by Cole Moreton
The minister mentions Martin and the heart that saved Marc’s life, giving him thirteen more years, and says the McCays are profoundly grateful to the Burtons. ‘The family would like to express their heartfelt thanks for that loving gift.’ He reads a passage of promises from the Book of Jeremiah in the Bible, which ends with the words: ‘I have loved you with a love that is everlasting.’
Now Daryl steps up to the microphone, swallows hard, blows out his cheeks and begins to read a poem by a friend about Marc:
‘He was chosen to carry another boy’s beat.
He lived like a winner, never accepting defeat …’
And it is time for the coffin to leave, to the sound of a song called ‘See You Again’ by Wiz Khalifa, which begins with piano and another sweet, lone voice. ‘It’s been a long day without you my friend and I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again.’ And in the pause at the end of the line, Linda cries out in grief and pitches forward once more. She is held up by Danny, as the coffin begins to move.
The grave is open like a wound on the slope of the hill at Lochwinnoch Cemetery, a quiet and beautiful place on the edge of the village. The wind whispers in the high surrounding trees as hundreds of mourners gather in the rain. When everyone is in place, the funeral directors take their places with the coffin and hand silvered ropes to Leasa and the brothers, so that they can help lower Marc into the ground. The boys and his lifelong best friend, John, take turns to throw blue roses down after him. Each stands there in turn at the foot of the grave, not quite knowing what to do in the moment when a soldier would salute his fallen comrade.
Then Norrie, looking bewildered. He lets his flower drop.
Linda has a red rose she is holding to her face, breathing in the scent, cradling it like a baby. When her moment comes, she just can’t let it go. The minister begins to say the words of the committal: ‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust …’
‘No!’
Linda cries out. She stumbles into the arms of a friend. Then there is Sue, suddenly beside her, wrapping up Linda in her arms and holding her tight.
Now it is just the two of them, the mums alone together as if none of the rest of us are there at all. Sue’s hand is on Linda’s head, pressing it into her shoulder. They hold on to each other for a long time, by the graveside in the rain. The two mothers, unlikely friends, desperate allies. Each needs the other to help her stand.
Later, on the way out of the cemetery, Sue is asked if she is okay. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Not really. It feels like burying Martin all over again.’
As evening comes, the mourners gather in the bar of the sports and social club in Lochwinnoch for sandwiches and sausage rolls, coffee or tea, pints or shots. Norrie takes me to one side and says that he listens to the radio series we made every night, when he gets in from work. ‘I get myself a drink and I sit and listen, just to hear Marc’s voice. I just want to hear the sound of my boy.’
The mothers sit together, eating very little, taking comfort in being with each other. ‘I like your necklace,’ says Sue, noticing Linda’s silver pendant, a basket in the shape of a large heart with two hearts inside. Linda holds it up, for a better look. ‘My friend gave it to me. She said the hearts belonged to Marc, Martin and me.’
Sue smiles and shows the two necklaces she also happens to be wearing, each in the shape of a heart. One is made from glittering diamanté. ‘Marc gave me this, do you remember? In Canada, the first time we met?’
The other is a golden heart locket that she clicks open to show a picture of Martin. Thirteen years have passed since she bent to kiss him goodbye in the hospital for the last time, saying softly and fondly, ‘Sleep tight. We’ll love you forever.’
Now the heart that carried on beating for so long after his death has been put in the ground with Marc McCay and Sue feels the loss of her son all over again, as if it has only just happened. Linda shares her pain and searches for comfort, saying: ‘They’re up there together, helping each other out.’ Maybe that’s true. Maybe it’s an echo of what is happening here, between the mothers. But even if they never see the boys again, both of these women have given their all to their sons and the words that were read out loud today will always be true.
‘I have loved you with a love that is everlasting.’
For Marc and Martin
Thank you to Sue and Nigel Burton and Linda and Norrie McCay for telling their stories, and to Marc McCay for sharing so much. Thanks also to the wider McCay family, particularly Darren, Daryl, Ryan and Leasa. Harish Vyas, Leslie Hamilton and Lynne Holt were very generous with their time and patient in their attempts to explain. Any medical errors are mine, not theirs. I have tried to keep as closely as possible to what I was told by all concerned, with some changes for the sake of privacy or clarity. This account is not intended to imply mistakes or blame on the part of any individual or institution in any way. The NHS is a national treasure. Please consider registering as a donor and helping the charities overleaf:
www.donorfamilynetwork.co.uk
www.organdonation.nhs.uk
www.transplantsport.org.uk
This edited quote from Henry Scott Holland, once Regius Professor of Divinity at Oxford University, was posted on Facebook by Linda McCay after Marc’s death. The words were a comfort to her:
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well.
Author’s Thanks
Many thanks to Elizabeth Sheinkman at WME, Natalie Jerome and Zoe Berville at HarperCollins for their expert assistance in making this book happen. I’m also grateful to Jonathan Mayo, Rhian Roberts, Phil Critchlow, Mandy Appleyard and Rupert Lee for the various ways in which they helped me understand or shape the narrative. Thanks, always, to Rachel, Jacob, Joshua, Ruby and Grace.
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