Last Rites Read Online Free

him.
    “Hungry,” said the one to his left, Redskins baseball cap reversed.
    “Huh?”
    “Hungry, yeh?”
    “What the fuck’s it to you?”
    “Here,” said the youth to the other side, reaching inside his silver zip-up jacket. “Eat this.”
    And he pushed the barrel end of an automatic pistol hard against Ellis’s cheek and squeezed the trigger.

Five
    Lorraine stood on the paved area between the rose garden and the entrance to the crematorium chapel, while around her, small clusters of men and women, somberly dressed, engaged in desultory conversation. She didn’t even know who they all were.
    She took a tissue from her bag and blew her nose softly, pulled at an imaginary thread by the seam of Sandra’s sweatshirt, and shook her head at Sean to stop him kicking at the pale gravel of the forecourt. Then there was Derek’s sister Maureen approaching, a broad smile more suited to a wedding than a funeral.
    “How you doing, then? All right?” She left a smudge of coral lipstick on Lorraine’s cheek as she gave her a hug. “Nice outfit, understated, just right for the occasion. I like that. Though you could have come to me, of course. I’d’ve found something for you, special. And a good price, too.” She hugged her again. “Family.” Maureen herself was wearing a black dress with a scoop neck, mid-length, with a deep split in the skirt, front and back.
    Derek and Maureen went off into a little huddle and several people came up to Lorraine to tell her what a grand lady her mother had been and shake her hand. A man with purple veins etched across his face and a runny eye bent to kiss her on the cheek and squeeze her arm. “She did well, Deirdre,” he said, his voice low, as if this was something between the pair of them, special and caring. “Hanging on the way she did. Coping. After what that bastard—s’cuse my language—did to your father. He was a wonderful man, your dad, God rest his soul. A gentleman—but I don’t need to tell you that.”
    “Here’s the vicar,” Derek said, as a slight figure, prematurely balding, bounced brightly toward them, hand outstretched, smiling.
    But Lorraine’s eyes were fixed solemnly now on the middle distance, the pair of iron gates, open, through which the vehicle bringing her brother would enter.
    Evan was never sure how he’d come to take a wrong turning. But somewhere between Wesley’s map reading and his own instincts, they had ended up on the wrong side of the Trent and heading east. He could feel Michael Preston’s unexpressed anger burning into the back of his head as he swung the car into a U-turn. Stay calm, that’s what his father would have said, stay calm and do your best. “It’s okay,” he said over his shoulder, “ten minutes now, fifteen at most.”
    In the mirror, Preston’s eyes were flat and staring. Sweat gathered at the base of Evan’s neck.
    “We’ll get you there, don’t fret.”
    “Come on, love …” Derek’s voice patient and understanding.
    “No, wait …” Lorraine shrugged his hand from her shoulder, a quick shake of her head. “Tell them they’ll have to wait until he’s here.”
    Derek’s glance went from the direction in which his wife was looking toward the open chapel doors, through which the clumsy sounds of the organ could already be heard. “It’s too late. They’re starting.”
    “Then tell them … explain …”
    He gripped her more tightly, one arm along her back, edging her forward. “He’s got held up somewhere, traffic, you know what it’s like. Roadworks, most probably. He’ll be here, you see. Now, d’you want to borrow my hankie? No? Okay, stiff upper lip then, here we go.”
    Derek, serious-faced as he led her into the chapel and down toward the empty spaces reserved for them in the front row beside Sean and Sandra; the vicar standing at the center waiting, smiling now his careful smile of welcome, and everyone else leaning forward, not wanting to be seen staring but concerned,