Chapter Text
Antigone Funn had always known she would die alone and forgotten in a cold and dark place. She had just expected that place to be her mortuary and not one of the caves along the Piffling cliffs. And to add to her terrible misery, this was all due to her very own actions that her brother of all people advised her against. Dying with the knowledge that Rudyard had been right had to be the most horrible fate of all. She couldn't help replaying the last few hours in her head.
Amateur diver Finley Wells had left specific instructions for their funeral down to the exact location the service was supposed to be held at, even if that meant a service on the beach as the rain was pelting down and drenched everyone. This was the part of the beach where they had always put their diving suit on, a very special place. Rudyard's whining about wet shoes didn't change that. Funn Funerals had dealt with far worse than rainy weather in the past. And their successful streak after the funeral they took on for Chapman remained unbroken. Antigone wasn't about to compromise their luck. That's why she ended up at the funeral service herself to make sure Rudyard didn't slack off. So, both of them stood in the rain with the rest of the funeral guests, listening to the reverend give his eulogy.
"We are gathered here on this very rainy day to say goodbye to Finley Wells, a great sibling, partner, friend and subpar diver. Their passion for the ocean was unrivaled, but that love was sadly not returned. Who amongst us would've guessed that one can be so allergic to the spines of a sea urchin? But as I always say: never trust a sea creature! Especially not at a restaurant that specializes in calzones. One simply cannot tell what is inside. We may never find out how the spines made it into the crust. I myself once had an encounter with a seahorse that almost had me convinced the devil was real…"
Antigone felt her attention slipping. She already had to deal with enough of Nigel Wavering's tangents and arguments for or against faith during the writing sessions for their new book. Besides, she knew the story about the seahorse already. It ended with the reverend's renewed interest in Norse mythology and shellfish dishes. Rudyard kept glancing at his watch and she could tell he was moments away from trying to cut the reverend short. She elbowed him in the ribs which earned her a pained groan and furious glare from her brother.
The reverend still went on.
"...I think Finley had a lot in common with the vikings. Their explorative spirit, their fierceness and of course their impressive beard!"
Even Finley's brother who had been sobbing for most of the funeral chuckled at that. Antigone didn't even have to look at Rudyard to know he was irritated. He still thought any laughter at a funeral was inappropriate, but at least he held himself back from telling everyone immediately.
"So, let's remember Finley as a viking! Let's go out into the world and explore it on their behalf!" the reverend finished.
It didn't take long for everyone to hurry to drier territory after that. Even the reverend cut his goodbyes short. Antigone knew that the Wells family would have a small gathering at their home for the mourners. They had even invited the Funns. Obviously, both of them declined. Antigone wouldn't want to intrude. And Rudyard didn't want to spend more time with other human beings than he absolutely had to. Besides, they still had work to do.
"Are you sure we should do this now?" Rudyard asked. "It's not only the rain. This is a storm! The wind, the waves… I don't think we should be out there on a boat! Let's go home and dry off."
"The instructions are clear, Rudyard!" Antigone pushed the boat they had prepared towards the water. "Funeral service on this part of the beach. Afterwards, the ashes will be scattered into the ocean at the exact part of the cliffs they loved to start their dive in!"
She finally reached the water and looked over her shoulder. Rudyard hadn't moved one inch and stood with his arms crossed like the petulant child he was.
"I'm not going!"
"Fine!" she shouted back. "Then I'll go by myself!"
Without further ado, she pushed the boat fully into the water and clumsily jumped in, Finley Wells' urn cradled in her left arm. She put it between her feet to keep it steady after she sat down.
"Antigone, wait!"
She ignored Rudyard and used the paddles to row towards the cliffs. It was more difficult than she would have liked. Maybe Rudyard hadn't been wrong in calling this a storm. The waves shook the boat from side to side and water sloshed over the sides. She picked up the urn, so it wouldn't fall over. As much as she wanted to do this properly, it turned out to be impossible under these conditions. She would have to row back to the beach and-
Before she could finish the thought, one of the waves had finally managed to tip the boat over and she was suddenly surrounded by water. She had been lucky to hold on to one of the paddles which had kept her somewhat above water. The waves threw her around, sometimes crashing over her head. Despite all her efforts her nose and mouth filled with seawater. Drowning was not on the list of her preferred ways to die.
She managed to lift her head over the water again and saw through eyes burning from the salt that she was right next to one of the cave entrances in the cliffs. With the last of her energy, she managed to swim vaguely into the direction. Aided by a stray wave, she actually made it.
And here she was sitting now. In a dead end with no possibility of escaping or even calling for help. The storm still raged outside. And by some sort of miracle she had been holding onto the urn through it all. It was filled with water now, but still. Her eyes wandered across her surroundings for the thousandth time. The cave hardly deserved the name. It was so shallow that she could only walk a few steps from the entrance to the back wall. The gray limestone walls were rough to the touch except for the area right by the sea. The constant lapping of the sea had smoothed the hard stone. Not even the cliffs could resist the power of the elements, what chance did she have? If Georgie were not off exploring the world, Antigone would have at least a sliver of hope. But as it was, she would have to resign herself to her inevitable demise. Rudyard was absolutely useless in situations like these. And if Eric Chapman had proven anything it was that he could not be relied upon. Avoiding being alone with her like the plague after almost asking her out? A part of her would rather die than be saved by him at this point. Not that he would even know to look for her. And then there was this nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her his sudden change of heart was somehow her fault. He had been completely normal during the cinema showing of Détenu au Cœur the Thursday after he decided to stay on Piffling. Then suddenly, he wasn't anymore.
Antigone saw him again at Petunia's flower stall, the morning after their together-but-not-actually-together cinema visit. He still hadn't asked her out properly. New day, new opportunity.
Antigone didn't intend to sneak up on him. She rarely ever intended to sneak up on anyone. It always sort of happened regardless.
"Hello, Chapman," she said, standing directly next to him.
He was startled, as per usual. But this time it wasn't followed by a wide smile and an enthusiastic greeting.
"Oh. Hello, Antigone." He smiled tightly and looked at the flowers in his hands and put them back. "You know what, Petunia, I'm going to pick these up later. I forgot that I have an appointment with Desmond and won't be able to bring them home. Enjoy yourselves!"
And in just a few seconds, he weaved through the crowd on the market and was out of sight.
"Oh my, either the two of us scared him off or another woman enticed him away," Petunia joked and winked at Antigone.
She didn't really know how to reply to that, so she ordered the chrysanthemums she came for and left.
The next time she saw him was at the vicarage. She was working with Reverend Wavering on their book, when they heard a knock on the front door.
"It's open!" the reverend shouted.
Eric Chapman came in, his eyes landed on her and he turned on his heels to leave again with the words "I didn't know you had company, Nigel, I'll come by later! Enjoy yourselves!"
"Well, that was a bit odd," the reverend said. "Any idea what that was about, Antigone?"
"Not even in the slightest," she answered. They stopped their writing session soon after. She was too distracted.
Now, Antigone had suspected that maybe Rudyard had done something to Chapman and ruined everything for her. It wouldn't be out of character. And blaming her brother for everything was an easy way to deal with her frustrations. But then there Chapman was, arguing with Rudyard in front of Funn Funerals as if everything was normal. Well, their version of normal.
She opened the door just enough to see the two of them and hear what they were saying.
"... I already made the booking for the lighthouse last week, Rudyard. I've planned the entire funeral around it. I'm not going to give it to you because you were too scared to talk to Marjorie about it!" Chapman told her brother.
"Why can't we share, Chapman? I told my client we could do the funeral at the lighthouse and you wouldn't want to be responsible for disappointing the McHeaths, would you?" Rudyard shook his head theatrically as if he was also disappointed. "Their grandparents met at that lighthouse. Or maybe they got engaged to be married there. I don't quite remember. But! It was very important to them."
Chapman pinched the bridge of his nose.
"We can't share! How would we even have two funerals simultaneously? Bill and Nigel would be talking over each other."
Rudyard sputtered, trying to come up with an argument to that. Antigone took the opportunity to fully open the door and step outside.
"That can't be an unsolvable problem for Eric Chapman, can it? I think you've managed worse to make a funeral work."
This time he wasn't even looking at her. He vaguely waved his hand in her direction as a lackluster greeting, before focusing on her brother again.
"Fine, Rudyard, you win. You can have the lighthouse on Saturday." He threw his hands up. "I'll think of something else."
Chapman didn't even tell them to enjoy themselves as he fled to his own funeral parlour.
"How did you do that?" Rudyard asked, his eyes wide with awe. "You barely say one sentence and Chapman gives in! I can't believe it!"
That was the moment Antigone decided that two could play this game. She simply would not acknowledge the existence of Eric Chapman in the future. He was more than dead to her because she actually chose to be in the company of corpses.
"Stupid Chapman, if he didn't want to ask me out anymore he could have said so," Antigone murmured to herself. "Then I wouldn't have made a fool of myself."
She looked down at her hands, even paler than usual, as if all blood had left them. They were also starting to lose feeling. Antigone wondered whether it would be the hypothermia or the dehydration that would kill her first. Even the puddles in the cave were salty from the waves outside, not fit for human consumption. At least, the sky was slowly brightening outside. Somehow, she had made it through the first night without the cold taking her out, despite her clammy and damp dress or her numb fingers. Looking at the facts, dehydration seemed slightly more probable at the moment.
Chapman would have to be the one to embalm her dehydrated corpse as the only mortician left on the island. Maybe she should throw herself into the waves hoping her body would never be found. That would be quite cruel to Rudyard though. He had been thinking about putting her into a coffin in the ground on time according to a strict schedule ever since they were children. Poor Madeleine would have to do all the work to keep him out of trouble after her demise. Antigone's mind kept wandering to the other people in her life. Surely, Georgie would come back for the funeral. Antigone really didn't want to cut her trip around the world short, but death never did pay any mind to inconveniences like that. And there was also the reverend. They had been making quite the progress with their crime novel full of passion. He would never be able to finish it without her. Nigel Wavering was a man full of half-baked ideas and no clue how to express them and put them on paper. Today was also a Thursday. She had told Herbert just last week how much she was looking forward to watching mépris et colère. Herbert would have to close on Thursdays or even worse, play some popular drivel for the masses without her. Especially since Chapman had decided he was not interested in attending anymore. Thinking about all the people who would be affected by her passing made her realize that maybe she wasn't as forgotten as she had once thought. The townspeople had finally stopped believing she was already dead, too. Antigone had always considered herself to be someone who would be ready for death once it came. But given everything, it would be a shame to die here. Life was finally bearable and at times even enjoyable. A cruel twist of fate that it all would end once she was not awaiting her demise anymore.
She was so deep in thought with her musings about life and death that she only realized someone was coming in, when a body blocked the faint light drifting into the cave entrance. She looked at the figure. She could easily make out the face, even in the dark. It was Eric Chapman.