Page 75 of My Kind of Happy

‘You bring your dog to work like me,’ I said, stroking the soft fur on the animal’s head.

Wendy nodded. ‘This is Florence, after Florence Nightingale because she’s always been such a brilliant nurse. There’s a cat called Charlie around somewhere as well. Animals reduce anxiety and we get a lot of that in here. Both of them seem to have a sixth sense, knowing when they’re needed. People tend to arrive here in a state of bewilderment without a clue what they want for their loved ones.’

I felt a lump in my throat. It was the anniversary of Freddie’s death next month; a whole year would have passed. But the memory of sitting in a room similar to this one, forced to choose between mahogany and pine when all I really wanted to do was scream that this must all be a giant wind-up was as fresh and raw as if it had happened yesterday.

‘Charlie will curl up into a ball on someone’s lap and within minutes, the client is calmer and able to make some decisions.’

Florence lowered her chin onto my knee and gazed up at me with heart-melting chocolate brown eyes.

‘And Florence does that,’ said Wendy with a smile.

I swallowed. ‘They’re magic, aren’t they, animals? Scamp came into my life just when I needed him. He gave me something to get out of bed for, someone to smile for every morning. And gradually I found I didn’t have to fake my smile any more.’

‘You’ve lost someone recently?’ said Wendy.

I nodded. ‘My brother. We were very close. We even bought a house together. Life lost its meaning for a while.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’ Wendy nudged the box of tissues on the table in front of us towards me.

‘He had a motorbike accident.’ I took a deep breath but managed to stave off the tears. ‘Yet he was the safest rider I knew. His friends even called him Steady Freddie.’

Wendy groaned. ‘And I made a stupid comment about a floral tribute in the shape of a bike. I’m so sorry, no wonder you made a swift exit.’

‘It’s fine. Really,’ I assured her. ‘In a way I’m glad it happened. It made me realise that getting over a bereavement isn’t a linear process, it’s a journey that can circle back and forwards at any time. And I don’t want to not talk about Freddie. He was a big ray of sunshine in my life and it isn’t right to shut out that light. He deserves better than that.’

Wendy nodded. ‘He sounds like my type of guy. I always go for bikers.’

I laughed softly. ‘I used to. But not any more. It’s four wheels or nothing now.’

There was a gentle knock at the door; the receptionist appeared, chewing her lip. ‘Sorry to intrude but Mr Benton-Ridley is here early. He’s brought his sister with him.’

Wendy checked her watch and frowned. ‘Right. Offer them a drink and I’ll be out shortly.’

The receptionist nodded and left.

‘You’re busy. I’ll leave you to it,’ I said, levering Florence’s head from my knee so I could stand up.

‘Wait a sec,’ said Wendy, going to her desk and picking up a leaflet. ‘This is what we give to our clients who want a traditional funeral. Can you do something similar for more modern arrangements? I’d like to give people some idea of the alternative to the norm.’

I flicked through it quickly. ‘Of course I can.’

‘And just a thought, but would you like to sit in on this meeting? I’ve spoken to Mr Benton-Ridley on the phone already. His wife’s death was expected. That doesn’t lessen the grief, obviously, but I got the impression that he wouldn’t be a weeper. It might help you to see the sort of details which go into organising a funeral.’

I felt a flutter of unease at being in the presence of someone else’s grief, but I spread my hands. ‘If the client doesn’t mind, then yes please, that’d be useful.’

Wendy excused herself to double check that everyone would be happy with that. She returned almost immediately with a man in his late fifties with fatigue etched into his face and a small woman who shared the same hazel eyes and auburn hair. Both of them carrying drinks.

‘Our florist, Fearne Lovage,’ said Wendy, making the introductions and showing her clients to the sofa. ‘And this is Mr Benton-Ridley and his sister …?’

‘Annette,’ supplied the woman. She paused to blow on her drink and then sipped it. Florence stood up politely to sniff the new arrivals. ‘Gorgeous dog. We’re dog lovers aren’t we, Nigel? Brought up with dogs. I’ve got three shih-tzus myself. Val, his wife never wanted one though, did she?’

‘No, she was allergic,’ said Mr Benton-Ridley quietly. His cup wobbled in its saucer as he sat down and he set it carefully on the coffee table. ‘Please call me Nigel.’

‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ I said as we shook hands.

‘Thank you,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘My wife had Alzheimers. I began losing her four years ago. It has been a long and painful goodbye.’

My heart went out to him. He looked shattered and bewildered.