What became of us

Manon. Afterwards Manon had walked away, to be by herself for a moment, he had assumed. Later Ursula told him that she had said she was going to hitchhike back to London.

    Today Penny’s friends would say goodbye to her properly. He had always known that something must be done, but by the time he came round to thinking about it seriously, too much time had drifted by for there to be a memorial service. Then Leonora had suggested asking Penny’s college to dedicate the twenty-year reunion to Penny. Roy had agreed, partly because he thought that Penny would have approved, partly because it meant that he could turn the organization of the event over to someone else.
    Leonora had thrown herself into the task, sending out invitations to everyone whose address the college retained, renaming the reunion ‘A Celebration of Penny’s Life’, which made Roy uneasy. He wasn’t inclined to celebrate something taken so prematurely. Time had only slightly blunted the peculiar sequence of surprise, disbelief and agony when the reality of her absence occurred to him each new day. But he hadn’t been able to think of a better word. The invitations had gone out and lots of people had said yes, and the ones who hadn’t sent donations saying how grateful they were for the chance to do something. Leonora had wheedled an amazing deal from the caterers and assured Roy it would still be top-class nosh, as if he cared about such things. The sum collected for Penny’s charity was now in excess of four thousand pounds, which fact alone made it worthwhile, he kept telling himself.
    The only thing he had declined was Leonora’s suggestion that the college principal present Saskia with the cheque. The idea of parading the girls around in ballerina frocks was abhorrent to him, however much they themselves might enjoy it. He didn’t want them to become little angels with identities wrapped in tragedy. It would make a travesty of their bravery, and the fact that most of the time they wore brightly coloured shorts and T-shirts, and shouted and laughed with surprising, sometimes almost chilling, equanimity.
    At the same time as the arrangements for the reunion were falling into place the rest of his life seemed to follow suit. The housing market had picked up and a newly married couple made an offer on the house in Joshua Street. A suitable cottage in Geraldine and Trevor’s village had come onto the market. It was almost as if a guiding force had decided to take charge of their day-to-day existence. At times, it had felt so much like Penny that he had given serious thought to the possibility of an afterlife. Sometimes he even found himself feeling angry with her, because it felt as though she were still directing events without being there to share the burden of responsibility. It had made him wonder if she had ever felt angry with him. Before her illness, he had had little idea of the work involved in running a household. He realized he had been lazy and it felt terrible to think that she might have entertained secret resentments towards him. He had not imagined that her death would change their past as well as their future.
    Saskia had a place in the village school for September. Lily was on the waiting list for the playgroup. Geraldine’s trundle sewing machine had been brought out and dusted down like a steam engine restored by enthusiasts and put to a useful purpose. A heap of new curtains now lay in the living room of the vicarage ready to be hung when the purchase of the cottage finally went through. In the meantime, they were all staying in the vicarage.
    Tonight he would go into Oxford for dinner. He just had to get through today, he kept telling himself, and after all that, things would settle down and they could start their new life in the country.
    He was sure that it was sensible to be near Penny’s parents even though it meant that his daughters would inevitably end up doing things he would have questioned, even objected to, when their mother was alive. Sunday school, Brownies, handing round bridge rolls at the annual garden party, all the things that Penny had done when she was a child.
    ‘When did you rebel?’ he had asked her, that first Christmas after they married, lying together where he was lying now, their arms around each other under a duvet that rustled with newness.
    ‘I never did,’ she replied with surprise in her voice, ‘why should I? I was never made to do anything I didn’t want to...’
    He looked