by James Eddy
into the church was wide and tall. It was also locked. I decided to wander round the outside of the building, along a gravel path that broke up the lush green of neatly trimmed grass. When the path changed direction, I saw the side of the building given over to wild grasses and wildflowers. Full of energetic nature, they were a haven to the fluttering of patterned butterfly wings. That was where I found Dan, sitting on a bench in the early summer sun. He was staring at a single gravestone that stood in the middle of all the untamed beauty.
The sound of gravel crunching beneath my feet made him look over. He shielded his eyes and smiled, not at all surprised to see me. He looked the same as I remembered but then it had only been a few months. I don't really remember what he wore that day. He might've been dressed in grey and I do recall that the wind was cold and strong enough to bring some much needed colour to his cheeks. He looked back at the gravestone as I sat on the bench beside him.
“There’s the old motherfucker,” he said.
There was a moment when I wondered what he meant. Then I looked at the slab of granite he was staring at. The name ‘David Liman’ carved onto it let me take a first step towards understanding.
“I only met him twice,” he told me, “Once when I was three, which I don’t really remember and another time. When he actually made me feel a little bit wanted... He was dead and gone a couple of months after... Which was a bit more typical of him, I suppose”.
He almost smiled. It made me sad.
“Turns out he was drinking and went for a drive. Ended up wrapped around a lamppost and that was that..."
He looked me in the eye. He wanted me to understand.
"I always wanted to think better of him but... Ya know...”
“He deserted you.”
“Yeah... But. I don’t know… All I ever had was a few photos and vague things to base anything on... I couldn’t ask mum. It wasn’t fair on her... I think that’s why I came here. His wife still lives in the Rectory so I’ve been sleeping on her sofa for the last little while.”
I saw that all he'd wanted was to understand how his dad could abandon him, and, it seemed like he'd got some comfort from what he’d found.
“She’s nice and I’m pretty sure I don’t actually hate him anymore. The trouble is that I don’t really know what that leaves me with… Or how I feel right now.”
“Better?”
He smiled as he looked at me.
“Maybe.”
It sounded like it might've been the truth. We both looked away, towards the setting sun. The butterflies had gone from the air and I didn’t notice the dark clouds gathering in the sky. A little time passed and Dan spoke to me again:
“Will you apologise to Becky for me."
The mention of her name twisted round my mind. It brought back guilt but not understanding of how I'd blinded myself from my love for her.
"She didn't know and that's my fault not hers,” he added.
“I’m not sure I should be the one to tell her.”
“Things have changed. I know her feelings aren't the same as when I left.”
His words made my heart thump in a way that shouldn't have surprised me but did.
“What makes you say that?”
“There are a couple of little things,” he answered with a shrug.
I was about to ask what he meant when he looked at his watch:
“The last bus back to town's gonna be along in five minutes. You should probably be getting back to Becky, mate.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’ll be back in a day or two. There's some stuff to take care of here first.”
I said goodbye and walked away along the gravel path. I looked back only once and saw him still on the bench peering back at me through the growing darkness. I could see the kindness in his face as he shouted to me:
“Take care Scotty. And please tell her that I love her and she deserves to be happy.”
It was as I got onto the bus that the first spots of rain began to fall. By the time I arrived at the station the rain was almost torrential and nothing was clear. Or simple. Dragging my heels for another hour didn't help either. So, even as I let myself back into the house I had no idea what I was going to do.
Inside, there was more darkness. I turned on the light and my eyes went to the sofa. Becky was sitting there.
I was pleased until I saw the tears on her face were still fresh. My heart sank.
“Oh Scott... He’s gone.”
I suppressed my feelings as well as I could:
“No, it’s fine. I just saw him and he’ll be back soon.”
“I didn’t know how to get hold of you,” she told me, and started to cry again.
That was when I knew something was very wrong. I also knew there was no escape from this situation.
“What is it?” I had to ask, even though I could already tell.
There was a pain in my stomach, moving rapidly to my chest. So intense. It made me shake all over. There was no control over this. I had to wait for the words to be unleashed. The wait was brief, what followed was like eternity:
“Dan's dead.”
“No, I just saw him,” I told her, even as tears began to fall.
“I’m sorry.”
“But I just saw him.”
“I’m sorry Scott.”
There was nothing more to say. I sat down on the floor. I couldn’t stand. Rebecca came to me and knelt down. I needed her. I needed to hold her. We hung onto each other. It seemed like the only thing we could do to stop the spinning of the world throwing us out into space. Just holding on for dear life, we were two hearts beating together and then a little less strongly than before. We let go, offering each other nothing more than silence and sadness.
Soon after, there was an obituary printed in The Alveston Chronicle explaining what happened after I'd left the churchyard. The simple words revealed a sickening sort of symmetry:
'Liman sat outside St John’s Church, Crediton, for several hours with his friend, Scott Drake. When Drake left, Liman appears to have remained there for another ten minutes despite the weather taking a severe turn for the worse. He eventually walked towards the road and waited for a car to pass. By then, the weather conditions were so severe that they caused the driver to lose control of the car. The car hit Liman, killing him instantly. The accident occurred less than half a mile from where his father, David Liman, had been killed twenty years earlier'.
My main memories of the days leading up to the funeral was the feeling of pure pain and people coming and going from the house. My problem was that none of those people really knew me. They were mostly there for Rebecca, which was only right although I didn’t appreciate that at the time. I felt like I needed that kind of support too. We all did and, looking back, I can see it was there; offered in gentle and subtle ways. I was just too hurt and blind to see past the terrible truth; the fact I was never going to see my friend again.
The day of the funeral came with rain and I can't forget seeing Rebecca wearing her butterfly earrings that morning. The truth seemed so clear to me then. On the day Dan died, it looked like I'd lost Becky too. And so, I showered and shaved. I looked into the fog of the bathroom mirror to find what was underneath and it appeared to be nothing.
The funeral itself was exactly like everyone expected. Old friends, familiar faces, united in something that should never have been. References to youth, talent and the shortness of life. Eulogies and tears. Earth-to-earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Wildflowers picked from outside were a cacophony of colour in what turned out to be a day too grey for words. I thought it was a pleasant service. It was also understandably sad and so it wasn't really the tribute my friend deserved.
Perhaps typically, Dan gave us something more fitting in the last photos he took. The final roll of film was a series of images showing the burning of a bonfire. They began with the lighting and growth of the fire. A few isolated people enjoying the heat and light as the flames licked
at the dark edges of the night. The fire grew brighter, stronger, hotter. The crowd grew with it. Both of them, massive and seemingly uncontrollable, until both diminished and dispersed. Leaving the question open about which had drawn strength from the other. The final photograph showed only the desolate sight of ashes and embers. All that was left of what had once burned so brightly. To me, that was Dan in twenty eight photos.
By the time I got back to the house after the funeral, I already knew I'd be leaving. I waited till the next morning, after I'd seen and heard Rebecca break down in tears over the phone to her mum.
I knew how Rebecca's strength had often been used to mask her mother's weakness; so, as she got older, she'd tried to keep her at a distance. But not then. This time her mum was able to be something like a real mother to her, and I was able to tell myself that Rebecca had all the support she needed.
There was one more thing she had to hear from me though. I wrote it in a note, along with an apology. I told her the last things Dan had said. How he wanted her to be happy and that he loved her. And that was all. At about half six in the morning I left with just a bag and a guitar. Hoping that one day I might be lucky and brave enough to see her again.
I’m not entirely sure what she made of my note. I do know she wrote a book about Dan called ‘Memories of a Ghost’ and then, at least publicly, she never wrote or spoke about him again. It was as if she needed to get him out of her system and then she could move on. Still, whatever else it might mean it is a really good book and I even like the title.
Looking back, I can say now that my memories of that time are like a parade of pleasure and pain. Plenty of regret and plenty of pride. Although rarely at the same time. I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve confused memories for wishes and dreams of how things could and should've been. And every time I have to wake up, in a hotel room or on a bus. With my boots still on, and a bag and a guitar at my side. All alone with only ghosts and memories.
Lily Green
At half seven, Lily was already feeling the heat of the steamy July morning. The fans in the kitchen buzzed noisily but brought little relief. She wondered if it was anything to do with her age. She certainly couldn't remember feeling the heat like this when she was younger. She pushed the thought aside. It was too ridiculous. She was forty three and more or less in her prime in more than one sense. The problem was that on a day like this she felt every year in every inch of her body.
Through the fan's droning, she heard footsteps coming from the top of the stairs. Descending and moving closer, until they were silenced by the hallway's shag pile carpet. Lily expected her niece, Rebecca, to come bounding into the kitchen; in the same way she had on most mornings since she moved in. This time though, it was actually her daughter, Diane. Looking typically fresh faced; unworried and unhurried by the weather.
Lily smiled. Diane did too and that was all it took for most of Lily's negativity to drift away. Things hadn't always been easy but she knew Diane was a good girl. The difficulties of the last few years were over.
Diane was young and she'd made some mistakes. Lily knew that was natural, even understandable. She also knew that she hadn't always understood. To her, being too judgemental had been a worse mistake than any that Diane had actually made. She still found it hard to forgive herself for that.
Guilt was nothing new to her. That was just one more thing to lay heavy on her conscience. Somewhere, well ahead of the handful of sweets, she pinched from Woolworths when she was a kid, and some-way behind the break-up of her marriage.
Often, she'd wondered if it would've been better if she hadn’t spent so long ignoring Harry’s cheating. Maybe it would've spared Diane the pain of the divorce during her early teens. As it was, her sweet girl's rage of hormones; the cocktail of anger, boys and booze, was something Lily lacked the strength to fight.
Eventually, things had calmed down. She could look back and think Diane had been quite lucky; at least she hadn’t got pregnant or anything like that. In fact, it looked like Diane had come through the worst of it relatively unscathed. Not that Lily gave herself any credit for that, of course. Instead, she assumed that the closer Diane got to her eighteenth birthday, the more of the woman she would become was coming out.
That was another thing Lily was thankful for, if only because Diane didn't really take after her father. There was the hair colour and the high cheekbones, but, not much else about her looked or seemed like Harry.
Lily’s smile lingered on her lips and she realised how surprised she was to see her.
“How come you’re up so early sweetheart?” she asked.
“Dunno,” Diane replied.
That kind of vague response could only mean a boy was involved. Lily didn't push it any further. Instead, she tried to remind Diane that she was supposed to see her dad that afternoon. The words barely seemed to register.
“Is Becky up yet?” Diane asked.
“Not as far as I know.”
Lily hadn’t seen her since the evening before.
“I’m not surprised. I heard her come in at like two or something. I was just drifting off then. Sounded like she’d had a few though.”
Even as she spoke, Diane was turning to go back into the hallway and up the stairs. Lily didn't stand or say a word. Instead, she scooped a tiny blob of orange and tangerine marmalade from her plate to savour the citrus sweet tang on her tongue.
When she eventually stood, she felt the cold trickle of sweat down her back. Even in the energy sapping warmth, it made her shiver. A brief look at the clock on the wall showed her it was already half eight. There wasn't much to do but she still thought she should get moving.
She went upstairs for a shower. The cool haze of water only briefly satisfied the creamy softness of her skin. She dressed quickly. Lace underwear; light and airy, beneath a simple summer dress. No lines were visible but when she checked in the mirror she saw too much weight on her bones. Lily looked away and quickly walked out of the room.
On the landing, she heard someone descending the stairs. Barefoot and bathed in sunlight, she followed the sound until she saw Diane opening the front door. There was no time to call out to her. So, Lily skipped down the stairs and followed her outside.
The concrete was hot on the soles of her feet. She stepped lightly and speedily as she called after Diane:
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your poor old mother?”
Diane looked back and then gave her mum a hasty hug. It was obvious that she didn't want to waste time.
“I’ll see ya later mum. Have a good day.”
"I love you."
“I know Mum. I love you too.”
Within seconds, she was gone and Lily was alone on the pavement.
That was when she started to feel exposed and self-conscious. In her rush to say goodbye, she'd gone outside without putting on her shoes or her make-up. It was ridiculous really. She certainly wasn't glamour obsessed. Even though she was young and beautiful, Diane actually wore a lot more make-up than she did. But that didn't make Lily feel any more safe or protected in the unforgiving sunlight.
Her hope was to just slip back indoors without anyone seeing her. She was out of luck though. In looking to see if she was alone, she noticed her neighbour, Colin Abbott, was walking along the pavement on the other side of the road.
Accidentally, their eyes met and there was no escape for Lily. As much as she didn't want to prolong her exposure, she also didn't want to look rude. She couldn’t ignore the man. His elderly mother had only recently died. Turning her back on him then wouldn't just have been rude; it would've been utterly insensitive. With or without make-up the least he deserved was a few friendly words.
Unfortunately, Colin wasn't a man she'd ever taken the time to get to know. Apart from anything else, he wasn't exactly blessed with the gift of easy conversation. From what she could tell, until she'd died, his mother had been the only thing that mattered to him. Lily felt sorry for him about that, if only because
she'd always found her to be an unpleasant sort of woman.
Thoughts like that were hardly helpful to her with small talk becoming smaller by the second. After all, what right did she have to think that way about someone he loved? It wasn't her place, so she shut her mouth and silence fell; making the race to be the first to find an excuse to leave both swift and inevitable.
When Colin eventually spoke, Lily could barely disguise her relief. Once they had politely parted, she didn't drag her bare feet in making her way inside. She walked back into the kitchen again and saw a piece of paper placed upon the table. Lily picked it up and, recognising her niece’s neat handwriting, she read the simple message left for her:
Darling Auntie,
I’m sorry for not saying goodbye in person. You were in the shower and I’m in a bit of a rush. Don’t worry though, I’ll tell you all about last night when I get back this evening. All I’ll say for now is I’m grinning like a bit of an idiot about it all. Have a good day anyway my lovely.
Becky x
Lily placed the note back where she'd found it. She felt rather low to know that she'd be spending another day alone. This was at least partly because she understood that days like that would soon be all she could expect. Rebecca and Diane weren't going to be there for much longer and then she would be by herself in that empty house.
Rebecca being around had been one of the best things about the last couple of years. She was definitely a good influence on Diane, and Lily really admired the way she already knew exactly who she was. At nearly twice her age, she still often felt like she hadn't got a clue.
That wasn't the only thing impressive about Rebecca. The girl was a survivor and getting through her childhood had been an achievement in itself. Lily's sister, Simone wasn't a bad woman but too often she'd let her life be defined by whatever man she happened to be sleeping with.
Things might have been better if she'd had better taste in men. But then again, not all her lovers had used or abused her. It was just that the good guys, like Rebecca’s dad, had bored her. That would've been bad enough but Simone never considered the affects upon her daughter. Instead, she'd let Rebecca take care of her from the age of eleven. Relying on a child to pick up the pieces, even when things turned violent.
As Rebecca got older the distance between the two of them had grown. Lily found it sad to see, even though she was relieved that Rebecca was able to move on and not let the ugliness of the past define her.
For most of her life, Lily hadn't thought she wasn’t much like her sister. More and more often though, she'd found herself wondering whether that was the truth. After all, she'd married Harry Fitzgerald when she was nineteen and then for years she'd let him lie, cheat and deceive her.
Even when he eventually left her, she hadn't made a fuss. The newspapers offered plenty of cash for her story but she'd always refused. She told herself it was being dignified. Increasingly, she realised that