Page 3 of Good Sisters

It wasn’t a very nice thing to say, but it was true. Sophie and Mum had always had a tight bond. But, then, in the last few years Mum and Louise had also formed a strong connection. Mum had been amazing with Clara. She was so patient and loving with her. She had become an expert on autism and had helped Louise so much with her young daughter. For the first time in her independent life, Louise had actually leaned on Mum and accepted help from her. It had been lovely to watch them find each other in that way.

I had been close to Mum too. She always called me her ‘easy child’. But things had changed after the triplets were born. She stopped calling in to see me. She couldn’t handle the boys: they were too boisterous for her. She wanted to sit down over a cup of tea and chat to me, but I could never take my eye off them because, if I did, mayhem would ensue. Mum made it clear that I was welcome to call in to see her on my own, or with Tom. She liked Tom because he was calm.The triplets always broke and destroyed things when they were in their house, so Mum and Dad had stopped asking us to call in. It was hurtful at first, but as Louise pointed out, Mum had raised four kids and she was older now and just wasn’t able for my crazy boys. ‘No one is able for them, Julie. They’re out of control,’ my direct sister had told me.

That’s why my nieces, Jess and Clara, were distraught but my boys weren’t feeling it as deeply. They were a little upset, but they hadn’t had a close relationship with their grandmother in the same way as Jess and Clara, so they weren’t hit as hard by her death. I couldn’t tell anyone, but it actually added to my own grief. I wished she’d known them better, I wished she’d tried harder with them. But, to be fair, she’d been busy helping out with Jess after Sophie and Jack broke up and then with Clara after her diagnosis. Sometimes, if I’m being honest, I resented it. Mum had invested so much time and effort into her relationships with the girls and very little into my boys. It stung.

I pushed the negative thoughts out of my head. She had been a great mother and a good granny.

‘About time,’ we heard Louise snap, as she led the undertakers into the living room where the coffin was laid out.

Dad said a final prayer over the closed coffin. Mum had told us to ‘nail my coffin shut and put a gorgeous photo of me on top’.

We all placed a hand on the coffin while Dad prayed. His voice broke at the ‘Amen’ and we all wiped tears from our eyes.

‘Goodbye, Anne, you were my one true love. We drove each other mad at times but we were as close as a couple could be and I loved you from the day I met you.’

‘Goodbye, Mum,’ Sophie sobbed.

‘Send us a sign you’re okay, if you can,’ Gavin said.

Louise rolled her eyes at me and made a face, which made me smile and saved me from giving in to my grief and bawling all over the coffin.

My elder sister and I stood on either side of Dad, linking his arms, holding him up as he said his final farewell.

‘At least you’re out of pain now, Anne. See you on the other side,’ he whispered.

My throat was raw from pressing down my emotions, but I had to be strong for Dad.

We stood in silence as the men, all dressed in black with suitably sombre expressions, carefully manoeuvred the coffin, my mother lying inside, out of the front door and into the hearse.

‘The last time she’ll ever be here,’ Dad said softly.

I gave in and let the tears flow as my lovely mother left her home and her family for the last time.

Louise herded us all into the big black funeral car. I’d seen people driving by in these vehicles many times and wondered who had died and what their story was. Now here we were, our own diminished, grieving family.

Louise and Dad sat behind the driver, Sophie and I in the next row, and Gavin was squashed into the back seat.

‘As usual, I get crushed down the back,’ he grumbled. ‘In the old days the only boy was treated with respect.’

‘Thankfully, we’ve moved out of the dark ages. Now shut up and get in,’ Louise ordered.

Sophie fixed my tear-streaked face yet again from her large make-up bag – she must have had fifty products in there. She never left home without it.

While my younger sister tried her best to make me look less awful, Louise ran through the running order of the mass for the hundredth time.

‘I hope I don’t blubber when I’m doing my reading,’ Sophie whispered.

‘Me too,’ I whispered back.

‘Julie!’ Louise barked, from the front of the car.

‘What?’ I said, flinching at her tone.

‘Do the boys know exactly what they’re doing, when to go up and which bidding prayer they each have to read?’

‘Yes, Louise.’

It was only a white lie. I wasn’t sure who was supposed to read which. I’d given Liam the longest one because he was the most confident. Tom had the shortest because he was only eleven, and the other two got the rest. Harry had printed out Louise’s detailed instructions and said he would make sure they went up at the right time. There was no way I could do it. Since Mum’s death three days ago, I hadn’t slept. My brain was addled and I was finding it hard to process information. I felt as if I was swimming underwater: sounds were muffled and loud noises made me jump out of my skin. It was a strange combination of being half deaf, but also hyper-alert. Harry had assured me it was a symptom of the shock of losing Mum so quickly.

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