Dayna’s funeral was a couple of days later, and at first, I was reluctant to attend. The look of rage in Mr Khalid’s eye, the way he had thrown me out of the hotel; would he throw me out of her funeral as well? The night before her funeral, I was washing up the dishes from dinner when there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Jamal, Dayna’s older brother, dressed in a black thobe. The golden hour of the evening highlighted his perfect, angular features and his tired eyes were almost a perfect match for his sisters. I threw my arms around him, holding back a sneeze as his aftershave tickled my nose.
“Hey Blair, it’s good to see you.”
I pulled back from the awkward embrace and shot him a solemn smile. “You too, if only it were under different circumstances. What brings you to my house?”
He sighed. “I heard about what happened between you and my father and came to apologise.”
“You don’t have to apologise for the actions of a grieving father. I get it.”
“Well, my mum wanted to be sure you weren’t going to let it stop you coming tomorrow.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know… I don’t want to piss your dad off anymore.”
“Look I get it – it’s awkward. To be honest, I was pretty pissed off when I heard her dirty secret. It’s shameful and my dad is embarrassed so I get why he’s so angry. But I also understand why you did it – Dayna’s dead; any information that can help bring her killer to justice should be out there.”
His voice broke on the word “killer”, but he remained composed, as always. Jamal was always the pride and joy of the family; law degree, devout Muslim – he had not shunned university and his father’s way of life the way Dayna so vehemently had.
“I had prepared a eulogy and everything like your mother had asked, but I don’t know Jamal…”
His eyes widened. “Please Blair. You know it’s what Dayna would have wanted.”
“But not your dad.”
He laughed. “My dad didn’t even want her body autopsied, or for her to be buried up here. He wanted her taken to the Mosque he attends in Inverness, but mum put her foot down – she wanted her buried close by, with her best friends sharing their memories of her.”
“It amazes me the one person your dad is scared of is your mum; the most gentle woman on the planet.”
He nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re right, you know. So you’ll come then?”
“Of course, for your mum – and Dayna. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
*
The eulogy was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I could feel the prying eyes of everyone in the rows of benches before me, some occasionally sniffing into a tissue. There was the odd muted rumble of sympathetic laughter as I told old stories of Dayna and I growing up, sighs as I declared what a travesty it was that she be taken from us, and a few garbled sobs as I broke down at the end. I could barely finish, as I listed all of the ways I would miss her and how much I loved her. It was the encouraging smile from Granda that kept me going. He had done this for two people he loved; Margaret and Granny, I could do it for one. I was glad when it was over and I could step down and back into the crowd. Mrs Khalid read a poem next, then Jamal said a few words, all the while her white coffin adorned with roses and a large print of her favourite headshot sat centre stage. All too soon, we were piling outside and lead to her final resting place
Something felt inherently wrong about standing around an empty grave in the scorching Summer sun, shielding our eyes to watch the procession. My Dad’s funeral had been a dreich, grey day, cold and unwelcome. Grandma’s had been a wet, soggy affair with a thick fog that followed. Today, the smell of suntan lotion lingered in the air amid mumbles of how ridiculous it was to be dressed in black in this heat. I stared out over the sea of heads in the graveyard and down to the beach it overlooked. Longing for a moment to be splashing amongst the waves in the bay.
The whole village had turned up and some of their extended family; I noted a distinct lack in any of Dayna’s pretty model “friends” from her Instagram photos. I avoided Mr Khalid’s gaze as he passed me, coffin balanced on his shoulder. Mrs Khalid let out a whimper as we watched it lower into the ground and I felt a firm squeeze on my arm.
It was my mum, biting her lip, clutching my arm and mumbling “It’s ok darling.”
Sean stood on my other side, stoic and quiet with a loose grip on my hand. When all was said and done, most of the crowd dispersed and headed towards the hotel. I stayed, peering down into the dirt hole that housed her coffin.
“Are you coming to the wake?” A voice from behind me broke my concentration.
“Oh, Mrs Khalid… I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
She took my hand and squeezed it. “I want you there.”
The two of us stood in silence for a moment, staring down at the casket.
“She really loved you Blair, you were always there for her.”
I sniffed, willing the tears to stop trickling down my face. Dayna would be black affronted by my smudged mascara.
I cleared my throat. “I loved her too. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”
“Well let’s start with a gathering of friends in remembrance of her, ok?”
I nodded, letting her guide me up the steep road towards the hotel. A police car, blue lights flashing, suddenly over took us. We watched as it sped towards the Breakwater and skidded to a halt by the front door. Three bodies piled out of the car, two of which made their way inside.
Mrs Khalid frowned. “Really? Today of all days?”
We picked up our pace, before breaking into a sprint towards the hotel. There were shouts and screams coming from inside as the crowd parted like something from the bible. Sergeant Andrews ran towards us, wild eyed.
“Sara I’m so sorry. I begged that bloody inspector to wait – said it wasn’t appropriate today-“
Mrs Khalid threw her hands into the air. “What’s going on Audrey?”
She did not have time to answer. With PC Clark on one arm, and Detective McDonald on the other, Mr Khalid was dragged through the crowd, screaming in protest before being shoved into the back of the police car.
“What is the meaning of this?” Sara demanded.
Andrew’s couldn’t even look her in the eye. “I’m afraid your husband… your husband is under arrest… on suspicion of murder.”
The Murder Sessions 