Part One Hundred And Sixty Seven
On the Monday afternoon, Karen drove over to the vicarage to see Barbara. She'd spent the last two days barely speaking, barely communicating with anyone, but now she knew the time had come to start deciding what she wanted to do. Yvonne and Jo had stayed with her long into Saturday evening, but Karen had eventually persuaded them to go home. She had needed to be alone, and the long hours of Saturday night had given her the opportunity to do far too much thinking. George had called her on Sunday, as had John, and they had thankfully both taken the hint that she still needed some space. She'd received a call from Nikki, and Roisin had popped over to see her. It was so nice to have friends, she mused to herself, so good to know that if she needed them, they would be there for her. But Karen knew absolutely nothing about how one began arranging a funeral. So, here she was, asking the only person who wasn't at work, and who might be able to help her understand what would be the best thing to do for her son.
The vicarage where Barbara and Henry lived, wasn't far from the church where they'd performed 'The Creation.' As Karen pulled up in the gravel drive, she wondered how Henry was doing. She didn't want to disturb them, but she did need to talk to certainly Barbara, and possibly Henry as well. Birds were singing in the trees in the front garden, providing a tranquility that Karen simply couldn't feel inside. When Barbara answered the door, she looked surprised to see Karen on her doorstep. "Karen," She said, trying to offer her a warm smile. "Come in." "Is this a good time?" Karen asked, moving into the hall. "I don't want to disturb you." "Don't be silly," Barbara told her, leading the way into the airy living room. "Henry's out in the garden, supposedly writing his sermon for a christening on Saturday, but the last time I looked, he was sound asleep." "How is he?" Karen asked, taking a seat on the sofa. "He's, well, seriously ill but comfortable, I think is how they put it. But that's not what we're here to talk about, is it." "No," Karen said bleakly. "Karen, I am so, so sorry," Barbara said, wishing she could offer some kind of comfort for the torment Karen was clearly going through. "Barbara, I really don't know what I'm supposed to do, and I thought you might be the best person to ask." "Would you like a cup of tea?" Barbara asked, knowing that this was going to take a while. Smiling slightly at the old British answer to a crisis, Karen said that she would, and listened as Barbara moved about in the stone flagged kitchen at the back of the house.
When Barbara returned, and put the tea down on the coffee table, Karen resisted her usual urge to reach for a cigarette, knowing that Barbara would prefer it if she didn't smoke. "I have never arranged a funeral in my life," Karen began. "And I haven't any idea where to start." "That all depends on what you want," Barbara told her. "And what you might consider the right thing to do, also depends on what you believe in." "I don't believe in God, Barbara, I don't think I ever have done." "Why, just out of interest?" "Too many bad things have happened in my life, to convince me that nothing remotely resembling a god, can really exist. I know it sounds pretty simplistic, but that's how it is. I've never had any proof that a god exists. So, I suppose that means that I don't want a church service, and that I don't want him buried in a churchyard." "If, you had him cremated," Barbara said slowly. "That doesn't exclude you from having a perfectly suitable service." "Doesn't it?" Karen asked, clearly a little mystified. "No, of course not," Barbara reassured her. "I'm sure Henry would be perfectly happy to do it for you, if you wanted him to, and as you don't want religion to be a significant part of it, the simpler the service the better." "Are you sure he'd be up to it?" Karen asked, not wanting to put Henry under any extra strain. "Yes, I should think so." "I always thought that, if someone died, from suicide, that there was no way a vicar would even consider giving them a funeral." "That may be true of the Catholic Church, but the Church of England is a little less stern about such things. Karen, this form of saying goodbye, is really for those who are left behind. You need to begin the process of closure, and a funeral is the only way you can do that. This time is for you, and if all you want is a simple reading, and some time to reflect, then that's all there needs to be."
"Do you remember when Roisin sang at Ritchie's funeral?" Karen said after a short silence. "I might ask her to do the same for Ross." "That would provide you with some time for reflection," Barbara agreed. Just before Karen could continue trying to work out what she should do, Henry appeared in the doorway, looking thoroughly rested. "Karen," He said, entering the room and sitting down in his usual chair. "How are you?" Opening her mouth to respond, Karen realised that she simply didn't have an answer for that particular question. "Not an easy reply to give, I see," Henry observed, as Barbara moved to pour him a cup of tea. "No, not really," Karen said quietly. "I was talking to Barbara about what I should do for Ross's funeral," She added, wanting to get back to the matter in hand. "And I have something of a problem, because religion has never really been my thing." "That doesn't have to be as great a problem as you might think," Henry told her, taking the cup from Barbara with a smile of thanks. "So Barbara was telling me." "You know something," Henry said fondly though with an added touch of pride. "The first time I met Barbara, I knew that she would have made a fabulous vicar herself. She more often than not writes my sermons for me these days." "Oh, I can believe it," Karen replied conspiratorially. "Karen, if you would like me to give Ross a funeral, that does not focus on religious belief, I am perfectly willing to do that." "Yes, I would, if that would be possible," Karen told him gratefully. "Would you be willing to do it at the crematorium?" "Of course." Then, after a moment's silence, Henry fixed her with his gentle gaze and said, "God will forgive him, Karen." "But I'm not sure that I can," Karen replied quietly, finally voicing the thing that had been haunting her for the last two days. Ross had succeeded in hurting her, in the worst way possible. He had ended his life, taken himself away from her, just because he was too proud to ask for help from the one person who would have given it. "You will do, in time," Henry said gently. "Because it is something you must do, in order to recover from this. This will undoubtedly be the hardest journey you have ever traveled, but with the help and guidance of your numerous friends, you will eventually get through it." "I wish I could have faith in that," Karen said dejectedly. "Hope is all any of us have," Henry said matter-of-factly. "Even at a time like this. You cannot continue to hope for Ross's survival, but you can and must continue to have hope of your own."