a brochure and had opinions about it that I will not repeat.
And he named me. Not as a wife. As the person who would arrange it and make sure it happened.
There is a line on that form for the relationship and he made Ruth write friend, and then he made her read it back to him, twice.
And then he said — and this is the only time I saw that man be anything other than cheerful — “That’ll do. That’s all it ever needed to be.”
And the fortnight itself, which I have described as phone calls and which was also four days of being absolutely furious in a way I have not been since I was about thirty.
I rang the home on the Tuesday and asked, politely, what their procedure was for a resident with no next of kin who owns a burial plot.
The woman who
