Human Remains

was quite loose.
    ‘What about a bit of make-up?’ she asked me. ‘Brighten up that beautiful face of yours? Hmm?’
    ‘I don’t usually bother,’ I said.
    ‘Come with me.’
    I was starting to realise that there was no point arguing with Irene. She took me into the bedroom at the front of the house, sat me on the edge of the double bed and fussed around with my face while I kept my eyes closed.
    ‘Always makes me feel better when I’ve got my lippy on,’ she said.
    Whenever I’d worn make-up in the past it had made me feel grubby, but I didn’t tell her that. It was easier to just let her do whatever she wanted to.
    ‘You’re very kind,’ I said, ‘taking me in like this. What did you think, when Sam told you I was coming to stay?’
    She laughed. ‘I wasn’t surprised. He talked about you a lot. He was really worried when you were in the hospital, you know.’
    ‘Was he?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘I don’t understand why he takes such trouble.’
    Irene was rattling through her make-up bag. I looked at it curiously – how could one person need so much make-up? What was it all even for?
    ‘I think he sees a lot of himself in you, Annabel. He was very depressed when his mum died, you know. He loved her very much. It took him a long, long time to get over losing her.’
    ‘I thought he just wanted to get to the bottom of the story.’
    A frown creased her forehead. She was pretty, I thought. Younger than Brian. I wondered how old she was.
    ‘No, that’s not our Sam at all. He’s a good journalist but he’s also a very moral person. He thinks he can help you, so that’s what he’s decided he’s going to do. He’s one in a million, Sam is.’
    She moved out of the way and let me see myself in the mirror. I looked very different. Not like me at all. I smiled at myself experimentally.
    When I went back into my room I found a small white feather on the floor by the bed. It was from my mum, a message to say that she was there, she was with me. Maybe she even liked the fact that Irene was taking care of me. I felt a sense of relief. There had been moments when I wasn’t sure if I still believed in angels, and perhaps I’d been hoping for a sign without expecting it. And here it was.
    A couple of people from the Social Club came to the funeral; Len from next door, without his wife. To my surprise Kate came along, and told me that, although Frosty had said he was going to try to make it too, something had come up at the last minute. Sam was there, of course. He’d turned into my shadow, and if it went on for much longer he was going to start to get on my nerves.
    Even so, the crematorium was horribly empty. She’d isolated herself so much after Aunty Bet left, there was scarcely anyone who knew her, let alone who would call her a friend. This came as a nasty shock, and it led to a worse one – the realisation that I was heading in exactly the same direction. If they held my funeral, how many people would be there? Probably not that many more than this. And I was trying, every minute, to come to terms with how close I’d been to that day being right now.
    Sam held my hand when the service started in the crematorium, three minutes late. They were meticulous timekeepers but I think they were holding out for a few more people. As it was, there wasn’t much to say. I wasn’t up to speaking in public – even in front of just a few people – so the celebrant read out the eulogy I’d written, with a lot of help from Sam.
    I stared ahead at the coffin while the words faded away, and tried to remember Mum as she had been years ago. How much I’d disrespected her when I was a teenager. She must have hated me then.
    They played Jim Reeves. After that Sam got up and read out a poem that he’d found online. He read clearly, his voice strong, although he was blushing. He addressed the clock at the back of the room, above the double doors through which we’d entered.
    I tried to think of my mother in a brighter place, as the words of the poem suggested, but all I could think of was how much she would hate it if it was crowded.
    When Sam sat down again I whispered to him, ‘Thanks.’
    He took hold of my hand again and squeezed it by way of a reply. When this was over we were going to go back to the house in Keats Road and have a dinner that Irene was cooking on the unspoken premise that I would need food to cheer me up. In the past few days she’d cooked me healthy, nutritious dinners that I’d