“So since I can’t be there in person—though, really, I think live funerals will catch on now we’re in the selfie generation—I want to leave some last words, from beyond the grave.” She put on a spooky voice, then laughed, then coughed. “Crap. I better not be too funny. Okay. Last will and testament of me, Pauline Sarah Leonard—ha, yes, Pauline... I managed to cover that one up well, didn’t I?—being of sound-ish mind and not-at-all-sound body. This isn’t a will for my things. I don’t have anything worth willing, since Tom kept the house—hi, Tom, if you’re there.”
Tom, who was eating a quail’s egg, turned red and began coughing into a napkin. On-screen Polly went on. “So. What I’m going to give away today is not possessions, it’s intangible things. Costas. Is Costas there?”
He waved, as if she could see him.
“Sandy—is Sandy there, too?” She was, drinking mineral water, thin and elegant in off-white. “I want you to give my boy Costas a job. He’s wasted making coffee. He’s got the best eye for color I’ve seen and I think he’ll do you proud. Bet he looks great today, right?”
Sandy nodded. “We’ll talk, Costas.”
“Now, George. Where is my lovely brother? Moaning about the food, no doubt.” George paused with his hand hovering over the plate of crudités, which he’d been scowling at. “George, my dearest brother, you and I both know you’ve not been living an honest life. I don’t really blame you—which of us does?—but now it’s time to be who you really are. No matter what Mum thinks.” Valerie, who was sitting alone on a sofa, stiffened. “So I give you Dion—is Dion here? I hope you were well enough to come.”
“He was!” someone shouted. Dion waved his stick from the corner where he’d plonked himself, looking exhausted.
“George, look after Dion. What happened to him and his friends was awful, but because of their generation, it hopefully won’t happen to you. He’s someone who’s had to fight to be himself—it won’t be as hard for you, thanks to him. I know you’re up to it, bro. Hear his stories. Find out what went on—you’re part of a community, a history, and I want you to be proud of that and not ashamed. And, Mum, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you. But it’s true. Let Georgie be who he is and let him be happy, and maybe then he’ll stop going out with utter losers who hit him. He’s loved, and love is always enough, no matter where it comes from. I hope they didn’t get back together, by the way, or this will be totes awks.”
Everyone looked at George. “We didn’t!” he said defensively. “Er, hi, Dion.”
“Hello, darling boy,” Dion said in his hoarse voice. “I don’t know if I’ll make it out clubbing, but let’s do cocktails soon.”
Polly on-screen was still talking. “Now to Mum and Dad. I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble. I know it was hard, that I wouldn’t die normally. Please look after yourselves, okay? And, George, look after them. It must suck to lose a child, especially one as awesome as me.” Valerie gave a long sob. “But that’s not what I want to say. What I want to say is—Mum, Dad, please will you get a divorce?” There was a crash as Roger dropped his wineglass. No one moved, spellbound by Polly. In death as in life. “You’ve never been happy, not really. You put up a good front—the nice house, the friends, the dinner parties—but George and I always knew you weren’t really in love. Dad’s always working, you’re always nagging...it isn’t right.”
Roger was barreling over to the technician, who could be heard saying wretchedly, “Sorry, sir, I’m not allowed to turn it off.”
“So, Dad, why don’t you move on, be happy? I know you’re drinking too much right now. I guess that’s understandable at the moment, but keep an eye on it, okay? I don’t want you joining me too soon. And, Mum, trust me, speaking as someone who tried to hold on to a husband who didn’t love her, it brings nothing but misery. Let Dad go. Find someone who’ll really love you. Do your pottery classes and your tae kwan do and whatever. You don’t need Dad to be yourself. And, Dad, I know you’ll feel guilty, but it isn’t wrong to make yourself happy. Oh, I guess I should say the same to Tom, if he turned up...” Tom was scarlet now. “If you love Fleur, why don’t you stay with her and be happy. Do interpretative dance or yoga or whatever. Just look after my Moroccan tiles, they cost a bloody fortune to ship from Essaouira.” She smiled out from the screen. “Now for the rest of you. Milly, my love, you’re the best social media person I know. Please go back to work. Harry and Lola will cope. Don’t let Seb keep you at home forever. Hi, Seb, if you’re there.”
Lola piped up. “Mummy, is that Aunt Polly?”
“Shh, darling,” said Milly, scarlet.
“Suze. Dearest Suze. You’re so special and lovely. Please, please, ditch that awful boyfriend and find someone nice. Or be on your own for a while. It’s better than being with someone who can’t appreciate you and makes you pay all his bills while he starts some kind of lame pop-up café. Okay?” Suze and Henry were side by side, gulping down champagne, avoiding each other’s eyes.
“Now Annie.” Annie jumped. She hadn’t expected to be included—such a late-stage friend. For less than one hundred days. “Are you there, Annie? I hope you did your eulogy or I’m going to haunt you from beyond. I want to say thank you. You may think I taught you things, and obviously I did—loads—but the truth is I learned something from you, too. I learned about sadness. It sounds daft but it was something I’d never really experienced. I grew up thinking that if you felt down you just needed a glass of wine or a self-help book or a yoga class or some pills from the doctor. I’d never had to think about what it’s like when your life collapses into an almighty pile of shit. When you’re not depressed, as such, you’re just so sad you think you’ll never be happy again. I might have had cancer but you, Annie—you’re the brave one. You’ve had to live with the worst pain I can imagine. One that positive thinking and yoga could never touch. And you’re still going. I admire that. That’s bravery. That’s a battle. Me, I was just...drowning with style. You were swimming against the current, every day.”
All eyes were on Annie now. She looked at the screen, her friend’s smiling face. “Er, thanks, Poll,” she said, her voice wobbling. “You couldn’t have told me that when you were alive?”
There was a small laugh, a brief easing of tension. The tech guy looked relieved. Annie guessed this was the weirdest gig he’d ever had to do. That maybe he’d go home tonight, to his housemate or girlfriend or boyfriend or parents, and tell them, and Polly would touch some more lives, like a comet burning across the sky. “So, Annie. I leave you my cancer card—you can turn it into a ‘lots of really bad shit card’ if you like. But it’s only valid for another month, and then you have to get on with things. That’s the rules. So here’s what else I leave you. I leave you Dr. Max. And, Dr. Max, if you’re there, I leave you Annie. You two need to get it on, and fast. Everyone else can see it.”