“They were bad hymns!” I said. “—and then the day itself, making sure you thank people, the cortege and all that stuff...
The family said to thank you for coming, by the way,” he finished, trailing off.
It was he who was drinking all the wine, I noticed—he’d already refilled his glass while I’d only had two sips.
“But the days and weeks after that... that’s when it really starts to get hard,” he said.
“Is that how it was for you?” I said. He nodded. He’d switched on the fire,
one of those gas ones that’s supposed to look real, and we both stared at it.
There must be some piece of wiring left over in our brains, from our ancestors,
something that means we can’t help but stare into a fire, watch it move and dance,
warding off evil spirits and dangerous animals... that’s what fire’s supposed to do, isn’t it?
It can do other things too, though. “D’you want to watch a film, Eleanor? Cheer ourselves up a bit?”
I thought about this. “A film would be perfect,” I said. He left the room and returned with another bottle of wine and a big packet of crisps.
“Sharing bag” it said. I’d never tried one, for that very reason.
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