As the sand trickled between her fingers and skimmed the polished mahogany of her father's coffin, the first thought that came to Edna was that it was soft and granular, which was unexpected; the second went along the lines of oh-crap-that's-my-father-in-there-and-he's-going-underground-soon. It occurred to her that she must have missed the eulogies and the vicar's rambling attempt at canonising a man who was widely accepted to be a jerk. Stuart had clamped her arm in his clammy hand. He seemed more distraught than she was. As she stepped forward, past the grave and into the shade of the trees, she tried to wriggle out of Stuart's embrace. Whenever he held her bicep, it felt as though he was measuring her and making mental notes about how she could get the best out of her next gym session. It was an occupational hazard for a personal trainer, this much she knew, but it made her feel inadequate. Her sister Genevieve blew her nose into her husband's hanky and the collective winced at the sound. Edna tried to hide her giggles. She hoped it would look like a body-wracking sob. The snorts didn't help. Stuart leant closer.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing." The sound that followed was a combination of a gargle and a guffaw. She'd gone and done it - descended into hysteria.
"Would you keep it down?" Genevieve took it upon herself to say what she knew everyone was thinking.
Edna began to howl. Stuart shot everyone apologetic looks and steered Edna to the far side of the cemetery.
"What's got into you?"
Edna wiped her eyes as the last of her chuckles shook her frame. "Oh, my stomach hurts."
"Is this some kind of weird projection thing you're doing? Dr Stephens has been discussing it with me."
Dr Stephens was his therapist. When Edna first heart about Stuart's sessions, she thought it wasn't much of a stretch for a personal trainer to have low self-esteem. While she knew he was compensating for something, she appreciated that his six pack was a side-effect.
"Weird projection thing? Stuart, my father just died."
"I know that. You're hardly dressed for a party."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
She chewed her lip. She wished she could backtrack to three minutes earlier when she was doubled up over the gravestone of Bradford Bingham Cox, beloved uncle and soldier, and laughing. Instead, she was facing a burly man wearing a tight suit and a concerned expression.
"Can you take me home?"
"We have to go to the reception in the church hall."
"Is that a 'no'?"
"It's your father's funeral, Edna. You should make an effort."
"Getting dressed was an effort. Trying to hold it together was an effort. Listening to that idiot vicar sing the praises of a man who should be Stalin's roommate in hell was an effort. I'm done. Either you can take me home or I will ring a taxi."
The car stopped outside her duplex on Persimmon Street just as the rain started. She paid the driver and got out. She didn't hear the persistent bell until she was on all fours on the pavement with a handlebar in her ribs.
"I'm so sorry. Didn't you hear me?"
Edna looked up at a neon helmet. It belonged to kind eyes.
"My fault," she said. "I've just come back from my father's funeral."
Her face crumpled into her sleeve. She felt gloved hands help her to her feet and steer her to the overhang at her front door. The feeling of foolishness joined the pain in her ribs as she heaved with grief. Velcro ripped and he took the key from her hand. She was inside, in the warmth of her kitchen, listening as the cyclist propped his bike in the foyer. The front door shut.
There was a stranger in her house. Normally a situation like this would prompt Edna to call the police. Instead, she sat at the counter and watched him fill the kettle. She gestured at the cupboards for tea, mugs, spoons, sugar. She watched him squelch to the fridge for milk and squelch to the pantry for a tray and digestive biscuits.
"Are you comfortable?"
She nodded.
"Great. But I think you need to sit on a couch." He picked up the tray. "Lead the way."
Edna noticed that he didn't comment on the disarray of the den. He didn't flinch at the assortment of newspapers, magazines, empty boxes of Bacon Kips and Mini Cheddars packets. Stuart would have fired up the app on his phone to calculate how long she'd need to run on the treadmill to get rid of all the kilojoules.
"I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Bruce MacDougall. I live down the road and I work at the library. I know your name is Edna Vincent because that's the name on your library card. Also, you have a book outstanding. A copy of Underworld by Don DeLillo. I think it's late because you're struggling to finish it. That's OK. I tried reading it twice before giving up. I donated it to the library, so technically you're reading my copy."
He handed her a mug and a digestive.
"I'm sorry about earlier. I decided on a whim to go for a ride. It was a combination of feeling guilty about my neglected bike and wanting to prove to my housemate that I care about fitness. I'm so glad it bumped into you. A cuppa and a biscuit is more my idea of fun." Bruce proffered a tissue. "You might want to dab your eyes. Your mascara is turning you into a member of KISS."
Although it hurt, Edna laughed. "Thank you. Thank you for rescuing me."
"You're welcome. That's my other hobby after reading and riding bikes."
She laughed again and clutched her ribs.
"The tea is delicious."
Bruce nodded as he chewed. "If you don't mind my asking, why are you alone after your father's funeral?
"Well, I got the giggles at the grave. Then I broke up with my boyfriend when he refused to bring me home, and I've been avoiding my sister's calls because I've had my fill of disapproval today."
"You got the giggles?"
"Throwing sand at an expensive chunk of wood is hilarious. But that wasn't what got me going. My sister makes the weirdest noise when she blows her nose. It's like a brass band tuning up before they play."
"No!"
"There she was, doing a B Flat Major while people were chucking sand in the ground. And then I kept thinking that we got sand from elsewhere to put back into the earth. Who thought that was a good idea?"
"Madness!"
"So my boyfriend got annoyed when I began to laugh."
"Philistine."
"Yeah, he was. And doubly stupid."
"Why were you together?"
"He was a New Year's Resolution gone wrong."
Bruce took another biscuit. "You're going to have to explain that one to me."
Edna sighed. "I got it in my head that it would be a good idea to join a gym. I hate gyms, but you know how it is: new year, new bouts of stupidity after too much champagne." She examined her fingernails. "He is a personal trainer."
"So he offered to help you with your ab crunches?"
"And then some. I suppose I liked the idea of him. I thought his fanaticism about exercise would rub off on me. And that went well, until I realised that my ideal exercise involves lifting. Especially when it's lifting food to my mouth."
His eyes crinkled and he looked apologetic as he wiped the spray of crumbs off his lap. "That certainly accounts for the Bacon Kips boxes. You wouldn't happen to have any more?"
Edna threw a scatter cushion at him, which prompted more chuckles.
"Look, this has been lovely, but I think my housemate will think I fell into a ditch and died if I don't get going."
"Does your housemate always jump to conclusions?"
Bruce nodded. "He reads too many detective novels. And he's a paramedic. He's seen the worst things that can happen to people."
"Maybe he can explain why it's always joggers or dog walkers who find bodies in those stories."
"A word of advice: don't ask. He'll extrapolate for days." His eyes crinkled again and he placed his hand on her forehead. "Good news. You'll live. Just double the dose of tea and digestives if you're feeling under the weather later." He fiddled with the Velcro on his glove strap and stood. "I put my card on the fridge. If you want me to fetch Underworld, give me a call."
She watched him walk to the foyer and dangle his gloves and helmet on the handlebars of the bicycle.
"Goodbye, Edna."
"Goodbye, Bruce. And thank you again. You're my knight in a bicycle helmet."
"I bet you say that to all the personal trainers."
"Then it's a good job you're a librarian."
They hovered. He tilted towards her and thought the better of it. "Would you, er, mind opening the door?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Sorry."
He grazed past her, and hovered again.
"I hope you're not going to ride home."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Besides, my belly is so full of tea and biscuits that I risk making myself throw up if I let my knees bump against it. Sorry. Too much information. I'll just be going."
"Thank you again." She waved as he walked down the path to the pavement.
Bruce stopped and leant his bike against the hedge.
"Have you forgotten something?"
His mouth tasted of oats and tea. He winked at her and seemed to bounce back down the path.
When he was out of sight, Edna went back to the kitchen. As promised, his card was on the fridge and he'd underlined the part which said "In the Unlikely Event of an Emergency, Dial..." She grinned at his subtlety. Her eye fell on a scrap of paper behind a recipe for a kale smoothie which Stuart had made her keep. It was her list of New Year's Resolutions. She tore off the heading, placed it over Bruce's card and secured it with her favourite magnet. This resolution was one she knew would be easy to achieve.
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