by John Purcell
‘Geraldine’s parents bought Geraldine and Daniel a house when they were married. They wanted to keep her close.’
‘Have you met her parents?’
‘At the wedding.’
Helen turned her head back to the window.
Soon the cab stopped and Amy paid the driver. They got out. Amy wasn’t sure where to go. She assumed the cemetery was on the other side of the high stone wall, but there was no obvious entrance.
Amy also assumed there would be a church attached to the cemetery. Being so isolated from her own family she hadn’t been to a funeral before. But that’s how it always was on television.
Helen placed her hand on the cold stone. ‘He’s my son. How did it come to this? Why is he being buried in Edinburgh? He should be with me. I’ll never see him again. They have him.’
‘Who has him?’
‘Geraldine’s family held a service for him this morning. In a church. He wasn’t a believer. He would never have asked for a religious ceremony. They’ve taken him from me.’
Amy had her phone out and was looking for an entrance.
‘Why didn’t we go to the service?’ she asked, absent-mindedly.
Helen didn’t answer her. She wanted to go home. She leant against the wall wearily as Amy concentrated on her screen.
‘There’s Geraldine,’ said Helen, gesturing towards a woman in black getting out of a black Mercedes. She was with her parents and the boys. They were some distance off. Geraldine’s parents glanced in Helen and Amy’s direction. Neither acknowledged them. The small party disappeared. Helen and Amy walked down to where the Mercedes was and saw the entrance to the cemetery.
More people arrived. Helen and Amy joined them. All followed Geraldine and her family, who seemed to know where they were going.
By the time the coffin was being lowered, thirty or so people were standing around the grave.
Helen recognised none of them, but assumed they knew who she was. Daniel had told anyone who would listen of his uncaring literary parents. Her picture had been in the papers since Daniel’s death. Now Helen was here without Malcolm. Which would confirm all the stories.
Prayers were said. Tears were shed. The sky was clear and blue. It was over.
Geraldine left the arm of her father, walked over to Helen and hugged her briefly. Helen followed the retreating boys with her eyes. No one else approached her. The mother of the deceased was a pariah.
Amy introduced herself to Geraldine.
‘You’re Amy?’ she said, surprised. ‘Why was Daniel sorry?’
‘What?’
‘The last message sent from Daniel’s phone was to you. It said, “I’m sorry”. What was he sorry for?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Who were you to him?’
Amy paused for a moment. She glanced quickly at Helen, who was examining Geraldine’s tear-streaked face. Amy hadn’t much liked the way Geraldine had spoken to her. She hadn’t liked the way no one had spoken to Helen, either. Geraldine’s parents hadn’t brought the boys to their grandmother. She didn’t much like the cemetery and what she’d seen of Edinburgh had depressed her. So she said, ‘I was his lover.’
The look on Geraldine’s face was worth the lie, Amy thought. It was a cruel thing to say and the wrong place to say it. Helen had gasped on hearing the words. But she thought Daniel deserved a tiny win. Geraldine had left him for another man. She’d taken a lover. Why not leave Geraldine with a different image of the man she’d betrayed?
‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
‘You wouldn’t.’
Geraldine walked off.
‘Why did you say that?’
‘Because I’ve been her.’
‘It was cruel and unnecessary.’
‘Much is.’
Amy watched Geraldine rejoin her parents. She must have told them because they all turned and looked back at Amy. She blew them a kiss.
‘She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?’
‘Geraldine? Yes, she is.’
‘She’s much younger than I expected, too.’
Helen murmured assent. Then she placed her hand on Amy’s elbow.
‘You didn’t tell me Daniel messaged you.’
‘I didn’t know till now it was the last thing he sent.’
‘Can I see it?’
Amy took out her phone and found the message. She saw her reply – For what?
Helen held the phone and then kissed the screen.
‘I’m sorry, Daniel,’ she said. Helen handed the phone back, made her way closer to the grave and stood there a while by herself. The rest of the mourners were walking back to their cars.
Helen decided at the last minute not to attend the wake.
Amy messaged an Uber, which took them back to the airport. They had hours to wait. She found a place for Helen to sit, then went off to find an earlier flight home.
When she returned Helen was in tears. She led her to a more private spot.
They sat side by side, knees touching. Helen dried her eyes. When she was done, Amy reached out and took both Helen’s hands in her own.
‘I just don’t understand,’ said Helen. ‘His last message said, “I’m sorry”. That was the only note he left. I’m sorry. And he sent it to you but you don’t even know what that means. What could he be sorry for? What had he done to you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Why didn’t he leave a longer note? Why didn’t he call me?’
‘I don’t know, Helen,’ said Amy.
‘Why message you? Why was he thinking of you?’ asked Helen, desperately.
Amy was shaking her head slowly. Tears were in her own eyes now.
‘Was it the last thing he did?’
She didn’t have answers for any of Helen’s questions. Nobody did. The full weight of Daniel’s death was crashing down upon her now. She could finally feel it.
‘Or were there hours between that message and his death? I need to know these things. I need to know,’ said Helen, holding Amy’s hands tightly in her own and looking at her with eyes glistening with tears. Her anguish was breaking Amy’s heart. She wanted so badly to offer her comfort but her brain wasn’t functioning as it should.
‘I don’t know why he messaged me. I’m so sorry, Helen. I wish I did.’
Helen was clearly disappointed.
Having just said she didn’t know, Amy spoke again. ‘Maybe he was worried he’d taken advantage of me. Maybe he was sorry that having just met me he was doing something so distressing.’
Helen’s eyes widened like a child’s, hungry for answers.
‘Did he mean to send it to Geraldine, not me?’ Amy continued. ‘Or maybe he did mean to send it to me and maybe I’m meant to convey the message to others. To tell everyone that Daniel’s sorry.’
Helen nodded slightly.
‘I think it has to be that. Don’t you think? He wanted everyone to know that he was sorry.’
Helen lifted Amy’s hands to her mouth and kissed her knuckles. Then she hugged her and sobbed as she hadn’t sobbed since Daniel’s death. She broke down completely, Amy crying and holding her tightly in return.
No one took much notice of the two women sobbing and holding each other. Tears in an airport are not as unusual as tears in Tesco.
Chapter 55
Just One More Drink?
Amy messages Alan:
Amy: I need to drink.
Alan: When?
Amy: Now.
Alan: It’s three in the afternoon.
Amy: So?
Alan: I’m working.
Amy: Leave.
*
Alan met me at the Sound Bar but he’d taken his time. I had been feeling like shit when I arrived but a couple of champagnes and the cute barman’s Amy Special, a cocktail he had made up just for me, had lifted my spirits.
Alan was, as ever, immaculately dressed. But he looked paler than us
ual. And a little put out, which I tried my best to ignore. I wasn’t there for him and his problems, I was there for me and mine.
As he joined me in the booth, I said, ‘Oh my god, Alan. My life’s a mess. I need your help. Personal and professional.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Tell me about your boring life, for starters. That will make me feel so much better.’
‘Umm . . .’
‘Tell me about some clever terms and conditions you’ve devised. Fill the air with lawyer speak. Do it. Do something.’
‘I’m getting married.’
‘What?!’
‘I’m getting married.’
‘To who?’
‘My partner, Sebastian.’
I stared at him, too surprised to speak. Then, as if I had been transported back to a time when we were both teens, I punched his arm and all but screamed, ‘You. Are. So. Gay!’
‘Bi,’ he said, pertly. ‘Both of us are. But we’re in love and nothing’s ever going to be the same.’
‘When are you getting married? Why aren’t I invited?’ I slapped him on the thigh hard.
Alan seemed relieved by my exuberant reaction. His face brightened a little.
‘Sebastian is super jealous of you. He thinks you’re the devil incarnate.’
‘So he knows about me?’
‘Of course he does. You’ve met him, too. A number of times. Though you probably don’t remember. He’s not your type.’
I shook my head. I didn’t remember him at all.
‘He’s my business partner and best friend. So I’ve been talking to him about you for years. On and on and on. He was so sick of hearing about you he decided to put an end to it. A few weeks ago he stopped my chatter by kissing me mid-sentence. That was a surprise!’
‘Oh my god! This makes so much sense! So much sense.’
‘He’d kill me if he discovered I was with you.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve surprised me, Alan. After all these years. Wow. I’m stunned. Stunned.’
I stopped talking and just stared at him. I was smiling for the first time in days. He was beaming. I’d known Alan my whole life. He’d always been gayish, but he’d been so set on marrying me. He’d proposed. And he’d fucked me when I was distraught after Max threw me out. I suppose I just assumed he lived on the gay side of hetero street. There were a lot of men like that in the publishing world so I’d learnt to distrust my instincts.
‘This is so weird, Alan. So weird. Shall we celebrate with a ruinously expensive bottle of champagne?’
‘I can’t stay, Amy. I have to get back to work.’
‘Really?’
‘I’m sorry, but . . . Sebastian means the world to me and I don’t want to fuck this up.’
‘Oh.’
‘Just being near you is trouble. I can feel it.’
He moved away from me. Whether consciously or not, I couldn’t decide.
‘Just one more drink?’
‘I can’t.’
I suddenly felt on the verge of tears. Alan had been a constant presence in my life. Sometimes front and centre, sometimes in the shadows. And it felt like this was the end. A goodbye.
‘You look great, Amy. Even better than you did in front of the V&A. Whatever mess you’re in, it’s working for you.’
I opened my mouth to say something, but no words materialised. He was going for good. Tears welled up in my eyes and rolled onto my cheeks.
Alan straightened in his seat at the sight of my tears. ‘I’ll still look after you professionally. This isn’t goodbye. Email me.’
He stood up and stepped back from the table in an awkward movement. From that safe distance he blew me a kiss and then left.
He couldn’t even kiss me on the cheek.
I stared at the empty bar, and then at my empty drink. I was desolate.
There were so many bad things I could do. I could call Liam. I could call Josh. I could blow the cute barman in the Sound Bar toilets. I could sit there and drink myself into oblivion and let life roll the dice and choose my depravity.
I could walk to Westminster and throw myself off the bridge.
I left the bar and hailed a cab, which took me back to Helen and Malcolm’s house.
Fuck everything.
Chapter 56
You’ve Been Sleeping
Trevor woke up and found Malcolm snoozing in the big armchair by the window. He wondered what time it was; his blinds were drawn and the room was rather dark. It was always a bit difficult to tell whether the light coming through the edges of the blinds was daylight or the lights of the grounds.
Trevor had been feeling terrible the last week or so. He was tired all the time. And couldn’t keep his food down. They were feeding him intravenously. But most alarmingly there were whispered conversations around his bed when he was thought to be sleeping. His daughter had visited more often than usual. And Zoe had been visiting daily. None of this foretold a long and happy future.
‘Malcolm,’ he said loudly. And he smiled as he watched Malcolm wake. He was confused and disorientated and looked quite the fool for a moment or two.
‘Trevor, what are you doing here?’
‘You’ve been sleeping.’
‘Have I?’
‘You’re meant to be visiting me. But you’ve been a terrible bore, snoring loudly and passing wind.’
Malcolm sat up straight and wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth. He had really been dead to the world. He felt groggy. He touched his hair and straightened his shirt and jacket.
‘Have I? I’m sorry. I must have dropped off. You were asleep when I arrived.’
‘The bed in the next room is empty if you want to move in permanently. We lost one on Thursday.’
‘It wouldn’t be a bad idea,’ he said, standing up and moving to the chair closer to Trevor’s bed. ‘How are you feeling, Trevor? I ran into Usman in the car park, who said you hadn’t been well this last week.’
‘I’m dying, Malcolm. I can feel it. It’s over.’
‘You can feel it?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do the doctors say?’
‘Nothing direct. But I can tell you now, from experience, when death comes you know. Death’s coming. He’s probably parking his car as we speak.’
‘So this is it, then?’
‘This is it. The last time you have to visit me.’
‘I’d better say something profound, then,’ said Malcolm grimly.
‘I thought the dying man said the profound things.’
‘You get the last word.’
Trevor chuckled and coughed. Malcolm handed him some water. Trevor waved it away.
‘Everything makes me queasy; that’s why this is in,’ he said, pointing to the drip. ‘I’m yesterday’s news. How are you, Malcolm?’
‘My son is dead and I killed him. I’m fine.’
‘And Helen?’
‘No change there.’
‘And your book?’
‘Finished. It’s the best thing I’ve ever written. Too bad no one will be around to read it.’
‘It’s bad form for me to die so soon after Daniel.’
‘You might have arranged things better. But then, you might be wrong. You look well enough to me.’
‘I might linger. But I won’t rally. Can I read the new book?’
‘I didn’t bring it with me. And as this is my last visit, it seems not. Probably for the best. It’s all about death.’
‘I could take it with me.’
‘It would certainly be appreciated on the other side.’
‘Malcolm Taylor? I hear he’s big in Hades.’
Malcolm smiled but said nothing.
‘Can you believe they gave the Nobel to Dylan?’ asked Trevor.
‘It makes sense to me.’
‘How so?’
‘You’ve been following the election. They’re all fucked. Dylan’s music is the last gasp of American culture. He stands for something. Awarding
it to him now is a political decision, frankly.’
Trevor coughed and waved away Malcolm’s assistance.
‘Trouble is, in the US, no one knew whether Dylan’s irritating whining drone was something to be proud or ashamed of. Thanks to the Nobel committee, Americans can rest comfortably. He’s been given a bona fide seal of approval.’
‘He’s always annoyed me.’
‘You’re too old, Trevor. You always have been. You’re a jazz man. Personally, I don’t doubt Dylan’s brilliance. I just hope he doesn’t accept the award. Like Jean-Paul Sartre.’
‘You compare him to Jean-Paul Sartre?’
‘You have to admit Dylan’s unique. And consistently brilliant across fifty years.’
‘But the Nobel?’
‘What is it, really? Come on. You don’t take it seriously, do you?’
‘Not now. Not now.’
They were silent for a moment. Malcolm was thinking of Daniel. That night they had listened to On the Beach. Daniel had flicked through all that fucking Bob Dylan. The following day Malcolm had made him listen to ‘Visions of Johanna’ and Daniel conceded that he had always liked the song. Now he was gone.
‘Have you written your acceptance speech?’ asked Trevor, moving slightly. He was uncomfortable.
‘I won’t win.’
‘Write one, just in case. Will you attend?’
‘When is it?’
‘Twenty-fifth of October.’
‘That soon? Well, I haven’t won then, have I? I’d know by now, surely.’
‘Would you? I think they only warn the winner when they’re living abroad. I’ll make enquiries. Zoe tells me the bookies favour Madeleine Thien’s Do Not Say We Have Nothing.’
‘I haven’t read it. I only got through a couple of them.’
‘The Duchess of Cornwall will be handing out the award.’
‘I don’t think I want to be there. They’ll have to excuse me after Daniel’s death. I’ll send Amy in my stead.’
‘Have you adopted her?’
‘She’s adopted me.’
Chapter 57
Retail Therapy
The morning after Daniel’s funeral, as I lay in Helen’s bed, I turned my smartphone into a dumb phone. I don’t know why. But it felt the right thing to do. So I did it. I deleted my Facebook account, my Tumblr blog, my WhatsApp account, my Snapchat, my Instagram and my Twitter, and then I removed my email permissions.