The Last Charm: The most page-turning and emotional summer romance fiction of 2020!

by Ella Allbright

  Chloe, Eloise, and Shell are standing in the row behind us in silent support, and one of them reaches forwards to stroke my hair. Then other hands land on my shoulders, squeezing. They don’t have to say anything. They’re here. I turn to them and smile gratefully. Like me, they’re wearing blue dresses. It was Grandad’s favourite colour and seemed a good way to honour him.

  The church is full, and people shuffle along pews to make room for each other. It’s packed out with neighbours and friends, as well as men Grandad served with in the Navy. Everyone’s brought their families along, so there are as many children as there are OAPs. Near the back, a baby wails over the music. The piano continues playing, the chords striking shards of grief into my body. A small child pipes up somewhere, ‘Why is Ray in a box, though?’ He’s immediately shushed but there’s an uncomfortable titter of laughter in the seats surrounding him. I stifle a weird sound in my throat, not sure whether to laugh or cry. At least the little boy’s curiosity helps defuse some of the tension.

  Unlike a normal church, it’s not cool and dark in here; it’s stifling and bright. It’s an unusually warm September day, and it is wrong, wrong, wrong that the sun’s out and the air’s balmy when Grandad’s dead.

  I still can’t believe he’s dead.

  A red carpet runs up the central aisle. Two huge vases of white lilies stand just in front of the altar, along with a giant picture. Instead of Grandad’s face, it’s adorned with a photo of his favourite ship – the one he was on for his longest tour – and around the edges are photographs of all the countries he visited in the late sixties and early seventies. Iran, Bahrain, Fiji, Singapore … Dad said Jake helped make it, and I’m touched. He should have left five days ago, but he applied for extended shore leave for compassionate reasons, and they let him stay. I’ve hardly seen him though. I’ve barely left my room since it happened. I just couldn’t face it, him, anyone. This morning is the first time I’ve spoken to Cameron for a week and a half. I was on a slow burn of anger, too proud to call him first, and too buried in my grief to make the effort. He didn’t turn up that Sunday to comfort me after I called from the hospital and left a voicemail. He didn’t call or come round to say how sorry he was. To see if there was anything he could do, even if it was just holding me while I cried. It wasn’t until he finally called me earlier today that I understood why. Now I’m glad he stayed away.

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ Dad asks.

  ‘I have to be,’ I murmur. ‘Someone has to do it.’ We decided a few days ago that I would read the eulogy. Grandad has no blood relatives other than a few distant cousins, Mum, and me. It didn’t seem right to ask any of his three cousins – people he hadn’t seen for over forty years – to talk about him. What would they say, other than telling fuzzy misremembered stories about their childhood? They only knew him up to his early twenties. He lived a whole life after that. He had a wife he adored, if only for a few short years, and he built a home and raised a family.

  Of course, we can’t find Mum. We have no way of tracking her down so she doesn’t even know her own father is dead. Every time I think about it, I grit my teeth. This is what she’s left us with. The legacy of the missing. The sad knowledge that she doesn’t know the man who gave her life no longer walks the earth, and she may not find out for years. The fact she didn’t get to say goodbye will probably haunt her. But it’s not my problem. No, my problem is that I must get up in front of all these people and talk about Grandad without crying.

  As I think this, the coffin finally moves past us and I notice one of the ushers is taller than the rest, with a straighter bearing. As they place the coffin down gently on the trestles, and I realise who it is, my nose stings. ‘Jake,’ I murmur.

  He’s in full formal navy-blue uniform with gold buttons on his jacket and gold circles round the sleeves. He looks like he’s aged about five years. Nodding, as the other ushers go and sit with friends and family, he walks over to me. ‘Jones.’ His face is grave, his odd-coloured eyes dull but sympathetic. Unspeaking, Dad moves down the pew so Jake can slide in next to me.

  I can’t speak. My mouth is dry and empty.

  ‘I know.’ He mutters under his breath, handing me a tissue from his inside pocket.

  As the song comes to an end, a hysterical bubble of laughter erupts from my mouth. This is ridiculous. It can’t be Grandad’s funeral, it’s about twenty years too early. Unthinkingly and uncharacteristically, I bury my face in Jake’s shoulder to muffle the sound. What will everyone think of me if they see me laughing? They’ll think I’m a monster. Or at the least, completely inappropriate.

  His arm lands around my shoulders, squeezing in comfort. The threat of tears tingles in my nose. Taking control of myself, I stand upright, fiddling with my charm bracelet. In a daze, I hold my arm out so it captures a ray of sunshine coming in through the stained-glass windows. Absently, I twist my left wrist back and forth, studying the charms as they catch the light and create rainbow prisms. The bracelet is something I’ll always hold close to my heart, so much more than a simple possession.

  Dad coughs next to me. On the other side, Jake takes my hand and tucks it into the crook of his arm. I let it rest there, drawing comfort from him. The priest, a man who hardly knew Grandad because he wasn’t religious, is talking. I hadn’t even noticed. How long has he been speaking? Staring vacantly at the wall behind the altar, where Jesus is hanging on the cross, time loses meaning. I drift through hymns and pages of orders of service being turned over. Then Dad and Jake are calling me.

  ‘Leila. Leila?’ Dad is whispering in my ear.

  I snap out of my daze, realising it’s time for the eulogy. Heat swarms up my spine, a patch of sweat collecting in the small of my back. I’m not ready.

  ‘We’ll be right here,’ Jake tells me. ‘You can do this.’ Standing aside, he points to the altar, where a pine lectern stands. The church is hushed, and everyone’s waiting.

  I’m having an out-of-body experience. My legs are moving, despite my knees shaking, and then I’m standing facing everyone. I don’t remember getting here. The sea of faces is blurred. There are so many people.

  ‘Ray’s beloved granddaughter Leila is now going to give the eulogy.’ The priest, his silver hair curling around his ears and brown eyes kind over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses, nods at me.

  Where’s my speech? Glancing down, I run my hands down my dress. There are no pockets. What did I do with it? As panic hits, I see my three best friends shuffle sideways out of their pew and walk toward me. Climbing up the white marble steps, they gather around.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Eloise asks from the corner of her mouth.

  ‘I can’t find it!’ The microphone picks this up and a concerned ripple runs through the congregation.

  ‘Speak from the heart,’ Shell murmurs. ‘Just say how you feel. We’re here.’ They form a semi-circle behind me. Chloe reaches over and squeezes my hand. They’ve got my back, literally.

  I switch my attention to Dad, who’s chewing on his lip. Then Jake gives me an imperceptible nod, and mouths, ‘Go, Jones.’ He believes in me, I can do this.

  ‘Sorry, everyone,’ I croak, ‘Sorry. I was all prepared, and now I can’t even find the eulogy.’ Clearing my throat, I begin. The strength of my friends and family gives me strength. ‘Okay, so, I’ll do my best.’ Taking a deep breath, I follow Shell’s advice, and let my heart do the talking. ‘The day my Grandad – Ray to you – had a massive, catastrophic heart attack was my eighteenth birthday.’ I see sympathetic glances cast my way, and people looking at each other and shaking their heads. ‘I know, you’re thinking poor girl, right? Well, I won’t lie, it was devastating. We are still devastated. And every year on my birthday, I’ll remember what happened, and I’ll be devastated again. But – and there is a but – it’ll also be an excuse to celebrate. Not how many years I’ll have been around for, but how many years we got to have him.’ I gulp, but force myself on. ‘Dad and I had to leave Bournemouth when I was el
even due to personal circumstances.’ A few people who know our story share understanding looks. ‘We only saw Grandad a few times during the years that followed. We weren’t particularly close, and I was cross with him for reasons I won’t bore you with. I used to annoy the hell out of him by calling him Ray or Grandad Ray sometimes.’ The priest clears his throat, and I realise that referring to the fiery place in a place of worship isn’t the done thing. ‘Oops, sorry,’ I mutter. ‘Anyway, he hated me using his name, and on one occasion told me off for being disrespectful.’ A sob escapes, followed by a mangled laugh. ‘Anyone who served under him in the Royal Navy will know what it was like to be on the wrong side of him. He could be really stern and had a certain way of looking at you that said he was really disappointed, and you should be disappointed in yourself too … It was pretty scary.’ There are a few stifled smiles, and some nods of agreement from a group of men sitting in the pews over on the right.

  ‘When I was fourteen, we moved back to Bournemouth because Grandad got ill, and we needed to care for him. Some of you won’t know this, because he hid it so well, but for a year or so he had lung cancer. He came through it, but it was unexpected to say the least. I’ll be honest –’ I gaze out at them, trying to focus on one face at a time to calm my nerves ‘– I was a brat about coming back halfway through secondary school, and I blamed Dad, and Grandad, for making me. The thing is though,’ I carry on, ‘that we moved back to the street I grew up on thinking he probably didn’t have long to live, and instead we got the greatest gift. Because we got the last four years with him. No one could have predicted that. During that time, he went from being Ray to properly being my grandad, and I started calling him that. I got to spend precious time with the most stubborn, but also principled, and wisest man I’ve ever known.’ A tear rolls down my cheek, and I puff out a shaky breath. ‘No one could have predicted he’d ruin it all by having a fatal heart attack while out at sea. But, I mean, talk about picking your moments.’ I point at the collage with the ship. ‘He loved the sea. He spent most of his working life at sea, and he died at sea. It’s where he would have wanted to go, even if it was too soon.’ Gulping, I wipe my damp face with both hands. ‘I know it’s where I’ll always find him.’

  My eyes search and hold Jake’s. There are tears streaming down his face too. Why is he crying so hard? ‘And so, our family has decided his ashes are going to be scattered off the coast. It’s what’s right.’ Pausing, I drop my hands to grip the edges of the lectern. ‘He led a good life. We have to hold onto that. Hold onto the fact that, if you were lucky enough to know him, you were lucky enough to have been taught something by him. He was a man of strong values, integrity, and sheer determination. Along with my dad, my grandad taught me about the kind of person I want to be.’ I taste the salt on my lips, feel the heaviness in my heart from his absence. ‘A good person. Someone who can look at themselves in the mirror and be proud. Someone,’ I finish, my voice echoing through the church, ‘who makes the people around them better just for knowing them. That’s what he gave me,’ I say in a fierce voice. ‘That’s who he was. I’ll miss him, but he’ll still be with us all, because every time one of us does something good that we can be proud of, and every time we look in the mirror and feel it, he’ll be there. He’ll be there,’ I repeat. ‘He always will be.’ I release my breath and look at the priest.

  ‘Thank you, Leila,’ he says, reclaiming his place. Leaning forward into the microphone, he repeats, ‘Thank you. That was a moving eulogy. He would be proud. He is here.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I whisper. The breath leaves my body and I go down the stairs to rejoin Jake and Dad. My friends resume their places behind me and as they do, I see Chloe has a tissue bunched in her hand, and Eloise is gulping back tiny sobs. Shell smiles, murmuring, ‘Well done, you did him proud.’

  I turn to face the altar as ‘Eternal Father’, better known as the Naval Hymn, starts playing. Jake threads his fingers through mine, holding tight. ‘I miss him too.’

  For a brief minute I let him comfort me, before pulling my hand from his and looking at him in confusion. ‘Why? You hardly knew him.’

  He shakes his head, eyes shining, one green, one brown. ‘Leila,’ he starts, then stops. ‘Never mind. Think what you like.’ Undoing the top button of his jacket, he places the hymn book down on the bench and leaves the church. Even above the hymn and people singing, the slam of the doors echoes through the building.

  Catching Dad looking at me, I turn to him. ‘What?’ There’s an expression on his face I can’t read. It’s not one I’m used to seeing nowadays. Disappointment.

  ***

  Leaning against the metal balcony railing with a glass of white wine in my left hand, I gaze out to where the line of the dark blue sea meets the pale blue horizon.

  It was expensive, but we decided to have the wake at a hotel on the Sandbanks peninsula overlooking the sea. We feel closer to Grandad if we can see the waves and caps, and watch the swirls and eddies of the currents and tides. The sun’s still shining, and the air is balmy. You’d think it was the summer holidays rather than mid-September. It’s hard to believe in a few weeks I’ll be packing up and travelling to Brighton to start uni. It’s even harder to believe life is simply meant to go on, when for me it feels like it stopped eleven days ago. But I need to take my own advice from Grandad’s eulogy. I need to go out into the world, be a good person, and make him proud. Which means there’s something I need to do.

  Spotting his dark head in the crowd, I catch Jake’s eye and beckon him over with my free hand. He says something to the man he’s talking to, pats him on the shoulder, and makes his way over to me. He’s still wearing his military uniform and I gulp as he approaches. I can’t deny he looks handsome, especially with his black hair against the formal dark jacket, even though having such thoughts at Grandad’s wake feels completely inappropriate. Plus, this is Jake, a boy I’ve known since I was eleven, and who doesn’t see me that way. Even if he did, he wouldn’t be right for me. He’s far too overprotective; it would drive me mad. Plus, he’s always leaving town and is out of touch for months on end. I couldn’t live like that, or love like that. I need someone who’s here for me. Who sticks around. Basically, the opposite of my mother.

  No, it’s better if we’re just friends.

  ‘Hi,’ I say hesitantly as he reaches my side.

  ‘Hi,’ he replies. ‘How are you doing?’

  Taking a deep breath, ‘Not great. You?’ I ask, trying to be conciliatory.

  He doesn’t reply, shrugging one shoulder and turning to face the coast.

  ‘That good, huh?’ Taking a deep gulp of my wine before balancing the glass on the railing, I turn my attention to the sea. His behaviour upset me at the funeral, especially the way he left. But he was obviously upset too. I’m so confused. I do appreciate him doing the picture for Grandad and sticking around to help, but the way he acted in church it was like he thought Grandad was his too. I just don’t get it. I ache to ask Jake about it, but on the other hand I’m not sure I’m ready to take on someone else’s pain. My own is already too much to bear. Immediately, I feel selfish. Why does life have to be so complicated?

  ‘So, Brighton?’ He breaks the silence, and I know my attempt to make peace has been accepted.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Studying art?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Keeping my eyes on the shimmering waves, I gulp down more wine, the floral, tangy taste strong on my tongue. Other people’s chatter drifts up from the balcony below us. I’m glad he’s decided not to bring up the subject of him leaving the funeral. Perhaps he feels it’s best left for another day.

  ‘You must be excited? Brighton’s a great place to live.’

  ‘I guess.’

  He sighs. ‘You’re not the best conversationalist today, Jones.’

  ‘I’m trying my best to hold it together, Jake,’ I admit softly. ‘It’s difficult to even breathe. If you want to go and talk to someone else, I’ll understand.’

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nbsp; ‘Sorry. That was insensitive.’ He shoves his hands into his uniform pockets, frowning. His sunglasses are pushed back into his thick black hair, which has grown out a bit over the past couple of weeks. He undoes a few of the buttons on his military jacket and leans against the railing. How does he always look so calm and composed, when everyone around him is falling apart? ‘People are worried about you,’ he adds. ‘You’ve been out here for the last two hours. Are you going to come in soon?’

  ‘I don’t feel like talking,’ I murmur. ‘It’s not a social event. They’re acting like it’s a wedding, drinking and standing around gossiping. It’s disrespectful.’

  ‘They’re not gossiping, Jones,’ he answers mildly, ‘they’re catching up. Some of them haven’t seen each other for years. It’s not meant to be disrespectful. But it is a chance to remember Ray and share memories. To celebrate his life. He would have been fine with it.’ Raising one eyebrow, ‘Would you rather they stood around eyeballing each other in silence, drinking water?’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ It bursts out of me; I can’t contain it. His words make me feel ridiculous. The last thing I need is him launching grenades at me. I need his understanding, not his judgement. ‘I’m always in the wrong, aren’t I?’ I just can’t handle this, I want the world to disappear. ‘It’s always me that’s the problem. You guys are all the same.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ He straightens away from the railing and turns to me, looking astounded.

  ‘Always wanting to blame someone else. Cameron dumped me this morning. On the morning of my grandad’s funeral. A week and a half of silence and then he calls. Do you know what he said? He told me he slept with a big-breasted blonde after my birthday party and that he was sorry, but it wasn’t going to work out. He wants to enjoy uni and doesn’t need a girlfriend who’s going to be sitting around moping all the time and calling him in tears. He said he didn’t need someone who’s such a mess. He just wants to have fun.’ I down the rest of my wine before snatching a glass from the tray of a passing waiter. The guy looks startled, but smoothly walks on.