It felt right to make the effort.

 

None of us was Irish. It was complicated, but not as complicated as Catherine’s latest diet. She’d brought along her own breakfast in a Tupperware pot. We were desperate to sit but Catherine wanted to go straight through to Departure, all the time worrying about whether her detox cereal might be allowed in.

 

“Why would anyone have a problem with cereal?” I asked out loud, secretly having a problem with it myself. On the other side, Catherine ate it with as much relish as the egg baguette I’d accidentally picked up in weary rush of it all. One of us was mealy-mouthed. Difficult to tell which.

 

After a smooth car pick-up at the other end, our thoughts turned once again to food. We didn’t know if my cousin had planned any kind of post-funeral tea so we hedged our bets and thought it best to pick up a snack on the way to Coleraine. Catherine became quite testy as we pulled up outside a bakery. I hadn’t realised she wasn’t allowed pastry. Everything had to be whole and preferably uncooked apparently. Mum and I bought enormous sausage rolls and doughnuts while Catherine went hunting for something suitable to eat with my ever-patient brother-in-law. Mandy’s shoes were hurting so she stayed in the car. Mandy, the baby; always excused.

 

Back in the car mum and I tucked in while Catherine ate an orange.

 

Mandy was orange, I suddenly realised. Her fake tan, combined with a red shawl and tight pencil skirt, gave her the look of a flamenco dancer. What was she playing at? And why was Catherine sticking to her silly diet – today of all days? Catherine crossly offered round the carrots she’d just bought.

 

“I can’t believe they didn’t have hummus.”

 

I sat amongst them; bespectacled, plain and tired, as I marvelled again at how different we all were. How had mum managed to spread herself between us?

 

Nothing rocked mum; not dad’s death nor the funny cough she’d developed since. Her unshakeable faith helped; in Jesus Christ. I’d not thought about Him for a while. Nothing like a funeral to jog the memory, though we quickly grasped that the service was going to be Humanist. The concept of “deity” was acknowledged here and there but starfish and leaves were mentioned quite a lot too.

 

My cousin had chosen a few pop songs to play at the end. I’m not really sure why but we all wept as the Hollies sang, “He ain’t heavy – he’s my brother”; none of us had brothers, even my great uncle. Perhaps we were all of us thinking about our fathers.

 

I turned round after the service and realised the room was full of smart, handsome looking people. My great uncle had been a successful local businessman. I couldn’t remember what he traded in but I remembered the kindness he’d shown me when I invited myself over that Christmas. The kids were away with their father and I faced the holiday alone. My cousin and I visited Londonderry on Boxing day. I’d been astonished by the guns and barbed wire, still in place on the city walls and taken a picture of myself looking meaningful, standing by a large mural that said, “Why”?  

 

 We returned to the cars. It had been decided that I would be the best person to keep my cousin company in his big limo because he talked about art as well and because of the Christmas I’d spent with him and everything. I felt awkward assuming I should be special and surprised mum by asking her to come too.  My cousin brought out some sandwiches, loads; all thick and delicious.  I felt guilty about kidnapping my mother as we ate the banquet, then remembered the doughnuts we’d left with my sisters. I tried not to enjoy the thought of Catherine looking at them, longingly.

 

The hearse arrived at the crematorium just as we did.  Good timing, I thought, then realised we’d been following it all along. I’d been too busy looking out at the narrow streets full of grim faces to notice.

 

“How depressing it is here”, Mum had remarked, quite loudly.

 

I was worried our driver might be able to hear us. The funeral attendants had been hefty and tough-looking but there was something different about him - more refined. Mum kept saying how pleasant he was. I think she fancied him a bit. He was very attentive about where the leftover sandwiches should go. I think I fancied him a bit myself actually. What’s it they say about funerals? They make you think about sex wasn’t it?

 

The only guests in Belfast were a man and woman who stood awkwardly by the entrance. I guessed they were mother and son but my cousin quickly realised they must be the long lost cousins he’d been expecting; the children of my great uncle’s sister. They must have been in front of us all along too, but even if we’d seen them we wouldn’t have known.

 

It was just us and them there in the chapel with the coffin in the end.

 

None of us felt able to ask what was planned after the service. I thought hopefully again about the cosy pub scenario but my cousin led us to a room where a huge cream tea was laid out for us. I ate as much as I could while we shared letters, photos, memories of the family with my cousin’s new cousins.

 

They looked completely different from each other and from us although she had a likeness to my great uncle’s sister (my cousin showed us all the picture to prove it). The conversation continued politely. Turned out she was fifteen years older than her brother. He had the jumpy look of someone who wanted to make a run for it. She watched him protectively; like a mother. Why the big age gap? Why was he so jumpy? Why was I so jumpy?

I’d had a lot of tea. It was only a matter of time before I started asking about the art scene wherever it was they came from.

 

Time to go.  The limos were due back in Coleraine. I felt sad at the thought of my quiet cousin going back to the empty house. I offered to come back sometime to help. I couldn’t pretend to be practical but I knew I was capable of good conversation under the right circumstances. I hoped he knew that.

 

It was six hours to the flight. We were all so tired and full that no-one could make up their minds about what to do next. My brother-in-law suggested we return the hire car and relax at the airport but I thought it a shame to waste the opportunity to go into the city itself. As we sat in the rush hour traffic Catherine Googled “shopping centre”. We turned off the main road and drove for a while through leafy suburbs to what looked like a corner shop.  Things started to become tense as she kept saying, “Well where do you want to go?” and I kept saying, “I don’t know, don’t take any notice of me” until suddenly mum said, “Why don’t we try to find a pub?”

 

We weren’t that surprised to learn that the last thing Catherine wanted (even if she’d been allowed to on her diet) was an alcoholic drink.

 

For some reason this made my mother and I more determined to have one.

 

We decided to drive towards the airport slowly, which wasn’t hard. Perhaps there’d be a little town on the way.  I pointed to a sign that looked like it pointed towards what sounded like a little town. My brother-in-law made the turn and we drove slowly through quiet streets. All the buildings were grey. Some of them had a few flags waving from the rafters and shaven-haired worried looking men standing smoking outside.

 

We turned into a cul de sac next to a large park. My brother-in-law pulled into a layby and turned off the engine.

 

“I need to stop for a moment. I just need to stop. For a moment.”

 

He closed his eyes and leant his head back onto the headrest.  It looked like he was serious.  I decided it was unwise and possibly unkind to push for a relocation, even though it seemed a shame to stop in the middle of a quiet suburb.

 

Mandy was already asleep.

 

Catherine mum and I exited carefully. Catherine strode off in front. Mum and I watched her bouncing ahead and wondered what the hurry was. I took mum’s arm as we turned into the town square, overlooked by an incongruous, American-style restaurant. Surely they might know where a pub was? The smiling, young waiting staff greeted us with open arms in the empty diner. Turned out Catherine had needed a wee. So this strange diet didn’t stop normal bodily functions then, I giggled with mum, but not wanting Catherine to hear. I was softening towards us all. We’d all had a long day. Who was I to question her self-punishment? They showed her the way as we all got chatting about why we were there. We were quickly warned not to try any of the working men’s clubs in the town. They were the ones with the flags.

 

It had been a break of sorts. We walked back to the car and set off for the airport with no more diversions.

 

As the car was returned, I grabbed mum’s arm and we u-turned to a motel I’d spotted near the airport entrance. It was more low-lit than cosy, with a smiling, Spanish head waiter type in the bar who immediately offered us seats. Mum and I ordered drinks and texted everyone to join us.

 

Things warmed up.  Catherine ordered herself a great big burger and chips with half a lager on the side.  

 

“It’s so silly isn’t it all these rules and regulations we like to impose on ourselves,” I said, downing my second pint and accepting a small whisky, “Why on earth didn’t we come back earlier?”

 

“I love you”, said my brother-in-law, tilting his own whisky to mine.

 

I looked over to him as we boarded the plane at last and gave Catherine a nudge. Hey, if that was as bad as he ever got (with the whole car in layby thing) she was a lucky woman.

 

Mandy got a second wind back at Stansted and said she’d drive us home. It was almost like she’d been waiting for her moment. I was still waiting for mine, I thought, though my joke in the bar had gone down reasonably well and I’d managed to steer clear of the news all day.