Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [94]
The drivers stubbed out their cigarettes. Justine and the children were ushered into the Lexus and it reversed into the street. David, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, gave us something approaching a sad smile and waved as the car purred away.
“The man of the family,” I muttered as the boy’s pale face receded into the night.
“Yes. Fourteen is too young,” Sami said softly. “Will you join me for a late supper?”
I thought about that for a moment but declined. I wanted a walk, a long walk. Sami told me we were in Clementi and it was a long way back to the hotel. “I’ll drop you closer,” he said. I shook my head.
“I’ve been averaging fifteen kilometres a day on the road,” I said, “and fifty laps of the pool. I think I can handle it.”
“If you’re sure.”
I was. Sami would send someone to pick me up at the hotel at noon the next day. The service was at 13:00 in the Cathedral of the Good Shepherd. The interment was scheduled for 16:00 in the Catholic cemetery at the Choa Chu Kang Cemetery Complex. The reason for the long delay between service and burial was because of a busy schedule at both the cathedral and the cemetery. The mourners would be adjourning to the nearby Carlton for light refreshments before setting off for the cemetery. Obviously, I would not be appearing at the Carlton. Too many staff would remember Ed Davidson from Perth.
I watched Sami and his people drive off and then I dug my street map out of my pocket and set a course for my new temporary home. It was midnight. The traffic was minimal. Singapore, it appeared, had almost gone to sleep.
Walking the pedestrian-deserted streets, I had time to think. Too much time to think. Before I was half way back to the Miramar, I was beginning to wonder if the walk had been a good idea. The demons of the dark were all in my own head. They were congregating there and each shadowy street I walked down added more.
35
I’m not sure how many of the two hundred or so mourners who came to the cathedral were friends of Simone or if Sami had called central casting and had a whole bunch of extras bussed in. No matter, there were a lot of people there. A few I recognised, including the three women who had been kidnapped along with Simone.
The kids, dressed in their best, were in the front row along with Justine. Sami and I were in the second pew. The casket, already in place in front of the altar, was buried under a mass of flowers. A large photograph of Simone sat on an easel at the head of the coffin.
The service was built around favourite hymns, songs everyone knew. The priest who ran the service spoke long and lovingly of Simone, and it seemed he genuinely knew her. He referred to her as a loyal, loving and much respected member of his congregation.
Sami delivered a eulogy. It was a beautiful thing, totally fitting to the lady we were saying farewell to. He spoke of his brother and his affection and respect for Simone who had been his loyal right hand for many years. Sami had obviously given a lot of thought to the moment.
Often I have referred to the many layers that made up my friend the Onion Man. Sami’s eulogy revealed even more of his deep and complex personality. There was a philosophical touch to his address and there was humour. He spoke to the children and for them, and then he concluded with a poem, a beautiful thing he had created himself.
The casket was wheeled from the cathedral, with the children and Justine walking beside it. Sami and I came next. I attempted to hang back slightly, but Sami insisted I stay at his side. Once the coffin was loaded into the hearse and driven away, the mingling started. Gradually, many of the mourners either went back to their places of work or joined the dozens who started across Bras Basah Road to the Carlton, where a function room had been prepared at Sami’s request.
I faded out of the crowd and made for Chijmes as the rest of the