‘Tell me about it,’ said Marlowe, handing her a glass. ‘But it’s OK to cry, you know.’
Emilia managed to compose herself. She wanted to relax, not grieve. As she drank her wine, Emilia managed to unwind properly for the first time since she’d come home. The kitchen felt alive again, with the music and the company, and she found herself laughing when Marlowe told her about the disastrous impromptu poker school he and Julius had set up the winter before last.
‘We were rubbish,’ he told her. ‘Luckily the maximum stake was only a fiver, or you probably wouldn’t have a roof over your head.’
Emilia didn’t mention that she was slightly worried she might not anyway.
When he left, after two glasses of wine not one, the flat seemed a slightly dimmer place. He ruffled her hair as she left, an affectionate gesture, and she smiled as she turned and shut the door. People were kind; people were loving. At least, the people her father had attracted were.
When Emilia went to bed that night, her head was spinning with accidentals and spreadsheets and pizzicato and bank loans and opening hours and crescendos. And the running order for Julius’s memorial – everyone in Peasebrook wanted to do something, it seemed. But despite all the things whirling around in her brain, she thought how lucky she was to have the support of such wonderful people – June and Mel and Dave, and Andrea, and Marlowe. Whatever she decided, she was going to be all right.
Seven
On the morning of Julius’s memorial, the staff gathered in the middle of the book shop just before it was time to set off. Emilia felt filled with pride. June, who still insisted on coming in every day to help out, was in a deep pink wool dress with a matching wrap. Dave, as a Goth, always wore black anyway, but he had on a splendid velvet frock coat and a black ribbon in his ponytail. Mel had changed three times but settled on a purple satin Stevie Nicks skirt and a plunging top that showed off her impressive cleavage. Emilia had gone for traditional black, in a high-necked dress with lace sleeves and a full skirt that fell almost to her ankles but would enable her to play. Her dark red hair was tied in a chignon.
‘We look like something out of Dickens,’ smiled June. ‘He’d be very proud.’
They’d decided to shut the shop, as a mark of respect, but Dave and Mel were coming straight back to open up. Emilia wasn’t providing anything afterwards. She felt as if she had already made everyone in Peasebrook tea over the past few weeks, and she didn’t have the emotional energy left to host any sort of wake. The memorial would be uplifting and that, she hoped, would be it. She could start looking ahead to the future and make some concrete decisions.
‘I just want to say, before we go, how grateful I am. You’ve been diamonds, all of you. I wouldn’t have got this far without your support. I’d have fallen apart.’
June put her arm round her. ‘Rubbish. You’re made of stern stuff. And you know how much we all thought of your father.’
‘Come on, then,’ said Emilia. ‘Let’s go and see him off. Give him the send-off he deserves.’
She was trying to be brave, but inside she felt small, and really all she wanted was her father here to tell her it was going to be all right, but he was never going to do that again. It was up to her to make everything all right. And not just for herself, she was starting to realise. For everyone. Julius had left behind so much: so many friendships, so much loyalty.
She shut the door of the shop with a ceremonial flourish and set off down the high street with her little entourage. Marlowe had taken the cello to the church and was going to tune it so it was ready for her. The quartet was going to play too – Elgar, one of Julius’s great loves. Marlowe had arranged the ‘Chanson de Nuit’ especially for the four of them.
St Nick’s was at the other end of the high street, fronted by an ancient graveyard. It was a bright autumn day, the sky a brisk blue, the sharpness of the air cutting through the smell of fallen leaves. Emilia arrived at the church door and stepped inside. She gasped. The service wouldn’t start for half an hour but already the pews were full to bursting.
‘Oh,’ she said, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘Look how many people there are.’
June touched her shoulder gently.
‘Of course, my darling girl,’ she told her. ‘Of course.’