He squeezed beside her and she felt the heat of his thigh against her own. Would people on the bus think them a couple? she thought pleasurably and then remembered that no one else could see Henry. This is all quite surreal, thought Rita. One minute she was living her normal life and the next she was entering this strange world of Henry’s, where nothing seemed to be what it ought to be.
They watched from the window as people rushed for shelter from the heavy downpour. Inconsiderate drivers splashed through puddles, soaking nearby pedestrians who waved their fists in anger. A watery sun struggled to break through the clouds and Rita prayed it would. Henry deserved the sun to shine on him.
‘A church,’ Henry muttered beside her. ‘I don’t understand it.’
Rita turned to look at him. His face was so close that she could see a small pimple on his cheek.
‘Perhaps Imogen had to,’ she consoled him. ‘You know, with the crematorium closed.’
It was a weak excuse. Imogen could easily have changed the day.
‘But I wouldn’t want to be buried,’ Henry said worriedly.
‘I know what you mean,’ she agreed.
Rita sometimes thought about what happened after death. She didn’t fancy being cremated or buried. She wondered who would arrange her funeral and then decided it didn’t really matter. She wouldn’t know anything about it and that consoled her. Hopefully she would be nicely ensconced in a nursing home. That wouldn’t be too bad, she decided. Better than being alone.
Rita’s arm brushed against Henry’s as the bus jolted over a bump in the road. She found herself hoping they might not make it in time to catch the number 33. That they might miss Henry’s funeral and she wouldn’t have to see his wife, because supposing, horror of horrors, she could see Henry too. What would happen then? However, to her dismay, the number 87 made it in plenty of time. She looked at Henry. He seemed so real. Was she mad? Was Henry mad? Was she really seeing Henry or was he just a figment of her imagination? She shrugged and decided she didn’t really care if he was. She was enjoying her time with him and if Henry were indeed dead then she didn’t have to worry about sinning. It wouldn’t count.
The number 33 bus came along. It was neither delayed nor cancelled. Rita was on her way to Henry’s funeral and there was nothing she could do about it.
Chapter Thirteen
Henry stared ahead. The sun had triumphantly broken through the clouds. The heavy downpour had now turned to a light drizzle.
‘That’s it,’ said Rita pointing.
Ahead of them, through a light mist of rain, could be seen a church steeple.
Henry nodded nervously.
He was having doubts now they were here. However, he couldn’t really say anything, not after convincing Rita to come with him.
‘What’s the time?’ he asked.
Rita pulled up the sleeve of her raincoat and checked her watch.
‘Twenty past two,’ she replied.
Henry walked a few steps further and could now clearly see the church steeple. The ringing of the church bells reached his ears. They were ringing for him, he thought. He turned to speak to Rita and realised she was no longer with him. He turned to see she had stopped and was looking in fascination at the church.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t go any further,’ she said, biting her lip.
Henry had a weird sensation that they were re-enacting a scene fromThe Wizard of Oz. Henry was on his way to ask the wizard for his life back and Rita … Henry wondered what Rita would request from the Wizard of Oz. He rather thought it would be love. He had sensed Rita wanted love more than anything. Something about her reminded Henry of a sad and lonely puppy he and Imogen nearly adopted once.
‘He’s been through the wringer,’ the woman at the Blue Cross had said. ‘Poor little thing.’
Henry had said it would be a big responsibility keeping a pet and they had decided against it. That was how Rita looked, thought Henry, as though she’s been put through the wringer.
‘But you’ve come all this way,’ he said.
He really didn’t want to enter the church alone. Supposing, just supposing this was his funeral and not some other unknown Henry?
‘Your family will all be there,’ said Rita sadly. ‘No one will know who I am.’
I’ll be the outsider looking in, thought Rita, just like always.
‘I’ve invited you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m entitled to invite whoever I like to my own funeral.’
