by Luca Veste
I did all of that to the sound of Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells coming from my mobile phone.
I threw an old sitcom on the television and took out the ironing board, setting it up in the living room. I’d seen the episode a hundred times or more, I reckoned, but it didn’t stop me. For any mindless activity, Frasier was always the go-to for me.
I spent ten minutes trying to find a black tie, eventually discovering one balled up at the back of my wardrobe. I did a simple knot and I was done.
The suit was a size too big. At least. It would do.
By 9.30 a.m. I was waiting at the living-room window for Chris and Nicola to arrive. The sky was grey, which seemed fitting for the occasion. I was wondering if I could wear some kind of coat over my suit – and which one of the three I owned would even be fit for purpose – when I spotted Chris’s car turn into my small street and pull to a stop outside.
I checked my pockets for my phone and wallet. Found my keys. Stood at the front door, willing myself to open it and step outside.
Seconds passed by. I could hear myself breathing. The light coming through the glass panes at the top of the door darkened. I could feel my chest tightening.
I didn’t want to leave. Inside the house, everything was okay. Everything was safe. My suit was uncomfortable and I wanted to change it. I wanted to sit in my office and drink coffee and work and listen to music and forget about what lay on the other side of the door.
I could hear my own breathing.
Nothing else.
I closed my eyes, plunging myself into darkness and I was suddenly back in the woods. I could hear Stuart’s voice. His Mancunian accent and his pleading for help.
The sound grew and grew until I couldn’t breathe any longer.
My hand was on the door, but in my mind it was against a tree trunk.
I didn’t want to leave. Inside was safety.
Outside . . .
Outside there were woods and trees and my friends screaming for help and blood and death and red candles.
I scrunched my eyes tighter as the silence disappeared and all I could hear and see was Stuart screaming and Chris crying and Alexandra turning the colour of snow. Michelle rocking backwards and forwards and Nicola shaking with anger.
A knock at the door was loud enough to spring me back to reality. I breathed in and out deeply.
I could do this.
I didn’t want to.
When the second knock came, I let muscle memory kick in and I opened the door. Chris was standing on the doorstep.
‘Alright mate, you ready?’ Chris said, his face falling as he looked me over. He looked worried, as if I was about to break down. ‘All good?’
I nodded and checked my pockets again. Wallet, phone, keys. I had turned off all the sockets, except for one. I wasn’t sure if Chris could hear it, but in the kitchen music was playing on repeat, so when I came home the house wouldn’t be silent.
‘Yeah, let’s go,’ I replied, still unmoving in the doorway.
‘There’s no rush,’ Chris said, tilting his head to one side, studying me. ‘We’ll be there well before eleven if you need to . . .’
‘No, it’s fine, honestly.’ I watched him hesitate, then purse his lips. Turn away and walk away slowly back up the path. I breathed in again and followed him out. Turned around and checked the door was locked. Four times.
‘You couldn’t find a suit that actually fit?’ Chris said, waiting for me before getting into the driver’s seat.
‘Harhar,’ I replied, giving a tight smile to Nicola in the passenger seat who returned it. I opened up the back door and slipped into the car. Chris followed suit as I moved a few papers from the back seat and took care not to brush against Chris’s suit jacket hanging in the back. His shirt was more creased than mine, but he still looked as well put together as he always did. His stubble more designer than scruffy, his hair intentionally floppy, his build solid rather than the approaching middle-age paunchy that others our age showed.
The car smelled of a mix of expensive aftershave and perfume. I was aware that the only aroma I added to it was Lynx Africa and Head and Shoulders shampoo.
‘Morning,’ I said to the back of Nicola’s head. She didn’t move, staring ahead now, dressed in a black dress, I assumed, from the limited view I had. ‘How’s things going?’
‘They were okay until this happened,’ Nicola replied, her clipped, Southern-money tones still apparent even after all these years spent in the north of England. She had moved up here at around eight or nine years of age, but hadn’t managed to lose the accent. I would have normally tried to joke around with her, but it didn’t seem the time. Never did anymore. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
Chris nodded at her, but I could tell he wanted to say something more. As if I’d interrupted an argument that had been ongoing. I imagined I was close to the truth. Not that they would ever dream of airing such grievances in front of anyone else.
I couldn’t picture them arguing all that much anyway. They’d been together so long, that I thought by now they would be immune to the usual niggles that happen in relationships. I wouldn’t know, of course, given my history of arguments with partners. One and out, was apparently my motto. Although, if I took my parents as an example, they could have blazing rows every day about something as small as whose turn it was to wash the dishes – always Mum’s, according to my dad – or something political.
I wondered if that was something my mum missed and made a promise to myself that I’d call her at some point. It had been a while.
The houses faded away, replaced by fields of dirty green and blackening wintertime trees. Roads became smaller, more winding, as we left the town where I lived and drove towards the address we’d been given. A church on the outskirts of Manchester. Some village I didn’t know.
The silence was broken by Chris pressing a few buttons and music filling the car. Nicola reached across and turned down the volume almost as soon as he did so. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, opened my mouth to speak and then thought better of it.
I knew what the atmosphere was about. How could I not?
In the years since we’d first met and become friends, there had been very few moments of discomfort. Of awkwardness. I’d last been on a car journey with Chris and Nicola more than a year or so earlier and laughter had filled the car for the entire ninety minutes we drove together.
Now, the weight of where we were going and the memories of the past year seemed to have destroyed that part of us.
The radio broke into news, then a song came on. An older one, not on the usual playlist I would have thought. A nineties hit I couldn’t quite name, but seemed to know the lyrics to. I remembered the band easy enough. I’d seen them play live a few times, most recently a year earlier. All of us somewhere in a field, pretending we were kids again. Jumping up and down and singing along to every word.
Nicola reached across and snapped the radio into silence.
‘I can’t listen to that anymore,’ she said, her hand shaking a little as she brought it back and out of my sight. ‘Sorry.’
Chris didn’t answer, staring straight ahead at the road as it began to open up again and more buildings came into view. I kept quiet as well, as the name of the song came to mind, the band . . . where I saw them play live the last time.
Nothing else needed saying. The conversation was over. We all knew why.
I watched as the time approached 10 a.m. and began to brace myself for what was to come. The possible questions I’d be asked, the people I’d see.
The satnav on the dashboard came to life after a single road for the previous fifteen minutes and began blurting out directions that Chris took in silence. Within a few minutes, we were pulling up outside a church on a street I didn’t know, in a town I knew even less. I could feel the tightness in my chest again, as I thought about leaving the car. Walking outside, in a place I didn’t know. It was hard to ignore, but I caught Chris’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and
my heart slowed down again. I was safe. I wasn’t alone. We were early, so we settled into the car, which also helped.
‘Had to be Manchester, didn’t it?’ Chris said softly to himself. I sniffed in the back seat, while Nicola shook off her seat belt and leaned forward in the seat.
‘It’s not technically Manchester, Chris,’ she said, pulling up a bag, opening it and rummaging inside. ‘Don’t worry – I won’t tell anyone back home that we were here. Not that people care as much as you think.’
‘You never did understand,’ I said from the backseat, hoping to lighten the tone. Chris may have moved a little outside of the city now – living out towards Southport – but that didn’t change things. We still shared a ridiculous aversion to the major city down the M62. ‘Remember when we met him? I don’t think he realised how long we would go on about it.’
Chris laughed quietly, then shook his head. ‘Remember the arguments we’d have? Always about music. Didn’t matter what it was, he thought Manchester was the epicentre of great music. You’d have thought Oasis were the second coming the way he talked about them. Listening to the Happy Mondays like they were any good.’
‘That’s what it always came down to,’ I replied, smiling a little at the memory. We were all nineties kids, entering the new millennium. Britpop had been our culture. ‘Not the Beatles versus the Stones. It was Oasis versus Blur, and we hated both of them.’
‘That was always a class thing anyway,’ Chris said, sweeping a hand through the fop of hair that was becoming more grey every time I saw him. In the past year, small flecks had become strands had become blocks. ‘Working-class people liked Oasis, the middle class liked Blur.’
‘I never understood why he thought going to university in Liverpool was a good idea. He must have known he was going to get grief about where he came from.’
‘He wasn’t bad for a Manc.’
‘Depends what your definition of bad is,’ Nicola muttered to herself, quietening us instantly. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
I followed them up the path to the church, a few people standing near the gravestones on grass near the entrance. The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees the closer we got to the building, as always seemed to be the way. A woman around our age was standing in the doorway, looking at us. ‘Hi, you must be friends of Stuart?’
I cleared my throat and stepped forward. ‘I’m Matt, this is Chris and Nicola – we were friends of Stuart’s.’
Her demeanour changed in a split-second, her features softening, a tilt of the head. There had been an attempt to hide the dark rings under her eyes with make-up, but they were still noticeable. ‘Of course, I’m Stephanie. Stuart’s sister. Come inside.’
I let Chris and Nicola go first, struck by how alike Stephanie was to Stuart. I was trying to recall if he’d ever said he was a twin, but couldn’t remember that far back. I was sure he would have told us, but she looked so like him that I couldn’t believe they hadn’t shared a uterus together at some point.
I wondered if I was the first person to think of the word ‘uterus’ when entering a church for a funeral and suppressed a giggle at the thought.
I was nervous, I realised. My thoughts were racing, crashing into each other, an uncontrollable train. I knew what was coming. The memories it would bring up, the feelings that would follow.
It had to be done.
Home is safe. Let’s stay there. Come on. It’s not that far away.
The church was larger inside than I’d expected it to be from the outside. High ceilings and stain-glassed windows took up most of the walls. We were led into a vast open space – pews on each side, stone pillars in random places – which seemed to stretch back further than I’d imagined was possible. Various exits to other parts of the church, places where people were conversing and standing around. I heard soft chatter and scuffling feet on the hard floor and clinking jewellery. I followed Chris and Nicola in, stopping at the edge of the hall.
Chris was always much better than I was in these types of situations, but even he seemed a little reluctant to be his usual self in the church. I knew the feeling. We were out of place here; old friends who didn’t know the Stuart these people would.
We knew a different version from the one who had been driven to do what he’d apparently done.
There were a few introductions to various family members, all looking as vacant and washed out as the next. Stephanie introduced us to a few, then went to speak to who I assumed were her parents.
‘I remember Stuart saying you met at uni?’ Stephanie said on her return. She had guided us away from the larger group of family members and towards an empty pew halfway down the aisle. ‘Were you all in the same one? Is that how you all met?’
‘No,’ Chris replied, taking the lead thankfully. ‘A few of us had known each other since high school. Grew up in the same village. We didn’t meet Stuart until uni and he just slotted in, I guess. He was a good guy.’
‘He used to talk about your group of friends like they were some kind of gang. The Avengers or Justice League or . . . you know?’
We didn’t share in her laughter, but smiled in turn. ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Chris said, as I continued to glance around, trying to spot any sort of familiar face. ‘We all just got on really well, that’s all. And I suppose we all brought something different to the party. We’ve all grown up since then.’
‘He talked about you all,’ Stephanie said sadly. ‘Not much recently, but he didn’t talk about anything at all I suppose. I don’t think he was in the greatest place the past year. That should’ve been a clue. I guess you don’t realise these types of thoughts are going on in people’s heads.’ Then she excused herself to speak to more people who had arrived.
The whole encounter left me feeling on edge; yet it was as if it was only the opening act for me that morning. Like something more was waiting for me.
It was another half an hour before Stuart arrived. Six men carrying his coffin on their shoulders. I recognised one of his cousins, but bowed my head as they came closer. Then we were sitting down, as an older man pontificated from the pulpit up front.
Vicar or priest . . . I could never remember the difference. Or if there was one.
Stephanie was on her feet, reading from a piece of paper, as her parents sat at the front – straight backs and dead-eyed stares. She talked of Stuart’s life as if she was describing someone I’d never met. We had met him later in life and didn’t really have anything to do with his family, so it wasn’t surprising. They knew someone else, other than the man we had known.
That’s all it comes down to, I guessed. When you’re gone, someone will read facts from a single sheet of paper in front of a room of people.
It was up to you how you filled it.
She didn’t talk of the Stuart we had known for all those years. A different Stuart in so many ways.
She didn’t talk about what we had done.
She didn’t talk about the silence that followed it. Or the sleepless nights since. She didn’t talk about the teenager and his body being moved.
She couldn’t. No one apart from Chris, Nicola, and me could do that. She couldn’t recount the moment in those woods, when Stuart grabbed hold of me, when we realised the lad’s body had disappeared.
I wondered if Stuart had been thinking about that moment while the train came towards him.
It was safe at home. It was safe inside. I had to get out of that church. I could feel my hands shaking and slapped my knee when it started bobbing up and down. Chris gave me a look of concern and I had the urge to shout out. To tell everyone around us the real reason Stuart had taken his own life. ‘Excuse me,’ I whispered, standing up and sliding out of the pew. I received a tut from an older woman in a black hat, but barely heard it.
I needed to get out of there. I could almost feel the walls closing in on me. Hidden voices, asking questions I couldn’t answer. I walked straight up the aisle and out of the church without looking back.
&nbs
p; Outside it was no better. I willed Chris to follow me, so I could convince him that we needed to go. That I needed to get back home. I needed to be safe.
I could almost feel her presence before I saw her.
She was standing with her back to me, staring out towards the grounds of the church. I hadn’t seen her in months, but I didn’t even need to look her in the eye to know it was her. I could almost smell her, hear her voice, feel her skin beneath my hand.
As if sensing my presence herself, Alexandra turned as I stared at her back and she looked at me.
Then, she smiled.
Fourteen
In that instant, it was as if the past year hadn’t happened. I could have kidded myself forever, concentrated hard – screwed my eyes closed to reality and wished for it enough – so I could see a way to ignore every painful moment since I’d last seen her.
Instead, I watched as the smile slipped from Alexandra’s face into a puddle at her feet. The length of time it took to fall, moment by moment . . . each of them a sting to my heart.
‘Hello,’ I said, as if that would have been adequate. It wasn’t, but I tried again even though there was nothing I could say. ‘I mean, are you okay?’
That wasn’t very good either, but it seemed to slide off her. She opened her mouth to speak, but didn’t get the chance to as the door behind me opened up and Chris and Nicola emerged from the church and made their way towards us. The worried look on Chris’s face faded as he saw who was standing next to me. This time, Alexandra’s smile didn’t fade as quickly, as she looked past me and towards the pair. Nicola and Alexandra embraced, as Chris looked first at me, then shared an awkward hug with Alexandra.
‘How have you been? I haven’t seen you for a while now . . .’ I heard Nicola say, moving away slightly from Chris and I. He placed a hand on my shoulder and we stayed behind as they continued to move away.
The grass was beginning to brown in the seasonal turn, leaves lying atop like discarded litter.
‘You okay?’
‘Yeah,’ I replied, giving him an unconvincing smile. ‘I just needed to get out of there. All got a bit much.’