Mourn not your Dead

right shoulder spun her around, she lost her footing and sat down with a thump.
    “Oh, God! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you coming—are you all right?” The flying body resolved itself into an anxiousfaced young man, broad shouldered and sporting shoulder-length tumbling blond curls. He peered up at her, holding out a hand as if he weren’t sure whether to help her or protect himself from her ire.
    “I saw you last night,” she said, still too dazed to come up with anything more appropriate, “when I came out of the bathroom.”
    “I’m Geoff.” He dropped his hand and ventured a smile. “Look, are you sure you’re all right? I didn’t hurt you? I didn’t know anyone else was around—” Rolling his eyes, he added under his breath, “Brian’ll have my head on a platter.”
    Gemma looked down, past his tatty sweater and jeans. He wore thick socks but no shoes. No wonder she hadn’t heard him. “I’m fine, really. I wasn’t paying attention, either.” She studied him, liking his oval face and clear gray eyes. Although the mustache adorning his upper lip was a mere downy wisp, Gemma thought he must be in his mid-twenties, at the least. Tiny lines had begun to radiate from the corners of the gray eyes, and the creases between nose and mouth spoke of accumulated living.
    Her stomach rumbled again, loudly enough for him to hear, and she groaned. “If you can tell me how to rustle up something to eat around here, I’ll call us even.”
    “Come down to the kitchen and I’ll fix you a sandwich,” he said, looking pleased to be let off the hook so easily.
    “You will? But... are you sure it’s okay?” As she wondered why a guest would be so free with the pub’s kitchen, a wave of light-headedness swept over her.
    They stared at one another in consternation for a moment, then his face cleared and he said, “I live here. I should have said. It’s Geoff Genovase—Brian’s my dad.”
    The information took a moment to click into place, then she said, “Oh, of course. Silly of me not to have twigged.” Now that she knew, she could see it in the set of his shoulders, the shape of his head, the quick flash of his smile. “That’s all right, then.”
    A little unsteadily, she followed him down to the kitchen. He seated her at a small table wedged into a space near the gas cooker, then opened the refrigerator and studied the contents. “Cheese and pickle okay? That’s what I was thinking of having.”
    “Lovely.” As he rummaged in the fridge, she looked around the room. The kitchen was small but professionally equipped, from the stainless-steel cooker to the scarred worktable.
    Geoff sliced the crumbly cheddar and assembled the ingredients with the deftness of one who had grown up helping out in the kitchen, and in a few moments carried two plates of thick wholemeal sandwiches to the table. “Go ahead,” he urged her. “Don’t be polite. I’ve put the kettle on, and I’ll have us some tea in a minute.” As Gemma bit into her sandwich, he ran hot water into a brown earthenware pot to warm it. She made herself chew slowly, closing her eyes and tasting the buttery richness of the cheddar against the dark, sweet sharpness of the pickle. After the first few bites she felt her muscles begin to relax.
    Geoff emptied the warm water from the pot and spooned in tea. With his back to her, he said, “You’re the lady copper, aren’t you? Brian told me you came last night.” He added boiling water from the kettle on the cooker, then brought the pot and two mugs to the table. “Milk?” Mouth too full to speak, Gemma nodded, and he returned to the fridge for a pint bottle. “Sugar’s on the table,” he said as he slid into the chair across from her.
    “Did you know him?” Gemma asked, having managed to swallow. “Commander Gilbert, I mean.”
    “Course I did. Place like this, you can’t not know people.” Even around a mouthful of bread and cheese, his tone held disgust.
    “It must be hard for you,” said Gemma, her curiosity aroused. “Living in such a small village, I wouldn’t think there’d be a lot going in the way of social life.”
    Lots of young people stayed on with their parents when they couldn’t find work—it was an economic fact of life. There’d been times after Rob left that she’d been afraid she and Toby might have to go back to her parents’ small flat above the bakery, and the idea had horrified her. Geoff merely shrugged and said, “It’s all