Verdant Mist

It was four days after the funeral that the paint arrived. Verdant Mist.

Cherie had ordered it from Bardle's, the specialist supplier online. Many sample pots had been painted onto the chimney breast in the sitting room. A giant abstract mural of blues, greens and greys.

"I quite like it like that," said Derek.

"Don’t be daft," said Cherie, and so Derek had lost interest. He was happy to let her play with the colours but couldn't himself tell the difference between Cool Teal and Spearmint China. He certainly didn't prefer one over the other. After a while, Cherie had stopped asking his opinion.

"Just choose one," Derek had said. "If I don't like it I'll tell you. And if you don't like it, well... we can paint over it."

Lost Valley, Sphagnum Moss, Slaked Parsley.

"Too much brown," she would say or "Hmm, not so grassy!" or "Maybe green's wrong. I liked it yesterday, but the sun was out...maybe we should change the rug."

After three weeks, Cherie had finally settled on Verdant Mist – a pale green, not too vibrant, friendly with a hint of cucumber. She filled in the form online.

"We'll just have to wait and see," she said.

But the following day, on the way to Lidl, she stepped off the kerb. A Menzies delivery van was going too fast along Lady Balfour Way.

Derek collapsed in on himself like a house of cards on a rickety table.

Cherie's sister, Jeanette, came and dealt with the funeral arrangements. Cremation. They played Neil Sedaka's "Laughter in the Rain" as Cherie disappeared behind the curtains. The minister had a coughing fit.

Two days later Jeanette went and collected Cherie in a small plastic urn. A brown paper label named and dated the contents, "Mrs Cherie Downing - 16^th September, 2018."

For the time being, Cherie was placed on the mantlepiece in front of the patchwork chimney breast. Derek put her rings in the little Wedgwood dish next to her. He propped the Order of Service against the wall. She smiled out from the cover – a holiday picture he'd snapped in Caernarvon in 2014.

"You'll have to think where to scatter her, Derek," said Jeanette. "Let me know, won't you. I want to be there."

For three days, Derek was in fog. He sat on the sofa, looking at Cherie. Tears seeped from his eyes and dried on his cheeks.

He could hear her in the kitchen, he was sure. Or upstairs. She called his name. No. No.

Where could he scatter her? Where should he scatter her? Where would you want to be, Cherie?

On Thursday a DPD van pulled up outside. A young man brought a square box to the door. He had a thick moustache. Derek thought he was probably Turkish.

Derek opened the box and placed the tin of paint on the hearth.

For two more days, Derek sat on the sofa and looked at Cherie and down at the tin of paint below her. Verdant Mist. The tears had stopped but the emptiness in his chest remained.

The next morning he sat on the sofa drinking instant coffee from Cherie's cat mug. He looked at the chimney breast.

"Are you going to get off your arse and paint it for me, or what?" said Cherie.

"I’m drinking my coffee."

When he had finished, he went and fetched brushes from the cellar, took a screwdriver, flipped the lid of the paint open and contemplated Verdant Mist, friendly with a hint of cucumber. He spread newspaper on the hearth and pulled back the rug. He stretched masking tape along the edge of the skirting board and up around the joint between the wall and the tiles of the fireplace.

"You'll want a good straight line."

"Of course!"

He lifted Cherie down from her spot.

"Just the chimney breast,"said Cherie, "and don't forget to stir."

"It doesn't need stirring," said Derek, "it's emulsion."

He read the instructions on the tin.

Stir well before use.

"Told you," said Cherie.

"Well, you didn't used to have to," said Derek.

He went back to the cellar and found an old bamboo cane. Stirred the paint. Watched swirls of separated pigment appear and disappear in the creamy liquid. He dipped his brush into Verdant Mist. He dipped his brush into Cherie.

"Wait! What are you doing!?" said Cherie.

He loaded the wall – one thick stroke across the chimney breast – then up and down and Cherie clung, vinyl silk, to the lining paper.

Forty minutes later and Cherie was completely lost in Verdant Mist.

Friendly, with a hint of Cherie.