release Mark’s body back to you by tomorrow afternoon, Tuesday morning at the very latest.’
Box felt the muscles in his shoulders bunch even harder than they already were. Both his hands were lying open on the table in front of him like tide-stranded flatfish. He watched them curl into fists.
‘You’re telling me I might not see my son for another two days?’
‘Probably tomorrow.’
‘Fucking hell.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the funeral director.
‘This is hard enough without bloody red tape!’
‘Box,’ said Liz quietly. The word was a gentle exhalation that drifted between them over the table.
‘This is hard enough,’ said Box again.
‘No, it’s perfectly natural that you’re angry. I understand. Any delay is very unfortunate. You can guarantee that I’ll be talking to the pathologist to make everything happen as quickly as possible.’
‘Thank you,’ said Liz.
Box was still staring at his clenched fists. The funeral director cleared his throat again. It was a noise that annoyed Box. ‘Before you arrived, Box, Elizabeth and I were talking about the details of the funeral. We need to arrange some things today if possible. The first thing you’ve got to think about is where you want to have the actual funeral.’
‘In the bay,’ said Box immediately. ‘It should be at the church there. That’s where all my family are buried. My grandmother still has land over there.’
‘Regent’s Bay? Elizabeth already mentioned to me that you were raised there.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well then, that’s certainly one option. My thinking is that the churchyard there is where the internment would take place, with possibly just the family present. However, in my experience, it would be much easier if the actual service was somewhere in the city. I say that because …’
Box didn’t let him finish. ‘No. The whole thing should be at the bay.’
‘I was thinking that it’s a long way for people to travel.’
‘It’s only a forty-minute drive.’
‘I’ve already discussed with Elizabeth a couple of other options that are worth at least considering.’
‘Look. I don’t think anyone’s going to mind a forty-minute trip to say a final goodbye to my son. And if they do, then we don’t want them there anyway.’
The funeral director licked his lips. Box noticed again how girlish his bottom lip was: it was as though it had been stuffed, like a Christmas turkey.
The man made a scrawling note on the pad in front of him. ‘Elizabeth, do you have somewhere you’d prefer?’
‘There’s nowhere special. Regent’s Bay feels right. Mark always loved it over there.’
‘Fine. As long as you’re both happy with the choice, that’s the important thing.’
‘We’re happy,’ said Box.
‘Would you like the minister from the church there to lead the service, or someone else? Perhaps you have a celebrant who knew Mark?’
‘The minister used to be Reverend McKellar.’
Liz spoke up. ‘Mark wasn’t religious. We’re not a religious family.’
‘A minister can normally tailor the service to include as much Christian content as you’re comfortable with. Ican contact Reverend McKellar if he’s still there and you could talk to him about it.’
Box caught Liz’s eye and she nodded.
‘Okay,’ he said.
While the funeral director — Box had already forgotten the man’s name — jotted down some more notes, Box looked around the kitchen. The feeling of unreality he’d been experiencing on and off since Liz had first phoned washed back over him. When he had driven down — only what, ten days ago? — the biggest problem facing his family had been working out a budget that would see them through the next few months, until he could land a permanent job. Box had sat with Liz at this same table. Liz had a worn-down pencil, scribbling numbers into an old notebook. It had been late, close to midnight. Heather and Mark were both asleep in their rooms. As far as he remembered, all the talk
Box felt the muscles in his shoulders bunch even harder than they already were. Both his hands were lying open on the table in front of him like tide-stranded flatfish. He watched them curl into fists.
‘You’re telling me I might not see my son for another two days?’
‘Probably tomorrow.’
‘Fucking hell.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the funeral director.
‘This is hard enough without bloody red tape!’
‘Box,’ said Liz quietly. The word was a gentle exhalation that drifted between them over the table.
‘This is hard enough,’ said Box again.
‘No, it’s perfectly natural that you’re angry. I understand. Any delay is very unfortunate. You can guarantee that I’ll be talking to the pathologist to make everything happen as quickly as possible.’
‘Thank you,’ said Liz.
Box was still staring at his clenched fists. The funeral director cleared his throat again. It was a noise that annoyed Box. ‘Before you arrived, Box, Elizabeth and I were talking about the details of the funeral. We need to arrange some things today if possible. The first thing you’ve got to think about is where you want to have the actual funeral.’
‘In the bay,’ said Box immediately. ‘It should be at the church there. That’s where all my family are buried. My grandmother still has land over there.’
‘Regent’s Bay? Elizabeth already mentioned to me that you were raised there.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well then, that’s certainly one option. My thinking is that the churchyard there is where the internment would take place, with possibly just the family present. However, in my experience, it would be much easier if the actual service was somewhere in the city. I say that because …’
Box didn’t let him finish. ‘No. The whole thing should be at the bay.’
‘I was thinking that it’s a long way for people to travel.’
‘It’s only a forty-minute drive.’
‘I’ve already discussed with Elizabeth a couple of other options that are worth at least considering.’
‘Look. I don’t think anyone’s going to mind a forty-minute trip to say a final goodbye to my son. And if they do, then we don’t want them there anyway.’
The funeral director licked his lips. Box noticed again how girlish his bottom lip was: it was as though it had been stuffed, like a Christmas turkey.
The man made a scrawling note on the pad in front of him. ‘Elizabeth, do you have somewhere you’d prefer?’
‘There’s nowhere special. Regent’s Bay feels right. Mark always loved it over there.’
‘Fine. As long as you’re both happy with the choice, that’s the important thing.’
‘We’re happy,’ said Box.
‘Would you like the minister from the church there to lead the service, or someone else? Perhaps you have a celebrant who knew Mark?’
‘The minister used to be Reverend McKellar.’
Liz spoke up. ‘Mark wasn’t religious. We’re not a religious family.’
‘A minister can normally tailor the service to include as much Christian content as you’re comfortable with. Ican contact Reverend McKellar if he’s still there and you could talk to him about it.’
Box caught Liz’s eye and she nodded.
‘Okay,’ he said.
While the funeral director — Box had already forgotten the man’s name — jotted down some more notes, Box looked around the kitchen. The feeling of unreality he’d been experiencing on and off since Liz had first phoned washed back over him. When he had driven down — only what, ten days ago? — the biggest problem facing his family had been working out a budget that would see them through the next few months, until he could land a permanent job. Box had sat with Liz at this same table. Liz had a worn-down pencil, scribbling numbers into an old notebook. It had been late, close to midnight. Heather and Mark were both asleep in their rooms. As far as he remembered, all the talk
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