The Cold Light of Mourning Read Online Free

cupboard under the stairs. Closing the door behind her, she opened the umbrella and set off on the short walk to Wightman and Sons, where Philip would be waiting for her.
    He greeted her on the step, and asked how she was holding up.
    “Usually, I would take care of her nails as part of her hair and makeup, Penny, and if you want to change your mind, just give me the polish, and I’ll get on with it.”
    “No, Philip, but thank you anyway,” Penny said as she shook the rain off her umbrella into the street. “This is something I can do for Emma, and I would like to.”
    “That’s fine, then, Penny. She’s ready for you. Follow me.”
    He led Penny through the premises, past the visitation room, to a small, white-tiled workroom at the rear of the building. Emma was lying on a stainless steel table, dressed in a tailored navy blue dress with white buttons. A crisp white sheet covered the lower half of her body, and her hands had been placed on top.
    “In your own time, Penny,” Philip said.
    Penny cautiously approached the table, looked carefully at Emma, and then turned to smile timidly at Philip.
    “It’s a cliché, but it’s true … she really does look peaceful. You did a good job, if that’s the right thing to say.”
    Philip brought a stool to the table and set it down beside a worktable covered with a green surgical-type cloth on which he had thoughtfully placed an empty glass, a bottle of water, and a box of tissues.
    “You might find it easier to sit on this side,” he said, “do her left hand, and then take the chair and table around the other side of the table and do her right hand.”
    Penny sat gingerly on the stool and looked expectantly at Philip. He nodded gently and said, “It’s up to you, Penny. I’ll stay with you while you work, or if you prefer, I’ll leave you alone with her.”
    “I think I’ll do this on my own, Philip, thanks. Give me about half an hour.”
    He nodded again and quietly left the room. Penny reached into her carrier bag and set out the contents on the worktable.
    She reached for Emma’s hand, lifted it gently, and placed it on the small white towel she had brought with her. At the first touch of Emma’s cool, still hand, her eyes filled with tears. She knew those hands so well. She had seen them hand her an icy gin and tonic, make the most delicious biscuits, fit in the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, eagerly open a Christmas gift, and gently brush the hair from her forehead on a hot day as she worked in her garden. Penny had held them in her own hands almost every week for more than two decades. And over the years, she had seen them change as time did its cruel work. Brown spots had developed on the thinning skin as its elasticity was lost. The knuckles had become more pronounced and dark blue ropey veins had surfaced. How Emma had hated the way her hands looked! But despite all the hand cream, manicures, and wearing of cotton gloves to protect them from the sun, her hands had aged along with the rest of her. And, thought Penny, they told the story of a long life lived with truth and dignity.
    She pulled a tissue from the box that Philip had thoughtfully left for her, and began to work on Emma’s nails for the last time, telling herself she could have a good cry when this was over. Half an hour later, just as she was finishing, Philip returned.
    “They look lovely, Penny. You were right, Miss Teasdale would have wanted you to do them for her. Well, just a few more things to tend to and she’ll be ready for this afternoon’s viewing. Will you be coming in?”
    Penny shook her head.
    “No, Philip. I’m doing the Gruffydd wedding girls this afternoon so I’m going to come this evening. Thank you for letting me do Emma one last time. It was sad, and felt strange, but at the same time it was, I don’t really know what the word is … helpful?”
    “It may have helped you accept Emma’s passing. You were a lot alike, you two, and she thought the world of