‘How did you die?’
Chapter Sixteen
Henry had, of course, thought about this often and then pushed it from his mind, because Henry didn’t really believe all this nonsense about him being dead. Something wasn’t right, he knew that, of course. He felt certain, though, that it would all be explained. He just had no idea when or how.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied honestly. ‘But I don’t actually think I am dead, you see.’
‘No,’ agreed Rita.
She didn’t like to remind him that they’d just been to his funeral and watched his grieving father give a moving eulogy. If Henry wasn’t in that wicker coffin, then who was?
Henry smiled. He did rather like how Rita always agreed with him.
‘Do we need to get the bus?’ Rita asked.
Henry wondered if he should visit his graveside, but he didn’t fancy looking at rows upon rows of crumbling gravestones. He most certainly didn’t want to look at a mound of earth with lilies atop it that spelt out Henry. No, he’d give that one a miss, thank you very much. He and Rita watched as the mourners walked to their cars. Trevor stopped and hugged Imogen. He spoke earnestly to her, his head bobbing up and down. His girlfriend said something and then walked to the church entrance to wait for him. Rita smiled and then fidgeted on her feet. Henry was about to reply to Rita about the bus when the milkman approached.
He might have been handsome once, Henry thought, but now his clear-cut features were ruined by a nose that had clearly been broken and reset several times. Perhaps he boxes in his spare time, thought Henry.
‘Do you need a lift to the pub?’ he asked, looking first at Rita and then the blonde at the side of her.
‘I think we’ll …’ Rita stopped abruptly and corrected herself. ‘I’ll walk.’
‘Thanks, but I’m with Trevor,’ said the blonde.
‘If you’re sure, only I’m going there anyway.’
Pushy so and so, thought Henry.
‘We don’t need a lift, thank you very much,’ he said. But, of course, the milkman just ignored him.
‘Thank you so much for the kind offer, though,’ said Rita.
‘Thanks anyway,’ smiled the blonde, tilting her head to one side.
‘No problem. Did you know Henry well?’
Rita, taken aback, looked to the right of her where Henry was standing. She licked her lips nervously and said, ‘Oh yes, I know him … knew him very well. He used to come into the supermarket where I work. We became good friends.’
‘Trevor is his cousin,’ said the blonde, looking again over to Trevor. Her lips tightened in annoyance. He is taking his time, thought Henry.
‘Oh right,’ said the milkman. ‘I’m Ray, I deliver their milk.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ she smiled. ‘I’m Rita.’
He didn’t comment on her name and Rita was relieved.
‘You’re their milkman?’ said the blonde, raising her eyebrows.
Exactly, thought Henry. How many milkmen attend their customer’s funerals?
‘We ought to get going,’ said Henry peevishly, turning his back on Ray.
‘I’m going to hurry my bloke up,’ said the blonde trying to hide her irritation.
‘I’ll see you at the pub then,’ said Ray.
Rita and Henry watched him drive away in an old battered Polo.
