Black Valley by Charlotte Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

get on with his neighbours. However, she needn’t have worried; as it turned out, there was a respectable gathering of about twenty people. It was
a short, simple service: a woman in her thirties, whom Jess took to be Frank’s daughter, read the lesson; an older woman, who could have been his ex-wife, a carer or a neighbour, laid a small
bunch of flowers on the coffin; a hymn was sung; prayers were said; and then it was all over.
    Afterwards, the small crowd dispersed. There seemed to be no plans for a wake of any kind, and Jess knew no one there, so she, too, left discreetly. As she walked down the path to her car, she
saw the hearse for the next cremation waiting, together with a knot of mourners, reminding her that Frank’s body was one among many that would pass through that day. The words
sic transit
gloria mundi
went through her head. There hadn’t been much glory in Frank’s life, she reflected, not towards the end of it, at any rate; but at least, she consoled herself,
he’d had a decent burial, and a good turnout. The part of Cardiff where he’d lived was an old-fashioned place, in many ways; when someone died, whether or not he or she was well liked,
the neighbours in the street turned out to the funeral, simply as a mark of respect for the passing of one of their number. Such rituals continued regardless of whether anyone believed in them or
not; they were just what you did, without thinking, a common kindness extended to all.
    As Jess got into her car and drove off, she felt suddenly exhausted. Frank had taken up fifty-five minutes of her day, once a week, almost every week, for the last two years. More if you counted
the effort she’d put into reflecting on his problems, not to mention the wear and tear he’d inflicted on her own psyche with his relentless sexual harassment. Now he was gone. She
wouldn’t miss him; indeed, his passing was a positive relief. However, it left her with an uncomfortable feeling; trying as he had been, the fact that he was no longer alive and irritating
the hell out of her made her feel flat, depressed almost. All that effort, to what end? Like the line imprinted in the paving stones outside the Norwegian Church, Frank’s life had just
stopped. The same with her marriage to Bob. The early days of passion, the arrival of children, the hard work, the gentle passage into familiarity and security and a sense of achievement . . . and
then, quite suddenly, the drop into nothing.
    She drove down the tree-lined path. It was raining, just spitting rather than a downpour, and the windscreen wipers were making their familiar scratching noise. She really should get them fixed,
she told herself. It was the sort of thing Bob would have attended to in the past, and she hadn’t quite acknowledged to herself that now it was up to her to do it.
    She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Her next session was coming up in half an hour. Perhaps she should have cancelled it, she thought, given herself a little time after the funeral.
    A couple came up the road. They were young, in their twenties, and dressed in black. They were obviously late for the next funeral. As she passed, she saw that they were laughing. The woman was
clumping along in a pair of ridiculously high heels, and the man had his arm around her, trying to help her run. Neither of them noticed her as she went by. There was an air about them that
suggested a romance had just begun. Jess couldn’t help smiling when she saw them. Life still went on, didn’t it? Wearing stupid shoes, being late for appointments, falling in love . .
.
    Quite unexpectedly, she began to cry. She pulled over to the side of the road as soon as she could, scrabbled in her bag for a tissue, and sat sobbing at the wheel. It wasn’t just about
Frank, she knew, though that had been the trigger. It was about Rose missing her father, and Nella skipping school, and Bob seeing this new woman, and the lack of time she had to process all these