Page 94 of Wedding Crasher

Emily took the little blue jewel box and the garment bag that Marla held out and peered through the plastic at the primrose-yellow material.

‘What is it?’

Marla smoothed back the plastic to show Emily the dress inside.

‘It was Dora’s. Ivan brought it down when I went to see him last night. Her mum made it for her in the war.’

Tears sprang into Emily’s eyes as she touched the delicate silk of the skirt.

‘Oh.’

Emily nodded sadly and smoothed the cover carefully back over the dress.

‘I know what’s in here,’ Emily said, stroking her thumb over the worn velvet of the jewel box. ‘It’s her brooch, isn’t it?’

Marla smiled gently. ‘Of course. It seems strange to see it without her.’

Emily eased the lid open on the jewel box, and they both sighed as a little diamond lighthouse glinted up at them. It was such an integral part of their memories of Dora. She’d worn it every day, whether she was dressed in her Sunday best or in her pinny to scrub the chapel floor.

Marla squeezed her friend’s arm. ‘Ivan thought Dora would have liked to have these with her. In her … well, you know.’

Marla tried, but the word coffin wouldn’t come out.

Emily nodded quickly. ‘That’s so sweet. Poor Ivan.’

Emily looked out of the window to watch Ivan as he weeded the chapel gardens and then, after a final sniff, gathered herself together. The idea of going over to the funeral parlour terrified her in case Dan was around, but delivering Dora’s special things took precedence over her fears.

‘Right. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

Marla laced two mugs of tea with liberal splashes of whisky and headed out to find Ivan. He’d insisted on coming to tend to the chapel gardens, despite the fact that Dora’s funeral was less than twenty-four hours away. It had been little over a week since Gabe had discovered Dora’s lifeless body, and her husband had handled it in the quiet, stoic way that only an old war hero could hope to.

‘Tea, Ivan.’

Marla sat down on the low wall along the path and waited for Ivan to put down his shovel and make his way over the lawns towards her. He nodded his thanks and eased himself slowly down next to her.

‘Thanks, lovey.’

He picked up his mug and held it in his gnarled, shaky hands. Marla noticed that his checked shirt had grown a little threadbare, a tiny hole at the elbow. Dora would have had her thread box out the second she saw that, Marla thought.

Who would take care of Ivan now? They hadn’t had any children; he really was alone in the world now that Dora had gone.

‘How have you been?’ She laid a hand on his forearm.

He shook his head and stared into his mug for a while. ‘She was my best pal.’

Marla held back the tears that threatened. ‘I know she was. I know.’

‘I’m no good on me own, love. Can’t cook. Can’t work that bloody washing machine.’ Ivan pulled a big, slightly grubby handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and blew his nose.

‘Not that Dora was much of a cook, either, mind.’ He laughed, sadly. ‘Bloody awful actually, but I was fond of it all the same.’

‘We all miss her so much at the chapel. It’s too quiet without her.’

They sat in companionable silence for a couple of minutes.

‘I’ve written something down, for tomorrow like. I can’t stand up there and say it myself, so young Gabriel is going to read it for me.’ Ivan glanced up at Marla. ‘If that’s alright, course?’

Marla nodded. ‘Of course it is. I’ll let Jonny know.’

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