‘Thank you for coming,’ Freddie said for the millionth time as people began to leave the wake. Pippa pinched him. ‘Ow. What?’ he asked, glaring at her.
‘It’s Mark, Pippa’s husband,’ Mark pointed out, shaking his head.
‘Oh goodness I didn’t recognise you.’ Freddie was slurring his words and Harriet knew he had put away enough whisky to render him almost blind. Freddie had always liked a drink, he was almost expelled from school for trying to brew his own vodka from potatoes when he was thirteen, but he excused it as part of his job as a party organiser in some of the hottest clubs.
Mark smiled, patiently. ‘I was in the pew with you in the church,’ he pointed out. He had his arm around Pippa, Harriet noticed with a pang of something akin to envy; he had been by her side for the whole of the wake. Although Harriet hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to Mark, she was grateful for him being there for her sister. Sad that she didn’t have anyone but happy Pippa did.
‘Oh, I’m sure you were, dear brother-in-law,’ Freddie said, pleasantly. ‘But unfortunately you have one of those forgettable faces.’
Harriet gaped at Mark, who looked a little red-faced, but then, to everyone’s relief, he laughed. Harriet let herself relax, and Pippa giggled. Freddie was a terror, but so lovable. She’d almost forgotten.
Her relationship with Gus over the years was distant, and Freddie was well, Freddie. Pippa had kept in touch via email but those emails didn’t tell the story of what was really going on, nor did Harriet’s replies. Harriet felt as if her siblings were out of her reach in many ways. Being back at home with them, having to say goodbye to her father, it hit her how much she actually missed them. How she should have tried harder to keep them together. How much she wished her father was still here to tell her how.
Thank goodness the wake was winding down – if Harriet had to smile any more, she felt her face would split in two. Her feet were killing her, she hadn’t anticipated how much standing she would have to do, but it had definitely been an event. The Singers didn’t have any other family; her father had been an only child, her mother’s family was pretty much an unknown quantity, but the villagers had shown up in full. It seemed as if most of Parker’s Hollow had come to her father’s send-off and it was clear, touchingly clear, that her father was a very popular man.
Either that or the village had heard about his wine collection.
Impulsively Harriet grabbed Pippa’s hand.
‘Come with me,’ she said, dragging her away as Mark was being cornered by one of the village’s older ladies.
Harriet ushered Pippa into the study, where she sat down and started spinning in her father’s chair. She felt dizzy and a little nauseous, so it possibly wasn’t her best idea. Pippa sat on the desk, cross-legged, taking up most of the available space. It was a scene from their childhood. But Pippa was no longer a child, she was a woman, a married grown-up. A stunning grown-up woman.
Harriet didn’t think she was beautiful like her younger sister. Pippa looked like their late mother with her white-blonde hair, blue eyes and slender figure. Harriet took after their father more. She had dark hair, was taller than Pip and her features were even, some would say striking, but not ethereal like Pippa’s.
‘I miss him,’ Harriet said, simply.
Pippa’s eyes filled with tears, but Harriet remained dry-eyed. She wanted to cry for her father, but it was as if the tap of tears had been turned firmly off. Not that Harriet was much of a crier. She had cried a lot when she was a child, well she probably had; she assumed she did. But after her mother died, she realised that she was the oldest and that meant she had to behave as such. She had to look out for her brothers and sister and suddenly tears didn’t seem to have much of a place in her life. Harriet had become so good at shutting off her feelings, she wasn’t sure how to conjure them up anymore.
‘Me too. I still think he’s going to walk in any minute. It’s funny isn’t it, how long it’s been since we’ve all been together.’ Pippa sighed. ‘I mean, it’s been years since I’ve spent any proper time with you.’
‘I know, it’s my fault. I mean, being in New York. I didn’t even come home for Christmas. I hadn’t seen Dad since your wedding. I Skyped him every week, but I didn’t come and visit. And now he’s gone.’ Harriet swung the chair violently. The guilt was strangling her.
‘We didn’t know he was going to die,’ Pippa said quietly.
Harriet nodded. No, they had no idea that he was dying, and she knew if she had she would have rushed back to see him. But what sort of daughter did that make her? One who would only fly across the ocean to say goodbye? It didn’t make her feel any better about herself.
‘Pip, shall we go to the summer house?’ Harriet asked. She had no other ideas of how to reconnect with her siblings, but the summer house was somewhere they all spent time together when they were children. She wanted to find some of the closeness they used to have, which at the moment felt as if it was out of reach.
‘Yes please,’ Pippa replied, wiping tears from her cheeks.
‘What do you think Dad would make of this?’ Freddie asked later as the sky darkened and the four of them sat on comfy floral sofas in the summer house, their childhood den, drinking champagne straight from the bottle.
‘That we are a bunch of delinquents but at least the champagne is vintage,’ Harriet laughed.
‘He certainly thought I was a delinquent,’ Freddie said, laughing sadly. No one argued. Freddie was tall, over six foot, with blond hair and blue eyes, like Pippa he took after their mother. He was so good-looking that often women – and sometimes men – threw themselves at him.
‘But would he think we were OK?’ Gus asked. ‘I mean, would he, like Gwen said, be proud of us?’ Gus sounded so downcast, Harriet wished she knew how to reach out to him. Gus looked more like her than the others. Dark hair, as tall as Freddie, but with features which as he got older more resembled their father. He was good-looking but his face so full of sorrow that it was hard to see how attractive he used to be.
‘He loved us all, I know that,’ Pippa said fiercely. ‘I know he was hard on you guys, but he did love us all.’ It was clear that Pippa felt guilty that she had had an easier time of it than her siblings. It was as if their father used up all his expectations on the older ones and let Pippa do pretty much what she wanted, including not going to boarding school.
‘He did. I know he did. He might have been a bit unorthodox as a parent sometimes,’ Harriet said, swigging from the bottle again, ‘but I agree with Pip, he loved us.’
‘I will miss the old bugger,’ Freddie said, and she saw his eyes fill with watery tears. She wanted to reach across and hug him but she still didn’t know how.
‘Me too.’ Gus looked forlorn.
‘Let’s drink to that,’ Harriet said, needing to lift everyone’s spirits, including her own. ‘Our wonderful father, the old bugger, may he rest in peace.’
‘Either that or haunt us all for eternity,’ Freddie finished.
Harriet felt her hangover taunting her before she was ready to wake up. Her head was pounding, her mouth dry and, as she tried to process the events of the previous day, she wanted to vomit. Bury father, be polite to strangers at his wake, attempt to bond with siblings. Cry? No, her eyes were still resolutely dry.
It had been bittersweet spending time with her brothers