Doctor Who_ Rip Tide - Louise Cooper [18]
'It was the last thing Dad ever made,' Liz told him. 'He was really pleased with it, apparently, and he wore it himself. But he wanted you to have it.'
Steve blinked against a sudden stinging in his eyes and looked up from the gift. 'Are you sure?' he said uncertainly. 'I mean, if he liked it ... you might want to ... well, maybe it should...'
'Be buried with him? No. He wouldn't want that. He'd rather it was here, being seen and appreciated, than ...' Her voice caught and she waved a hand, leaving the rest unsaid. 'Have it, Steve. As a keepsake.'
'Thank you.' Blinking again, Steve slipped the chain over his head. The cylinder in its mounting rested against his breastbone and he fingered it. 'It'll be my first family heirloom.' God, what a crass thing to say! But Liz seemed to appreciate it.
'We don't know yet when the funeral will be,' she said. 'They're going to carry out a post-mortem.'
'Someone mentioned that,' said Steve. 'But I thought it was just a heart attack? Oh — Sorry — I don't mean just —' (well done, Steve, size 9 right in it!) '— that is —'
'I know what you mean.' Liz, he thought, must have a wealth of patience. 'Well, yes, as far as we know, it was. But Dad had never had any heart trouble before. And there were one or two odd symptoms: She frowned. 'His hands, for instance. They were covered with a rash of some kind. Apparently it started when the 'flu bug did. The doctor gave him all sorts of creams but they didn't have any effect. So they just want to make sure that there couldn't have been any contributory cause.'
'I'm sorry,' Steve said. 'That must be very hard for you.'
'Oh, it's all right. They have to do these things, don't they? And it can't matter to Dad any more.'
She offered Steve tea but he thought it was more tactful to decline, and he went home feeling heavy-hearted. She would let him know, she had said, as soon as a date was fixed for the funeral, and he had told her that the lifeboat crew would be there in full measure. Charlie had been a crew member years ago; it was the very least they could do. In the meantime . . . well, life had to go on. At least he had something concrete to remember Charlie by. He would wear it whenever he could, he resolved. He would treasure it.
The post-mortem on Charlie Johns was completed within a few days, and the coroner's verdict was recorded. A heart attack; nothing more complicated than that. The rash was a mystery, but the pathologist had said that it could not possibly have contributed in any way to the fatal seizure. The body was released, and the funeral took place in the small Victorian parish church on a Monday morning, nine days after Charlie's death.
The lifeboat crew were there, as indeed was just about the whole population of the village as far as Steve could tell. Even Nina turned up, in a calf-length black skirt and dark grey jacket – and, to Steve's greater surprise, Ruth was also among the mourners. He saw her in the churchyard as he arrived, standing apart from everyone else. She was wearing very formal black, and he excused himself from his colleagues to go and speak to her.
'Ruth!' They hadn't met since Charlie died; she had rung him once, but that was all.
'Hello, Steve.' She looked tired, he noticed. 'I thought it would be all right to come. I hope no one minds.'
'I'm sure they won't. Did you know Charlie?'
She shook her head. 'No. But it's ... the thing to do, isn't it?'
He was so glad to see her that he didn't really notice the oddity of that comment. The hearse arrived then, and a single bell began to toll mournfully, summoning them all into the church. The crew went in together and Steve managed to find a place at the end of a pew, where there was room for Ruth to sit beside him. Nina, three rows behind, had seen Ruth and noticed the attention Steve was paying her, and as the coffin