Read Ivy Lane: Autumn: for Free Online Page B

friends with them, to trust them. And today of all days. . .’ My voice faltered and I swallowed. ‘Today of all days, we should perhaps have a bit more respect for others.’
    Then I did what I seem to do best when faced with a confrontational situation: I walked away. I almost made it to the door unscathed.
    ‘Thank you for coming.’
    I blinked and a tall man in his fifties with a chin-length black bob came into focus. Alf’s son, William. He held out a hand.
    ‘He was a lovely man, your dad,’ I said, as he clasped my fingers in a firm, dry handshake.
    ‘Very kind of you to say. Tilly, isn’t it? Dad talked about you.’
    I nodded, flicking a glimpse over to the allotment crew. Brenda was dabbing her face with a tissue. Dougie caught my eye and rolled his eyeballs skywards.
    ‘Really, what did he say?’
    He laughed nervously. I sensed he didn’t want to tell me, which made me even more curious. ‘Go on.’
    ‘He said he couldn’t understand why a smashing girl like you was on your own.’
    Alf said that? My eyes brimmed with tears. William’s face dropped and he glanced around him with a grimace.
    ‘I’m so sorry.’ He reached towards me and then clearly thought better of it, plunging both his hands into his jacket pockets instead.
    I hadn’t been to many funerals. I don’t think I spoke at all at the last one I went to, but perhaps some people react differently and say things they wouldn’t normally dare. Or perhaps William was flirting with me. He had certainly turned pink.
    ‘I spoke out of turn. None of my business,’ he stuttered.
    ‘I’m a widow.’
    The word seemed to hang in the air and float between us. My mouth went completely dry and I stared at him. What on earth had I said that for?
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Yes. Well. So am I. For you, I mean.’
    ‘I’ve never been married.’
    ‘I meant for your loss. For Alf. He really was a lovely man. Excuse me.’ I squeezed out a wobbly smile and pushed past him. Suddenly I couldn’t bear to think about loss any more. Memories of the last funeral I’d been to came rushing back to me, my legs started to shake and I couldn’t breathe.
    Open the door. Inhale the fresh autumn air. Walk. Keep walking. Keep breathing. Home.
    I reached the safety of my little house in Wellington Street, closed the door behind me and slumped against it.
    What time was it? Five o’clock. Was that all? One measly hour since I last checked. Hell.
    Still four hours to go.
    Cally meowed and wound himself around my legs. I cradled him in my arms and sank down onto the sofa. He purred for a while before springing off my lap haughtily. I didn’t blame him, the sobs I had finally allowed to surface weren’t exactly restful.
    I couldn’t cope. I didn’t want to be on my own. My constant clock-watching was driving me mad. This time two years ago . . .
    I needed Gemma. I had to talk to her. Tonight was the night. And anyway, what if William said something to someone about me being a widow? I’d feel terrible.
    I punched her number into my phone and chewed the inside of my cheek while I waited to hear her bubbly voice.
    Damn. It clicked through to voicemail and I thought I would expire with misery and frustration. I pressed the button to end the call and simply sat and stared at the screen, hoping that she’d call me back.
    Yes! A text message flashed up at me.
    Sorry, Tills, can’t talk at the mo. Am at Kingsfield General Hospital. Mia has broken three toes and we’re getting them strapped up. What did you want?
    My chest heaved as I read her message. Good question. What did I want?
    I typed a message back: Meet me later?
    It would be hours before she was free. I didn’t care. I’d wait until midnight if I had to.
    My stomach was growling but I didn’t want to eat. My body was tired, but I was restless and couldn’t bear to watch the TV. I dragged myself upstairs, ran a bath, lit some candles and turned on the radio.
    I twisted my hair up into a bun, submerged my