Belief Chapter 10

I slept restlessly and when I finally got up before 6, I was tired and grumpy. I went to the gym again before work, but found it difficult to concentrate. I had kept myself awake with an anxiety and uncertain dreams. By the time I was on the treadmill I had convinced myself that I was being ridiculous. Not only that, I was embarrassed with myself. What was the matter with me? I was being unreasonable and suspicious. So what if my father had come to some arrangement with my sister. She could have lent him money for anything - maybe she got a better interest rate, I had no entitlement to any money, and my parents had always helped out whenever they could, they had lent me money for my car, I had paid them back quickly, now I was earning and they had been retired, they needed all their money to live on and were always promising us the house when they died- although I had always thought of that as very far off. And both of them somehow. It was trivial. It didn't need discussion. I needed to get a grip.

At lunchtime, the office was full of people. There were interviews going on and a housing association had sent some representatives to discuss working with us. Kate was bustling around the office and asked if I would talk to the housing association people. Someone had bought lunch in and several of us were hovering around the sandwiches. Katja and Ed were introduced as my guests and I led them to a quieter corner, I didn't have an office, just a desk, and the comfy chairs were being used by interview candidates.

Katja was in her twenties, glamorous and serious, she didn't smile at anything, I told myself that her strong Polish accent meant that she hadn't understood all my witty comments, but her English was clearly too good for that. She had all the figures at her fingertips and was very convincing. Ed, in his thirties smiled gently and mostly let her talk. He was clean shaven, and a little too groomed for my taste, generically good looking in the sort of style your mother would approve of. (Not my mother, I thought.) When Katja walked back to get a coffee - I hadn't seen her eat - Ed smiled at me confidentially and became a bit more chatty.
"We're a good charity." he said. "Do you like working here? Do you work with lots like us?"
"Er...yes." I replied, slightly wrong-footed. "Mostly housing associations, and the council, not all vulnerable people, but mostly adults. And it's good, nice place to work. What about you?"
"I like it." he said. "Always a bit uncertain, you know. Do you live locally?"
"Yes, other side of town." I said. I wasn't good at these conversations at the best of times, and it was an unfamiliar feeling for me, but I thought he might be flirting a little bit. Or he was just being charming. I wasn't sure I liked it. He was younger than me, I felt quite confident with men my own age or older, but I was worried he might be mocking me.
"I haven't been here long." he said and turned to face me a little more directly. "I lived in London for a bit, but it's so expensive."
"Um.." I didn't want to encourage him too much, it wasn't quite my kind of conversation, but he seemed to be the sort of man who didn't need too much encouragement to talk.
"My parents used to live up here, so I wasn't unfamiliar with it. It's nice though, I didn't think there'd be so many...y'know... cases like this. Benefits and stuff."
"Yes, no." I felt like he hadn't yet been in our world for long enough yet, a world where politically correct terms and euphemisms came easily alongside inappropriate jokes. Perhaps he was only used to mixing with people from a similar middle class background to his. He perhaps hadn't known life was like this in a Midlands market town. He thought life was in a city. I smiled at him a little more kindly than I intended, I meant to be maternal and pitying, he mistook it for encouraging. But I was grateful, he had taken my mind off my immediate issues and made me more aware of the wider world again.
"I don't have a card yet." he said. "Have this one, then you can get hold of me if you need to. Maybe you should show me the sights." He laughed at his own joke, and wrote his number on the back of a card with Katja's name on. "Genuinely." He held my hand with both of his as he gave me the card. "Give me a call. I'd love to see you again."

Belief Chapter 9

The conversation with Anna on its own wasn't quite enough for me to phone my mother. It took a further day at work of feeling as if everyone was tiptoeing around me. At lunchtime I walked out into the town centre and bought a sausage roll from Greggs. It felt like rebellion, my lunch was still sitting in the fridge at work. I rang my mother but there was no answer, so I telephoned her mobile, which was of course, switched off. I sent a text, but it meant that by the time she rang me back I was already sitting at my desk, staring at a screen, and about to telephone one of our tenants.
"Hello?" I half whispered, "I'm back at work!"
"Hello Claire, it's your mother." Mum said, although I had already read that it was her on the screen of my phone which was why I had answered. Actually it said "Mum and Dad".
"Yes Mum. I...Can I come round? After work? Help with anything? Erm, the paperwork, banks and stuff." I did not manage to articulate the carefully structured sentence that had been in my head.
"Yes. Yes love. See you later. Love you." By this point she was whispering too and it was all I could do not to laugh out loud.
"Mum, no one else can hear..." She had hung up.
The tenant caught me in a surprisingly cheerful mood, hardly appropriate for demanding overdue rent.

When it came to the end of the day however, I felt a little less ready and drove myself to the gym instead. I hated the gym and mostly ended up swimming. I got into the water and started to swim lengths as I normally would. Usually I found the muzak and background noise worked to help me tune out my thoughts and I would slip into a meditative swim. This time I could not stop thinking. Instead of counting the lengths or the minutes I was going over and over in my head some of the words I had used to my sister and my mother over the last few days, then I started thinking about the last things I had said to Dad. I tried to be sure if I had said "Love you." as I hung up the phone. Everything Anna had said the night before was running like a music sample. It became the rhythm of my swim. I got to the shallow end and had to stop. I looked up at the clock. It had been only 15 minutes. I started to feel an odd sensation in the top of my head. It felt as if my face were burning. Almost before I knew it my eyes were filled with hot, hot tears threatening to spill down my face. I got out quickly, hoping the swimming pool water would hide the wetness on my face. I stood in the shower cubicle unmoving for a few seconds, not undressing even. The heat of the shower on my face seemed to staunch the flow of tears and I battled with wanting to just let go and acknowledge my misery, even though I was not sure exactly what I was crying about, while at the same time feeling I had to hold on to something, that this was private and the gym was public. I was scared that the tears weren't the only thing I would release, I could feel sobs inside me, that if I let my tears go, would drag a child's aching misery from me. I would keep it to myself for now.

I no longer felt like crying by the time I got back to Mum and Dad's. She was pleased to see me, she had her make up on and had done her hair, but there was a frown to her face that looked new. She made me tea and had made a meal for us to share. We sat at the table straight away, I felt like I had arrived late, even though I hadn't given a time. The vegetables and potatoes were a bit overcooked.
"Are you back at work?" she asked.
"Yes..." I replied, missing the implication of the question.
"Oh, " she said "I thought maybe they'd let you have a couple of weeks."
"Oh." I said. "Yes, I think they would have done, I wanted to go back."
"Well, it can't be nice sitting at home on your own." She said. I almost rolled my eyes out of habit, then caught the look on her face and realised that she was scanning the room and that my father wasn't there. She seemed to realise it at that moment as well.
"You've been to church with Ali." I tried to keep the criticism out of my voice.
"Yes. She needed someone to do the teas and wash up." Ah, that was how Ali had got her there.

I had expected a pile of unopened post on the kitchen work top, but it wasn't there. I guess Ali had got in there quickly. Mum took me to Dad's computer and I managed to access most of the bank accounts and checked the bank statements. Apart from a few savings, Mum and Dad still did most of the banking from one account. I started to go through the statements to look for regular payments. Dad was pretty organised, most things were there, although I could see that they still paid car insurance annually, something I never seemed able to afford to do. I started to make the phone calls to change the details. It was more difficult than I anticipated.

After an hour or so, it was too late to phone, I had made a list of things for Mum to do and a list for me. I kissed her goodnight, promised to return next week and headed off home. When I got home I stared at my list, there were a few payments I needed to sort out, but there were also a couple of others I needed to ask Mum about. One of them was a regular monthly payment to Ali. I was shocked when I saw this. I looked through everything three or four times, but I couldn't find a savings account into which there was money being paid for both of us. I found savings accounts for the boys separately and even another University fund for both boys, but there was nothing I could see as an equivalent payment to me. I don't know why I didn't ask my Mum about it straight away. I felt I needed to control my emotion first. What had shocked me? Why was I cross? I didn't need the money. Perhaps there was a rational explanation. Tomorrow, I would ask.

Belief Chapter 8

At 7:30 there was a knock on my door. To my surprise it was Anna standing there proferring her mum's pyrex and a bottle of wine. Anna, who had mopped me up and picked me up the first day I ventured out. I was astonished and thrilled. I had not expected to see her again, rather feeling as if I had burnt my bridges by crying all over her Joules. I appreciated the sacrifice she must have made in getting here, 7:30 was not an hour you expected to see mothers of young children.
She switched my oven on, found sensible glasses that I wouldn't knock over and set the table for me. It felt lovely to sit at a table and eat lasagne. It felt like proper food and we ate french bread and butter while we were waiting.
"Were there any nice bits in the service?" Anna asked me, clever enough not to say "How was the funeral?"
"It was ok, "I shrugged, "The minister, sort of, felt like he knew him. More than usual anyway."
"Too much family time?" She smiled and sat back. She was a fantastic listener. I had noticed she was plying me with wine but drinking less herself.
"I quite like the family actually. "
"Now they're all off your back about getting married?"
"Yes, sort of, they've sort of backed off but I'm sure they are still hoping I meet a nice young man." Anna threw back her head and laughed."Oh God, not too young!" Her laughter gave me permission to laugh too, at the absurdity of some toyboy.
"Are you going back to your mum's?" She asked eventually.
"Er, what for?"
"You know, to sort things out. I bet there's all sorts your dad did. Was he that sort of practical?"
"Yes, yes he was. And you're right, he did the money and stuff. I suppose I should go and help, or offer, Dad wouldn't even have trusted Mum with that sort of thing."
Anna leaned back in her chair. She was drinking water from a different glass along with her wine. She knew how to pace herself, I imagined she was thinking about early morning with her children. I just thought that if I sat at my desk and ignored everyone, they would think I had an excuse, all the same, I didn't normally drink much wine.
"It might be something you could do to help. It seemed like you and your mum might need to talk about things." What had I told her? I couldn't remember.
Anna started to clear up the plates, and finally remembering my manners, I put the kettle on and moved her into the sitting room.
"What did I say to you?" I asked, "About my mum and dad I mean?"
"Nothing." She lifted her knees up and put her feet on the sofa, crossed her arms. "You said it was your mum, that that was how your dad died. That's why I thought you might want to talk to her."
I loosened the button on my work trousers and tried to put my feet on the sofa but they weren't stretchy enough. I had to lift my legs up straight out in front of me on the sofa, I started to feel a bit sleepy, I didn't want her to go, but I could feel my eyes closing a little.
"I don't want to talk to her really. There was an accident and she was driving, she did something stupid, hit the curb and hit a tree. Dad had a heart attack. It was her fault, it was, and I would...I would say something I'd regret. I haven't even managed to say to her yet - you know, it's not your fault, 'cause I'm going to have to. It doesn't matter what I think."
"So go and do something to help. Be practical, I'm sure Alison has been there every day." Anna had only met Ali a couple of times, but she wasn't a big fan.
"Yes." I said, "Maybe you're right."
I managed to see Anna out with hugs and kisses, but when I had said goodbye at the door, I made my way back to the sofa, retrieved my blanket, put the television on and curled up and slept there all night.

Belief Chapter 7

With the funeral out of the way, I was ready to go back to work. That is after all, what one does. It is the British way. I have lost my father, but there is not particular name for that, or concept of it when you are an adult. Your parents are expected to die, and as long as they are a decent age, we are not really expected to make a big deal about it. I didn't really want to talk to anyone at work about it either. That's not the point of being at work.

Plenty of people had hardly noticed my absence. My supervisor Kate went past my desk and wrapped her arms round my shoulder.
"Sorry about your Dad Claire." she said into my shoulder. I didn't mind the hug and even though she held on too long, at least I didn't have to look at her.  "How was the funeral?"
"It was ..." I had no idea what the polite form of answer to that question was. "Fine." I settled on.
"And how's your mum?" Kate asked politely.  She didn't know my mum, but she was a caring sort of person, who always asked the right questions and was always polite and thoughtful. All the things I was really bad at. I turned to face her. 
"I don't really know yet..." I started, I wasn't prepared to say anything more. It made me seem heartless and horrible. I wanted to talk to someone but who would possibly be sympathetic? I couldn't talk to my mum, she had her own grief and how could I possibly talk to her without expressing my anger at her. I didn't hate her, I wasn't about to end up in some counselling, I just didn't know how to talk to her without making her feel worse. 
"Are you alright lovey?" Kate reached for me again but I put my hand up to hair quickly to avoid her touch, I had been quiet a moment too long and I thought I might cry.
"I'm ok to be back." I said. After all what else would I do? 

It didn't take me long to completely forget that anything had been wrong or that I had been off work. I made coffee and chatted to everyone else in the office and took phone calls and thought of ... nothing at all except work. At lunchtime I realised I had forgotten to make a sandwich. "That's alright," I told myself, "You're allowed to make mistakes right now." But why? Had I been ill? No, but there was something at the base of my throat, and a hollowness, an emptiness in my stomach, because, yes, because of Dad. And that was how it caught me, once or twice more throughout the day. There was something wrong, but I couldn't change it and there was no point being anxious about it. I hadn't forgotten something, I hadn't missed a deadline, I just had to get through this one.  On my own. 

There was a message on my phone from my sister.  "Hope UR OK. Mum fine. Hope work is gd. <3 xx" "If you really want me to be ok, then don't message me to remind me that I'm not and don't use all those irritating abbreviations." I thought ungratefully. Mardy cow, I told myself.  I felt so guilty I ended up ringing her.
"Hi" she whispered quietly.
"Hi, thanks for the message," I said.
"Oh you're welcome lovely. I'm just doing teas at church. Mum's here, thought it'd be good for her to get out."
"Oh, ok." I replied surprised. "It's Monday."
"Yes," she said, "Mums and tots."
"Oh, ok." I said again stupidly. Mum was neither a mum nor a tot in that context, nor for that matter was Ali. "I'll phone you later." I hadn't meant to say that.
"Later." She made a kiss noise down the phone. Maybe it was good for Mum to be somewhere else.  But at church? At Ali's church? Ali had obviously had Dad down there before...well, before and now Mum as well?  Where was my invitation? I didn't want one. But where was it? Aren't C of E churches over run with middle aged unmarried - spinsters - like me?

My irritation with Ali continued as I had phoned her instead of going out to buy lunch and had to settle with whatever was left in the snack bar. Not her fault, I told herself, mine. Anyway, where had my obsession with blaming everyone come from? This was new, but temporary, I told myself. I would stop. Soon.

Belief Chapter 6

I'd been to other funerals. A couple of my grandparents when I was younger; a former school friend who had succumbed to cancer; someone from work, also my age. The two younger people had had vibrant funerals, celebrations of life, more like a wedding.  We had worn blue and purple and sang songs together, and thrown flowers like confetti. This time I felt as if I were on show.  I had wanted to go out and buy a dress, but it seemed too frivolous, so on the morning of the funeral, half an hour after I had promised to get to my mum's, I was staring at my wardrobe and there were a dozen items of clothing strewn across my bed and the floor.  It was like choosing an outfit for a date, and I didn't do that often, not any more. No look seemed satisfactory.  I wanted to look presentable, but trying to look attractive was stupid.  It turns out that quite a lot of my clothes were black, but when you put them together they were all different shades and textures, and in my whole wardrobe I didn't own a black suit except a quite expensive one that I wore all the time for work and so felt a little bit shabby and disrespectful and I also needed to be able to wear again without thinking every time - "I wore that for Dad's funeral."

One top was a bit flouncy and had no sleeves, a plain shirt looked a bit too work like.  My skirt was too short and could only be worn with heels, wearing boots made me look like I did when I was 17 and a practising goth. I ended up  in a black work dress, that I dressed down with a cardigan and then smartened up with a long black wool coat that I mostly wouldn't have to take off.  At the mirror by the front door I had a crisis of confidence and rubbed off half my eye make up, thinking I would probably smear it down my face anyway, and set off to drive to Mum and Dad's. To Mum's.

At the house Ali was already in the kitchen crashing oven trays of sausage rolls around.  It was the first time I had seen James and the boys since Dad died and it was nice to be surrounded by their boisterousness and noise in this quiet house.  James held me un-self-consciously and asked if everything had hit me yet. He was good with saying the right things.  Charlie and Mark hugged me too, Mark was taller than me now, and his hug felt like he was starting to protect me.  They were wearing suits, looking like I had never seen them before.  Almost man-shaped but slightly bowed by the weight of masculinity, hunching their shoulders slightly. 

When the cars arrived, Ali kissed the boys and clambered into the black limousine with Mum, me and Aunty Carol, Dad's sister.  She held my hand and arm tight, as Mum held onto Ali. It reminded me, not for the first time, that I was the grown-up at the moment.  I was expected to be looking after Mum. I kept thinking of the coffin and Dad inside. I couldn't see how such a small coffin could possibly contain that much life.  But it wasn't containing his life of course. I glanced over at my sister. She was keeping it together, my Mum was weeping quietly, Aunty was crying into my shoulder. For a moment I wished I could have a little of her faith. A belief that Dad wasn't in that coffin, that somewhere there was a space for his eternal soul to still exist; that we would meet later, after my death. What was my mother thinking? Was she wanting a chance to see Dad again? Was she worried about what he would say to her if she did?  Would Dad forgive her for what she did? That thought was too much to bear. I shook it out of my head. Easier to live with the idea that there was nothing, that was the end and there was nothing left to worry about.

It seemed strange that Dad was there - no - his body was there throughout the whole service. There were hymns that hardly anyone sang. My voice cracked when I tried to sing. Aunty Carol clung to my arm.
"Thanks, pet. Thanks Claire love. You've got me." she kept saying. I felt guilty that I wasn't doing anything. 

At the crematorium Mum had her way and played Bob Dylan, but it was old Bob Dylan; "Blowin' in the Wind" which made me smirk despite my best efforts when I thought of the ashes from the crematorium chimney.  I would have told her to choose something different, but even the inappropriateness was slightly appropriate, Mum never understood the lyrics. Dad never really cared about the meanings, but he liked good music. 

On the steps at the back of the crematorium I saw James's parents come and hug my mother. They were so much more natural and easy with shows of emotion than my parents ever were. I saw Ali's boys almost run towards them and relax into their arms.  Their relationship was so much less forced than it was with my parents. They loved all their grandparents and their grandparents loved them, but my Mum and Dad had gone on holiday with Ali and James, they had babysat for the boys and visited all the school assemblies and prize givings.  James's parents had taken them camping, taught them to ride bikes and not just because they were five years younger. I wondered if my mum minded, or if she even noticed. How would she cope with Charlie and Mark now Dad wasn't there as the buffer? A lot was going to change.

Belief Chapter 5

Mum's sister arrived and gave me the opportunity to return to my home.  Even though I had only been away for a night, it felt like returning from holiday, or a job interview where I didn't get the job.  I picked up my post. I picked up my shoes. I moved my bag. I did the washing up I had left. All the things I had left to do, assuming that they would be done that evening. I had assumed that I would come home and pick up exactly where I left off.  I felt unable to remember that person that I was and found it very difficult to find the motivation to tidy the house.  I switched on the television and the coffee machine.  I sat down and pressed the channel button over and over again.  It all seemed so trivial and meaningless; silly people pretending to be silly other people. People worried about their sex life, their career, their skin - I switched off the television.

I didn't feel like cooking anything and the fridge was not inspiring. I didn't want to leave the house again and so I ordered a takeaway. It occurred to me that people had takeaway menus in their house usually.  Perhaps I had some somewhere, but I couldn't think where I may have put them so I had to find somewhere on my phone. It was almost impossible for me to think of the names of any dishes so I accidentally ordered egg fried rice and plain chow mein.  It was an odd combination and half of it ended up in the fridge.  I put a lot of milk in my coffee and sat back down on the sofa. I found an Agatha Christie on tv and lay down to watch it. I had started watching crime drama more and more as I got older. There was something pleasing and satisfying about the completion of each episode. I had lost all patience for long run dramas and shows with long seasons that continued and were always too numerous to catch up on. I needed the short term resolution of crime drama - punishing the offender and resolving the crimes all in an hour. 

At three o clock, I woke, still fully dressed and on the sofa.  My skin was cold to the touch and the room was dark.  I staggered up to bed and slept the rest of the night in my clothes. 

My sister phoned me at 7:45 to ask if I was ok.  I couldn't get back to sleep afterwards and lay in bed watching the room turn grey in the light.  I was sort of aware that it was Saturday and I needed to go shopping. I always went shopping on Saturday and even though I wasn't expecting to be at work on Monday, I felt obliged to go. 

I walked to the supermarket. There was a Tesco up the hill, near the swimming baths where I often went on Saturday morning early, but I knew I could only manage the Asda down the road. It wasn't as big.  The small trolleys were almost all gone, it was packed.  I hadn't made a list, instead I wandered up and down the aisles and kept having to retrace my steps as I changed my mind.  I got milk and broccolli, Pepsi and Ribena.I needed butter. I chose a loaf of white bread and a tin of tomato soup.  At the checkout, I scanned and packed and carried three bags out of the store.  It was then I remembered that I had walked to the supermarket and not driven.  I had milk, Pepsi and Ribena.  My bags were quite heavy. For some unfathomable reason, that tipped me over the edge and I sat down on the wall and started to cry.  My sobs came suddenly, silently, but the tears that filled my eyes were hot and huge and heavy and splashed on my top that I had worn for three days. 

Remarkably, no one seemed to notice. Or perhaps a sobbing woman on the wall next to Asda car park was a usual occurrence. 
"Claire?" I looked up to see Anna in front of me. She is a friend, but not the sort of friend I cry to.  More the sort of friend I talk to and watch films with.  "I'm so sorry about your dad."  I couldn't seem to answer.  She turned away for a moment but stayed close to me. She must have been getting her husband to put her twins in the car and take them home. The next thing I knew, she was taking me by the hand, picking up one of my shopping bags, the heavy one, and walking me home. 
"I forgot I didn't drive." I managed to say, even at the time conscious that that statement made me sound like the sort of person who had forgotten they ever learned.

Anna, like the good mother she was, rather like my sister, took me to the kitchen, put the milk away - something I would not normally have done for another 2 hours and switched on the coffee pot from last night.  We sat at the kitchen table and I wiped my nose with kitchen roll. For the first time in  my life I felt as if I understood what it meant to pull myself together.  I felt I could see the parts of me sagging to the sides, like a peeled banana. Somehow I stretched out my arms and gathered the weak and painfully loose edges of myself into some semblance of the person I was two days' ago and zipped myself back together, squeezing those parts in. 

"I didn't know he was ill," Anna began gently.
"He wasn't...it was a car accident, he was with my mum..." I pause but Anna goes to ask something else so I add quickly "She's fine."
"And when's the funeral? And what are you doing today? Do you want me to stay?"
"No. And Tuesday. And no thanks. I am ok. I didn't seem like it. Sorry."
"Don't bloody apologise. We do too much of that as it is. "

She went after another coffee and promised to call me.  I cut a thick slice of bread and ate it in front of "Ben and Holly". I mus have slept again and by 4 o clock it was starting to get dark again.  I thought I could smell myself and somehow managed to shake myself into running a bath.  The water was too hot and I couldn't lie down for a few minutes. It seemed to be cathartic.  I wept again, but not uncontrollably. It hurt, but just a bit. 

Out of the bath, there were three missed calls on my phone.  My sister, wanting me to ring my mum.  So I did. Normally when I phone my mum I empty the dishwasher and perform useful tasks. But today I saved those things to keep me busy when I had finished on the phone. 

"Hi mum."
"Hello darling, what have you done today?"
"Nothing much...saw a friend." I felt a bit like I was lying but it didn't seem right to have any grief. My mum was the sad one, not me, I forced my voice to be a little bit higher and brighter. 
"I chose some music." My mum said. I realised she meant the funeral. "What do you think of Bob Dylan?"
"Well, all sorts, but for dad?  Maybe Miles Davis?"
"Oh... I'll ask your sister."
I realised my helpful suggestion had been taken as a criticism.  I wished I'd been quiet.

Belief Chapter 4

At 3:30 I had read three chapters of three different books, updated my games, read people's comments on my status and private messaged anybody who really cared.  Everyone seemed to have made the assumption that my dad had died of some sort of condition related to old age.  Irrationally, this was annoying me.  He was healthy and rational, clever and engaging.  He was not at death's door, he was fine up until the moment my mother pulled out at the roundabout.  Somehow I could feel myself directing my anger at those people who didn't know him well enough to know that he wasn't unwell.
There was a knock at the door. I stood up to answer and was almost knocked out of the way by my sister running to answer the door. She flung the door open, leaving me standing awkwardly in the hall. Ali showed in a man, moved him to the sitting room and sat him at the end of the sofa where I had been a moment ago.  It was a man in a blue shirt with a dog collar and jacket. He was wearing jeans and suede boots.
"This is Bryn, from church." my sister said unnecessarily. He stood to shake my hand, but as he did, my mother walked into the room and he moved to embrace her, her grief superseding my own.  He obviously knew her and she seemed pleased to see him.  He sat back down as she did and he encouraged her to talk. My sister reappeared with coffee cups and cake and sat on the sofa opposite Bryn.
"I'm so sorry Carol." he spoke warmly with a deep Welsh accent. "This must be a very difficult day."
He was very attentive as my mother spoke about Dad, and although she finally described a father I recognised, the vicar seemed to know a funny, old man who sang loudly and knew everyone at church.  He started to talk about the service, the hymns, whether or not I wanted to read.  I didn't know what he was doing here. He was charming, intense and perfectly pleasant, but my father and I had had many conversations about the Church, faith and religion. I thought we were singing from the same hymn sheet.
"It's like organising a wedding, but in only two days..." Bryn was saying sympathetically, that must have been where Ali got that phrase from;  "As you know." He did a sweeping gesture with his arms to encompass my mum and Alison, then with his eyes, included me in the gesture, just in case he'd got me wrong and I wasn't the unmarried sister, but actually the previously married / divorced sister. I held his gaze for a few seconds, but he didn't look away. He obviously had an inner confidence that didn't put him off.  Of course. That must be what faith does for you.  He had pale blue eyes and a white and black beard. His hair was almost grey.  He was very handsome, and tall, and looked toned and slender; the kind of middle-aged man who has cycled a lot.  I continued to look at him, dispassionately, curiously, feeling protected by my lack of belief and his intensity of belief.  A man who knew he could not be desired.  He had on a wedding ring, so I assumed he had four children under 15 like other vicars I had met.

It was then I noticed Alison. She wasn't staring at him, but seemed to be aware of his every word, laughing a little too loud and sitting far forward on the edge of her seat.  She's got a crush on the vicar I thought.  The absurdity of the situation made me inhale quickly, trying not laugh and every one stared at me. Fortunately, I appeared to have picked an opportune moment as they seemed to think I was stifling a sob and all three tipped their heads to one side in a gesture of sympathy which made me want to giggle more than ever. I wasn't happy, I must have been overwhelmed.  I sipped my coffee to cover my mouth and inadvertently tipped the cup too much making me dribble coffee all over my front.  I brought my arm up to my chin to cover my t shirt. 

Alison, momentarily distracted from her man shot me a glance which conveyed her suspicion, but I had composed myself by then and she turned back to Bryn, who by then was in conversation with Mum.

I didn't think that a good looking vicar was the reason for my sister's newly found interest in the Church. She was not that shallow, but neither was my father, and I found it very hard to reconcile the man I knew with one who enjoyed an active life in the community of faith.

Then Bryn was standing to leave and asking if he could pray with us.  I smiled and moved away, collecting cups and plates as if this had nothing to do with me.  I was not in the right mood for forgiveness yet.

Belief Chapter 3

I hadn't switched the alarm off on my phone, so at 6:15 I was woken up.  For a few moments I was stuck in lethe. I was not happy. I was not sad. I didn't know what had happened. I am zen. I am in the moment.  I feel the uncomfortable mattress that has been on this, my childhood bed, for the last 25 years, I hear a few cars on the road outside, a dog barking in the distance, I see a pattern on my ceiling, created by artex that used to remind me of a mountain range, I can smell a slight damp smell of clean bedding, but no fabric conditioner.  I forced the covers back from my legs, the layers of blankets and sheets pressing down too hard and felt the chill from the unused room which had probably had the radiator turned off. Then suddenly memory hit me and my shoulders sagged and I didn't think I could stand up. My father was dead. Killed in a traffic accident in which my mother was driving. I was staying in the house to take care of my mother following a late night, whispered semi-row with my sister in which she insisted she had to go to look after the boys. I whispered back that surely that was the point of marrying the damn father. She rolled her eyes to indicate that despite her unerring love for her husband she did not trust him with delicate matters such as getting two teenaged boys to school on time, with bus fare and lunch.  I widened my eyes in a gesture designed to indicate that although she was a mother, she was also a daughter and perhaps that role took precedent tonight.

I had lost the row. I took a deep breath and put my clothes from yesterday back on.  I thought I ought to ring work.  I picked up my phone which had run out of battery and had been charging over night.  When I switched it on, it was silent for a minute, then pinged several times.  I had never had so many text messages. I opened the list but couldn't bear to read any. They all started "So sorry...".  I scrolled down until I found Alice; a colleague I liked but who wasn't too nosy.  "Not coming in today. Please msg." After pressing send,  I texted again. "Not for rest of week. x"

I looked in the mirror, but I didn't have any make up with me, or a hair brush. I walked down stairs and went in to the kitchen, savouring the few moments by myself.  All the washing up had been done and the kitchen was immaculate. Mum must have done it after I had gone to bed. I boiled a kettle. There was instant coffee in the cupboard. Supermarket own brand. I told myself I wasn't a coffee snob and made filter coffee.  I went to warm the tea pot for Mum and Dad and then stopped and placed a single tea bag in a white mug for Mum.

Mum shuffled in from the lounge. I jumped. She was fully clothed and asking me to help her with the collar the hospital had supplied.
"I couldn't sleep upstairs," she apologised. "Can't sleep without your dad." Her eyes filled but she blinked back tears and took the proffered tea. She sat down at the kitchen table, but I stood up, feeling uncomfortable at her proximity. I put the collar on and smelt her familiar smell, the perfume, the smell of Mum, and stood behind her to do it, not feeling as if I could look her straight in the eye again.
"Do you want breakfast?" She asked, making no move.
"No, I'll have fruit, what can I get you?"
"Toast, or something...nothing thanks."

Mum got up and picked up my spoon from the worktop, washed it, dried it and put it away.  I took my phone into the living room and put on daytime television while Mum tried to find dust to clean.  At half past ten the front door opened and my sister came in calling.  She was carrying bags of food and started to put it away in Mum's fridge. I could see my mum hovering nervously around the fridge, waiting for Ali to drop something or knock on to the floor the carefully balanced jars of pickles that went out of date in 2014.  There was no space in the fridge or freezer, Mum and Dad had only just been shopping.
"So..." Ali began, starting a sentence in my least favourite way, sitting us down with tea and coffee and dirtying more cups. "The pastor will be here this afternoon at about two-thirty to discuss the service and Aunty Val is coming this evening to stay Mum if that's ok."
Mum barely responded, but I frowned. "The pastor? What pastor? What service?"  Ali silently appealed to me, please not now.
"Mum and I talked about it last night." she said, glancing at Mum. "And Dad and I had been talking about it for a while."
"Talking about what?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. When had they had this conversation? These conversations? What had my younger sister talked to my dad about that he hadn't spoken to me about. "He doesn't go to your church."
"No, but he had been, Bryn knows him, it's better than someone who's never met him conducting the service. " My sister's tone felt patronising, as if she'd had all these conversations before, which she may have done, but not with me.
"It's fine." my Mum said, briefly reverting to herself from when we were fourteen and twelve and bickering over the tv controller. We were quiet.

Alison made lunch from the party food that she had bought for the wake that wouldn't fit in the freezer. She didn't ask what Mum wanted, just fed her, like she sometimes buttered bread for us, or put sugar in our tea.  I liked it a bit.  It seemed to demonstrate that she was what she had always been, even before she had children, a mother.

"At least it's nearly Christmas." she said pointlessly, and perhaps poignantly. "Lots of food in the shops.  It's like organising  a wedding... but in a couple of days. "
"I enjoyed organising your wedding." My Mum said. And any other time I would have chosen to see that as a dig at me.

Belief Chapter 2

At ten o clock we were sitting in Mum and Dad's front room and Ali was trying to get her to go to bed.
"What about Maggie?"  Mum was saying.
"Done mum, or I'll do tomorrow." Ali said. "I can't phone everyone tonight, it's late now."
"They'll worry..."
"They won't worry Mum, they don't know anything was wrong with Dad,  I'll tell them.."
Ali's voice was starting to crack and I could see her staring at me, desperate for me to do something but I couldn't speak. I didn't like seeing my mother looking weak. I didn't like the living room without Dad.  I wanted to go home.
"I'll go and wash these cups." my mum said pointlessly and took our cups to the kitchen.  Mine was still half full and tea slopped onto the table but no one noticed.
Ali half smiled at me. "Ok?" she asked, putting her hand on my arm. I went to brush her hand away but instead I held her fingers, removed my arm and rested her hand on the arm of the chair. "Can you do the cousins tomorrow?"  she asks. I nod.

After a good ten minutes of consideration I had changed my profile picture to a nice, recent one of Dad smiling and written something unambiguous and nice.  My phone had buzzed many times already. I would still make the phone calls the next day like my sister wanted but the cousins would already know and would tell their parents tonight. The parents would start ringing as soon as was decent in the morning to find out what had happened.

What had happened.  Already social media stalkers had tried to tell me he was a good age,  those that didn't know he was healthy.

"I'll go and put your electric blanket on." Mum said to me, heading upstairs to do me that small service as she always did.
"I'll go home, Mum." I said quickly but she didn't seem to hear. Ali glared.
"Claire, no, one of us needs to stay!" she whisper-whined in shock. "I've got to get back."
I opened my mouth to protest,  but I knew I'd lose that. I knew what she'd say,  she needed to get home and see the boys. She didn't trust James to talk to them. She'd say they needed their mother.  I wanted to say; but you're also a daughter and your mother needs you. But I knew that applied to me too.
"She thinks it's her fault."  Ali mouthed and did a sad face at the end.
It is her fault though, I wanted to say.  It's her fault Dad's dead.

Belief Chapter 1

I am not supposed to drive home from work.  We are supposed to be lift sharing or getting the bus or the train. Or perhaps the park and ride.  Unfortunately, the park and ride hasn't actually been set up yet and if I want to get a bus I can either arrive half an hour early or half an hour late.  So when my phone rings as I release the handbrake and start to navigate my way out of the supermarket car park I feel rather as if I am breaking quite enough rules and regulations at the moment, thank you and let it ring.

Annoyingly, the person does not leave a message and I can see the missed call icon appear at the top of my screen.  My phone is set to sat nav, I do know how to get home, but the sat nav may help me avoid a ten minute queue through the town centre.  After a moment or two, my phone rings again and I catch sight of the number but it is a local landline number and not one I recognise.  A moment later a messenger pings onto my screen, it is my sister, but it wasn't her number.

Before I have even left the side road from the car park and joined the main road, yet another message from somewhere else has temporarily silenced the sat nav. I miss the instruction and turn the wrong way on the main road and almost straight into a queue at the roundabout towards the hospital.  The electronic signs are flashing orange warnings about a closed lane.  I feel incredibly cross with myself as I didn't have to come this way, I could have gone the other way.

Driving around the roundabout to get back on to my route, my phone rings again.  I am no longer curious and merely cross, so I swear unnecessarily at the car in front who is pulling too slowly away from the roundabout and onto the main road out of town.  The cars in front and I inch slowly forward in fits and starts until the queue narrows to a left turning lane and the rest of the traffic explodes in a stream of relief as we finally achieve the dizzy heights of the 30mph speed limit.

After twenty minutes I am pulling into my road and there is space to park outside of my house. This must be a good day. I execute a perfect reverse parallel park and unlock the front door.  I have barely stepped into the hallway when the echoing alarm is competing with the house phone and I am reminded of the messages on my phone.  I cannot find the phone before it stops ringing as I am juggling handbag, mobile phone, coat and keys.  However, I can hear a voice leaving a message. I don't recognise the voice immediately, but the tone is clear. It is urgent. It is concerned. It is pleading with me.

Abandoning my bags to the floor, I scan through the messages on my phone.  It is my sister. All the calls. All the messages. "Call me." So I call her.

My heart rate has leapt and my hands are shaking. I had started to take my shoes off but I have stopped mid way while I make my phone call and I am now pacing the hallway and living room unevenly as I try to unzip my other boot. The call takes ages to connect. There are too many rings, I don't understand why she does not answer straight away if it is urgent.

"Ali?" I ask as finally the call is answered.
"Claire? Where have you been? I've phoned you."
"In the car, what's wrong?"
"I was trying to get you before you left work, I need you here."
"Ali, what is it, what's wrong?"  My sister seems to be focusing on all the wrong details.
"It's Dad, Claire, there's been an accident, come to the hospital. I've texted..."
"What's happened? Ok. "
"Come now. Claire. Come now."
I don't say goodbye and I don't really notice as I put my trainers on instead of my boots and get my bag and phone, I forget my coat and I don't have my purse with me, but I am only dimly aware of these things.

On my journey back into town I forget about the closed lane near the roundabout and end up in a traffic jam all along the road towards the hospital.  My chest feels tight and I can feel all the muscles in my jaw aching with tension. I feel like I want to cry, but it seems so utterly futile I can't. The lane is closed because there are three or four cars pulled up along the side of the road and there are flashing lights everywhere.  The car park is packed as always and I have to wait for a parking space. An elderly woman edges in and out of a parking space at least 8 times and does not even seem to consider thanking me for waiting for her.  I try to pull in forwards, then realise I'm not going to make it, I pull forward, but before I start to reverse in, the person behind me goes to pull into the space and I have to wait for him to reverse and the three cars behind him to let him go back. I reverse into the space and discover that I don't have my purse with me.  I stand next to the machine staring at the empty bag as if the purse will appear. With no choice I make my way towards the hospital entrance but I cannot read the map or follow the signs.  When a woman stops to help me all I seem to be able to do is hold out the phone with my sister's message and she points towards a corridor, on the wall of which is a word that seems to resemble the words on the message.

I walk down the corridor but I am seized with a sense of urgency that makes me feel as if my stomach is floating away and my feet are glued to the floor; my trousers are too long with my trainers on and at every step, they catch at the back.  I see someone coming out of a room a few metres away, she looks towards me, it is my sister. I reach out to her but she doesn't move or raise her arms.
"Ali..." I don't know what I am going to say, I think I was going to apologise for being late.
"Claire" she says "You're too late. "