Page 28 of A Village Theatre Murder
‘It was? How could you tell?’
‘Smiling, laughing, hair-tossing, exchange of personal information, compliments…For a start.’
Sean smiled, and made an exaggerated gesture with his head which would pass as a hair-toss if his hair wasn’t thinning and cut short. ‘I’m Dr Sean O’Connor,hahaha, and if you’ll permit me to say so, you are a most attractive woman…For a start.’
‘Thank heavens you’re not on the market, with that flirting game,’ Julia laughed and put her arm throughhis, pulling him close.
‘Thank heavens,’ he said, fervently, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
The dogs ran to them, then back to Jono and Laine and the goat, and then back to the leaves, before finally falling into step with Julia and Sean.
‘They’ll be good and tired this afternoon, while we’re at the funeral,’ said Sean.
Nothing like the word ‘funeral’ to leach the good cheer from a walk, and the last warmth from the wan autumn sky. Julia looked at her watch. ‘Best we get home. The funeral is at three and we have to have lunch and get changed.’
Sean looked back at Jono and Laine, who showed no sign of moving. Laine was gesturing to the goat and talking, Jono smiling and nodding. He was a good-looking young man, and his face lit up beautifully when he smiled.
‘He’ll come back when he’s ready. Come on.’
Half of Berrywick was at Graham’s funeral, including, unsurprisingly, all of the South Cotswolds Players, and all the members of the book club, who seemed to have gravitated towards each other at the back of the mourners gathered at the grave after the service. Julia and Sean had joined them. Julia gave Tabitha a quick hug and whispered a hello to Dylan, then nodded to Hector and Troilus and the others. She saw Hayley and Walter across the way, Hayley’s quick eyes darting around the crowd, taking it all in. Working, Julia thought, wondering what she was looking for, specifically. Probably the same as Julia – someone who could have accessed the props cupboard with nobody noticing? The problem was that backstage is a busy place. It’s hard to narrow down the possibilities without something more. There was no doubt that Hayley was thinking the same.
Looking between the rows of heads, Julia saw Graham’sfamily at the graveside. Jane looked dazed, as if she might have taken something to take the edge off. Hannah was next to her, holding her hand.
‘Good to see Hannah has so much support,’ said Tabitha, quietly, nodding towards half a dozen young women roughly Hannah’s age, standing behind her, occasionally patting her on the shoulder, or offering a tissue or a bottle of water.
‘They are her old school friends,’ said Flo, who had slipped in next to Julia. ‘I recognise some of them. They were the year above my Fiona at school. Nice that they’ve all come out to be with Hannah, poor lamb. Losing her father like that, and the baby so little, still.’
The baby looked back at them over Hannah’s husband’s shoulder, his round head bobbing on the little neck, his wide eyes a clear, untroubled blue. He would never know his grandfather. But he didn’t know that, of course.
The priest invited Graham’s friend and the district manager of the supermarket where Graham had been manager to say a few words, which he did in a low, rumbling voice, like rocks tumbling down a hill. He had a poetic turn of phrase. ‘He was as honest as the day is long,’ said the man, who had been introduced as Bill. ‘He always had a kind word for anyone he met…Our customers and staff will tell you that he was always ready to give a person a chance, or a hand up…Especially those starting out in life.’
Julia had hardly known Graham, but she was quite moved to hear about his many good qualities. There was some nodding amongst the congregation, and one of the young women in front started to cry quietly, stifling little sniffs and sighs.
‘He was a generous man,’ Bill continued.
‘True,’ Flo whispered to Julia. ‘He was known as a good tipper at the Buttered Scone.’
‘Graham loved his family fiercely. Jane, Hannah, we know that you werethe treasures of his heart.’
Jane’s face was a mask. Anti-anxiety meds, was Julia’s guess. Julia had always admired Jane’s lively manner and elegant style. She wore her hair steely grey, in a short and stylish cut. She was always beautifully dressed, and quick with a wry comment. Today, grey-faced and dressed in black, she looked about ten years older than the woman she’d been at book club three weeks ago.She’d apparently asked for the funeral to be held as soon as possible, because she couldn’t bear the idea of Graham sitting around in a morgue, and the police had released the body as there was no debate as to the manner of Graham’s death.
Hannah looked like a woman who’d just walked out of a car wreck. She was motionless, but for a tear trailing down her cheek.
On the other side of the grave, towards the back of the crowd, a girl was crying as if her heart would break. Her shoulders were shaking, causing her hair to ripple prettily in the weak sunlight. When the girl turned, showing a glimpse of her face, she was familiar. Julia had seen her before, recently. That red hair was hard to forget.
‘He loved the theatre, and although he died in a tragic accident, there is comfort in knowing he died on the stage, doing what he loved.’
Julia wouldn’t have gone there, herself. But then, she’d seen the effects of the tragic accident up close, the big raw rip of a bullet into his chest. She tried to put the image out of her mind. Graham was at peace now, tucked into his wooden coffin, alongside the grave that would be his home for all eternity.
The priest had taken over, now. As the pallbearers lowered the coffin into the grave, a cloud moved in front of the sun, and a breeze came up. A few dead leaves skittered and rustled across the graveyard. The air was suddenly cool, and the mourners drew their coats closer against the chill. Julia pulled the collar of her jacket up to protect her neck from the breeze, and wishedshe’d brought a scarf. Sean put his arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his warmth.
The priest committed Graham Powell to the earth, with words that Julia always found comforting even if she didn’t entirely believe them: ‘In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brother Graham and we commit his body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him, the Lord lift up his countenance upon him and give him peace.’
The official ceremony over, the mourners drifted over to the church hall, where tea had been set up. Making a detour past the bathroom, Julia heard sniffing and nose blowing coming from one of the stalls. As she washed her hands in preparation for a scone, the door opened and the weeping redhead emerged. A length of thin loo paper trailed from her hand. The girl crunched it up and dampened it, and went to work on the black streaks and smudges on her face. The paper disintegrated into damp little worms and torn-off bits. Her face wasn’t noticeably cleaner.
‘Here you are, dear.’ Julia handed her a small pack of tissues from her bag. Two-ply, quality stuff, better suited to the ravages of grief.
‘Thank you,’ the girl gulped, accepting the tissues.
