sorry for their trouble. “He was old,” explained Rose, unnecessarily. “It’s best for him.” Mel put her arm around her sister. “Grief is a strange thing,” she said. “It can even hit you before your loved one dies.” Ben nodded. “Grief is my business,” he said. “He had cancer,” Mel added. “He was in St. Luke’s but then we’d nursed him at home.” “It must be terribly hard watching your father die,” Ben said, looking at Rose. “He was lucky you looked after him like you did. Both of you, I mean.” Rose nodded, fiddling with her hanky, red and pink florals wrapping themselves around her fingers. “He was,” she said studying Ben. He looked forty-something, a similar age to her, his hair shining like her father’s suit. He looked smart; he’d ironed his shirt and his hair was cut close to his head. She flushed a little. “Thank you,” she ventured. “Thank you for your help.” “Just doing my job,” he said, clearing his throat. “So, we’ll be back to collect him at four.” “Yes,” said Mel. “Is that time enough? Is there a crowd coming to the house?” The sisters looked at each other. “No,” Rose said, her eyes smarting. “No, just immediate family.” Wednesday Although the sun was shining, it was a cool June morning and Rose decided to wear her cream wraparound cardigan over her long black dress. Funerals were no time for patterns or stripes. She would wear her black pearl necklace and matching earrings that Mel had brought back from one of her more exotic holidays. She tied her long hair up in a bun, the strands of grey catching the light. “You look lovely,” Mel said, stroking her hair. “Remember how he used to say that to us? That we looked like two lovely ladies?” Rose smiled, taking Mel’s hand. “And we are.” “You could find someone,” Mel said. “He never stopped you.” She turned away. “I know you thought he stopped you.”
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