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‘composting.’ Very popular with the environmentally conscious as well as the frugal. We rent the cryomation plots for one to ten years, though of course, the relatives can take the remains home with them instead, just like a standard cremation.”
    “Six to twelve months?” The old lady raised her eyebrows. “We’ll have that.” She put her handbag on the desk and fished about in it. “Francis dear, I think my glasses are still in the car. Would you be a dear and fetch them for me?”
    “Of course, Elizabeth.” He flashed a smile at Eden. “I’ll be right back.”
    The lady watched him go before pulling out her glasses case. “He’s such a love but so gullible. We’ll just have the plot for five years, I think. Francis has a degenerative disease but he’s no idea he’s dying. I doubt I’ll be long after him. He’s such a love. He’s convinced making the arrangements in advance will take the pressure off him when I die but of course, it’s entirely the other way round.”
    “That’s so sad.” Eden pressed her hand again, looking into her eyes with a measure of sympathy. She turned away as Francis returned and tapped some figures into the computer. “Will that be cash or credit?”
    Once she’d shown the couple out she hurried back to her office where Mr. Claremont was in floods of tears and clutching a large checkered handkerchief as if it was a lifeline. Two cups of tea sat untouched on the edge of her desk and Mrs. Johns seemed relieved by her return.
    “I’m so sorry to have left you for so long,” Eden sat at her desk. “I had to see to a couple needing to make arrangements in advance. The poor lad won’t see thirty. All very sad.” She reached over to squeeze the old man’s arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I know how upsetting it can be.”
    “We’ve decided to take your composting package.” Mrs. Johns spoke in a hushed tone, as if to keep the decision from her father. “He likes the idea of her always in the garden with him.”
    Eden nodded. “A very wise choice, if I may say so. Would you like the service done here or at a church of your choice?”
    “Here I think.” She shook the old man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go and wait in the car, Dad? I’ll sort things out here and come out when I’ve finished.”
    “We do have a lovely garden of remembrance. You’re welcome to use it.”
    Mr. Claremont said nothing, but walked out of the room with his head bowed. Eden could believe he was Atlas, with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
    “Will he be all right on his own?”
    “He’ll be fine.” Mrs. Johns reached for her tea. “It’s not like he hasn’t had time to get used to the idea. Mum’s been in and out of a coma for weeks. It’s a relief she’s dead to be honest with you. Don’t get me wrong. I loved my mum dearly but I was sick to death of traipsing up to that care home to hold her hand. That wasn’t my mum at all, the last few weeks. Just a shell.”
    “I’m very sorry for your loss. It’s a difficult time, no matter what the circumstances.”
    “Thank you, I’m sure.” She put the cup down and pulled an Eden Gardens catalogue from her handbag. “Truth be told, I’ve had this planned for a fortnight. We’ll have the cryomation with basic humanist service, followed by a finger buffet and the remains delivered.”
    “Oh.” Eden opened her laptop and tapped in the order. “How very efficient of you, Mrs. Johns.”
    “You can thank my husband for that.” She put the catalogue back in her handbag. “He’s an accountant, you know.”
     

 
    Chapter 6
     
    Meinwen Jones sheltered from the rain under the sculpture of an angel made of copper sheets. The drops hitting the parts of the piece of art combined to sound more like music than an autumnal storm. The hissing of tires as mourners drove up to the re-purposed community center provided a counterpoint, and if she’d been trained as a musician instead of a secretary-cum-short-order