Evenrood

The Funeral

She ignored the conversation around her, watching Tom trudge up the stairs, her husband a step behind blocking off any escape. Poor love. He's been so good all day; but he's exhausted. If he'd only go... A few steps short of the landing Tom faltered. Her heart sank.

'Come on, Tom,' Charles was saying. 'No nonsense. It's bed time.'

'I don't want to.'

'Tom, you have to. It's past midnight.'

'I don't care. I don't want bed. I want Mummy.'

Tom turned and tried to push past his father, face creased. Her heart melted. Poor darling. Strange house, and a strange day and all these people. No wonder he's upset. She was just about to relent (he can stay up, what does it matter?), but her brother appeared at her elbow.

'Ah Maddie, here you are.'

She nodded, but carried on watching the struggle at the top of the stairs.

'Look, Mummy's busy talking to Uncle John,' Charles said. 'I'm going to put you to bed. Come on. Let go!'

Tom gripped the banister but Charles, jaw set, pried his fingers loose. He carried Tom up the last few steps and disappeared with the child, still struggling, into their bedroom. The door slammed. She heard a wail and winced. He seemed more than upset, almost... panicking. Why can't Charles see that? There's something wrong. The boy needs love, not anger.

A hand touched her arm.

'Maddie, there's someone I want you to meet...'

She turned to John. He stopped mid-sentence. Perhaps he saw the tension in her face.

'Do you need to go and look after Tom?'

'I'm sorry. I think I'd better,' she said. 'Charles isn't...' She shrugged.

'Go.'

'I'll be back down in a while, when he's settled.'

'Of course.' He smiled. 'But don't be long. Gracie wouldn't have wanted us standing around all gloomy. I feel a song or two coming on,' and he turned away to the hubbub of conversation in the sitting room behind him.

As she got to their bedroom door it opened and Tom hurtled out, Charles scowling in his wake. She caught him up in her arms.

'Mummy!' Tom whimpered into her neck.

'What Tom? What's the matter, darling?'

'I don't like it. I don't like that room. Don't leave me there! Please Mummy! Please!'

'Tom... Tom. Hush.'

'For heaven's sake, boy...'

'He's frightened, Charles.'

'What in God's name is he frightened of?'

'I don't know, but he's not like this at home.'

Behind Tom's back, she waved her husband away.

'Don't worry. I'll put him to bed. You go down.'

'Are you sure?'

She nodded and turned to Tom, murmuring to him, gently persuading him back into their bedroom. He's shuddering, poor love. Still only five years old, however big he might seem. She pushed the door to. Charles had already gone. All too eager... but she cut that train of thought off, abruptly.

Near the window a camp bed was set up on the floor, a stuffed giraffe on the pillow. She went and sat on it, pulling Tom to her, sitting him on her lap.