How to Say Goodbye
A heart-wrenching story of love, loss – and how to say goodbye to those who aren’t around to hear it.No-one is ever happy to see Grace Salmon.As a funeral arranger, she’s responsible for steering strangers through the hardest day of their lives. It’s not a task many would want – but, for Grace, giving people the chance to say a proper goodbye to the ones they love is the most important job in the world.From the flowers in the church to the drinks served at the wake,Grace knows it’s the personal touches that count – and it’s amazing what you can find out about someone from their grieving relatives … or their Facebook page. But when she accidentally finds out too much about someone who’s died, Grace is finally forced to step out of the shadows… and start living.
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KATY COLINS learned there is always a second chance in life.
Jilted before her wedding, she sold all she owned, filled a backpack and booked a one-way ticket to the other side of the world.
Her solo travels inspired her to pen ‘The Lonely Hearts Travel Club’ series and saw her dubbed the ‘Backpacking Bridget Jones’ by the global media. And, in a stunning twist of fate, Katy found her happy-ever-after by marrying the journalist who shared her story with the world.
She now lives in the middle of England with her husband, John, and two young children.
You can find out more about Katy, her writing and her travels at www.katycolins.com or @notwedordead on social media platforms.
Chasing the Sun
The Lonely Heart Travel Club series:
Destination: Thailand
Destination: India
Destination: Chile
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Katy Colins 2019
Katy Colins asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008202231
Dad, I think you’d like this one.
‘That it will never come again is
what makes life so sweet’
- EMILY DICKINSON
Contents
I straightened my chiffon scarf so the small forget-me-nots lay flat against my crisp, white shirt. A quick tug of my sleeves, brushing off imaginary fluff, a pat of my hair, tied back in a neat ponytail, and I was as ready as I would ever be. My rubber-soled shoes allowed me to silently do the last check of the small room. Every seat was presentable – the flowers arranged just so – and the windows and mirrors were spotless. Not a fingerprint or smudge in sight. The lights were set to the correct level, the gaudy air freshener that had been here when I’d arrived was where it belonged – in the bin – the synthetic lily of the valley scent no longer catching at the back of your throat. I smiled at the calming space. It looked perfect.
It had been another late night, preparing for today and the other services I had this week. I could hear my boss Frank’s voice warning me that I was going to end up burnt out if I wasn’t careful. I’d already had niggles with my neck and shoulders that he was convinced were stress-related, despite my insistences that I was fine. I’d catch up on sleep this weekend, I promised myself.
The sound of car tyres pulled me away from giving one of the red ribbons I’d looped though the end of the pews a final flourish. The family hadn’t specified a colour scheme but, as Mr Oakes had been a lifelong Liverpool FC fan, I thought they’d appreciate the gesture.
I straightened up and nodded to Leon, who was giving the sound system a once-over. He was my favourite of the team. He understood what I was trying to achieve without too much questioning, usually a slight raising of his bushy grey eyebrows or pressing his thin lips together would be all he’d say about some of my more ‘out there’ ideas. I ran a finger over the lectern. Clean as a whistle.
‘Leon, before I forget, did you get my message about next Wednesday? The Rivers family want to change their dove release from before to after the memorial slot.’
Leon nodded. ‘Don’t you worry. When would I ever let you down?’
‘Thank you.’ I was about to mention something else when a soft tinkle of an alarm began playing.
‘That’s our two-minute warning,’ I said, fishing my phone from my pocket, switching it to silent and double-checking the time.
Earlier I’d received a call that the cars had left precisely on time. I’d asked the drivers to take a slight detour that I hoped would bring some comfort to the family, if it went to plan. I had already checked the online route map for any last-minute traffic jams, diversions or roadworks, and had breathed a sigh of relief – everything looked clear.
