One or two of the reports give more details about Lizzie and Jack. Jack has done some television, guest parts on Casualty and The Bill, as well as his theatre roles. But he’s not a household name. There would be even more attention if he was.
The camera pans over our bouquets propped up against the garden wall, the cards and notes in plastic sleeves, the messages of love, our blessings. A voiceover relates our description of Lizzie: Lizzie was a much-loved daughter, wife and mother, a warm and loving person who lived life to the full. Her passion for theatre and the arts… The film focuses on Florence’s drawing, a row of kisses at the bottom, on Jack’s note, my love forever; it moves to our signatures, Mum and Dad, beneath the verse from Christina Rossetti’s poem, ‘Echo’, just out of sight.
Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.
Friday 18 September 2009
DI Ferguson was right, it does seem as though nothing is happening. Stasis. We go through the motions of eating and drinking; we wash, though I’m tempted not to bother. As though wearing my dirt on my skin and letting my hair grow greasy and tangled can serve as symbols of my distress and sorrow. It makes sense. I understand now those newscasts from other countries: the rending of clothes, the tearing of hair, the howls of grief. See how I hurt, I will hurt myself to show you.
But we are British. And there is Florence to think of. It would all be so different without her. I could indulge myself, not beholden to anyone. Rave and rage and lose control.
Jack signals to me and we move into the hall.
‘What do we do about school?’ he says quietly.
‘I don’t know. The routine…’ I begin thinking perhaps it would help Florence then I falter. I have no idea what is best. She is settling in well there, in reception, moving up from the school’s nursery class, and usually looks forward to going, but I can’t quite imagine a bereaved child returning to school so soon.
‘We can ask Kay,’ I say.
Kay’s advice is to see what Florence wants to do. If she wants to go in, Kay will speak to the school and explain the situation.
‘I’ll take her,’ Jack says, ‘if she wants to go. I usually take her.’
When Jack asks Florence about school, she says no, alarm in her voice.
‘Okay,’ Jack agrees, ‘you’ll go another day, maybe.’
