David and Judy and their families stayed on as the others started drifting away, each giving them a solemn nod or a touch on the arm. The last of those to go was Mr Brown, a middle-aged neighbour of their mother’s who had helped her out in her closing years by doing the odd job around the house – replacing light bulbs, fixing the occasional door, the kind of thing she wouldn’t employ a tradesman to do. Mr Brown placed a hand behind David’s back and gripped his far shoulder, pulling in tightly.
‘Your mother was a fine gal,’ he said. ‘Quite a woman.’
David nodded but kept his gaze low and in front of him, then said, ‘More than we’ll ever know.’
The man turned as if to go, but waited a few seconds before turning back to David. ‘If there’s anything I can do . . . ?’
‘Thank you.’
‘I mean, for you or Judy.’ The man nodded in her direction. She stopped dabbing her nose with a tissue for a second to smile a thank you back to him.
‘That’s good of you,’ David said. ‘Thanks again.’
Then the man took another look around and rolled on his feet a little before saying, ‘Must have been a hell of a year for you – your mother, your business problems.’
David shot a glare at the man and for a horrible moment Judy thought he was going to forget the occasion and say something rude. Perhaps a few months ago he would have done. But he didn’t, he simply softened his glare a little and said, ‘You know something, Mr Brown, I don’t think any of us here has the slightest notion of what hell is really like.’
And, as David’s expression stayed rigid and unforgiving, so the man’s face started to droop. He pulled it back and shaped his mouth to speak, but stayed silent and simply looked to the ground beneath him.
‘I’m . . . I’m sorry,’ David said after a moment. ‘You’re right. It’s been a difficult few weeks. I appreciate your concern.’
Mr Brown smiled a crooked, uncertain smile, then turned and walked away.
David’s wife, a slight woman some fifteen years younger than him who’d been keeping one pace behind him, stepped forward and gently laid a palm on the sleeve of his suit.
She gave him that look that asked if everything was okay, and he answered by holding her hand and giving it a squeeze.
Her other hand was holding Alex’s hand. David leaned across in front of his wife and said with as much cheer as he could, ‘You bearing up, old buddy?’
The boy gave a wide upturned smile but held onto his sad eyes, then nodded.
‘Excellent,’ David said. ‘Oh, and . . . cool suit, by the way.’ He gave a subtle wink to the boy, whose eyes briefly showed a little sparkle. Then he stood back up straight, gave his wife’s hand another squeeze and looked up towards the sky.
David might have been holding onto his tears, but there was no such stoicism on Judy’s part. She pinched her eyes shut and wiped them once more. A hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she was relieved to have the opportunity of laying her fingers on it for a few seconds. She turned and looked up at her husband.
‘Hang on in there,’ he said to her in a deep, rough whisper.
All she could do was gulp and nod back at him.
After the funeral Judy didn’t see her brother again for another month. They’d been together almost constantly during their mother’s illness and needed a break – she to get back to work and make up for time off, and he to do whatever it was he’d been doing.
So when he came to collect her she thought there might have been a lot to talk about. She already had her coat on when the doorbell went, and when the door opened the first thing she did was give him a hug and tell him she’d missed him.
‘Same here,’ he said. ‘I was thinking, we need to meet up for dinner once a month.’
‘At least,’ Judy said, shutting the door behind her and shivering. Winter was coming early to Wilmington this year, so she pulled her coat tighter and hurried to the car. ‘You been up to much?’
‘Got a job.’
‘Really? That’s great. Enjoy it?’
He shrugged. ‘Pay’s not so bad. We’ll see how it goes. No pressure.’
Judy stopped for a moment at the car and looked at her brother’s face; it seemed brighter, younger even. It was clear what ‘no pressure’ was doing to him. She opened the car door and jumped inside.
‘Hi, Aunt Judy,’ came a voice from the back seat.
She turned and smiled. ‘Oh, Alex. Good to see you.’ Then she turned to David. ‘I thought it would be just the two of us?’
‘He insisted on coming along,’ David said, driving off. He flicked his head to the back and winked. ‘Didn’t you, buddy?’
‘I miss Grandma,’ Alex said.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Judy said, creasing her face up in sympathy. ‘We all do.’
Ten minutes later they pulled into Greenview Cemetery and started walking along the same path they’d been down a month before.
By now many of the trees and ornamental bushes had started to drop their leaves, and although the air had turned colder it was also still and every bit as peaceful as the day Susannah had been buried. And with only the three pairs of footsteps on the gravel the sound seemed to hang in the dampness.
‘You haven’t seen it yet?’ Judy said.
David shook his head. ‘Uh-uh.’
Nobody spoke until they were standing next to it – the shiny black granite headstone that was now erected next to Susannah’s grave.
‘That looks pretty,’ Alex said, both of his little hands holding onto his father’s wrist as if they were clinging to a rope.
David and Judy said nothing except a silent prayer, and the three of them stood there for more time than anyone cared to consider.
‘Dad?’ Alex whispered eventually.
‘What is it, buddy?’
‘Was Grandma in a war?’
‘Yes, she was, buddy. Quite a big one.’
‘Will you tell me about it?’
‘Definitely,’ David said. ‘When you’re older.’
Alex looked at his father for a few seconds, then said, ‘Will you tell me about it now?’
David looked to Judy and they smiled at each other.
Then David looked at his son. ‘How ’bout you start by reading the headstone?’
And then Alex read aloud the words engraved on the shiny granite:
Susannah Lisbet Morgan née Zuckerman
Born 2nd May 1929
Deceased 9th Sept 2009
As the dust settled, I found my home.
As the sun set, I found my truth.
I was one of The Lucky Ones.
‘Good boy,’ David said, wiping away a tear.
‘Those are really nice words,’ Alex said.
David gripped his son’s hand tightly. ‘They are, buddy. And you shouldn’t ever forget them.’
Judy nodded. She was sure the Sugar Men would agree with that sentiment.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to take the opportunity to thank Delphine Cull for her content editing and unstinting encouragement throughout the development of this piece of work, and also Jill Worth for her copy-editing advice and occasional storyline suggestions.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ray Kingfisher was born and bred in the Black Country in the UK. He wrote a singularly awful novel in the early 1990s, and so concentrated on his IT/engineering career (and renovating a house) for the next fifteen years. In 2009, the urge to write broke through again, and this time he decided to learn how to do it properly. Ray now writes in a few different genres, through indecision and belligerence as much as through choice. To find out more about Ray and his stories, please visit his website at www.raykingfisher.com.
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The Sugar Men Page 25