Chapter Seventy
Ten days later
Jenny
I stood up and tried to ignore my legs shaking.
The church was cold. I straightened my shoulders and walked toward the lectern.
I was glad I was wearing loafers. I didn’t know why I’d even considered heels.
I could hear Haze’s voice in my head: “Because you need to try and elevate that god-awful trouser suit that does nothing for you.”
I bit my lip.
Talking in front of people was easy when it was my colleagues in an incident room and I was barking orders.
There, I could find my voice with no problem.
I knew what had to be done. This was new territory.
But this was how we honored our dead, and I was going to do my job. I was going to hold it together.
Bibi was in the front pew in a pretty navy dress.
Felix sat next to her in his school uniform shirt and trousers, the smartest clothes he owned.
They’d insisted on sitting together. “I want to help, not be sad.” At the age of four, it was already clear how important it was to be there for your friends.
I looked out at the people filling the pews of this old church. Reggie was in a pram, being rocked by my mother’s constantly moving foot.
I placed the cue cards on the lectern. I knew what I wanted to say by heart, but they were there if I stumbled. I looked out at all the faces staring back at me.
I would channel Haze and Fox, take inspiration from them and their bravery. Say everything I needed to say without crumbling.
I took a deep breath, and then the church doors creaked open. Bright light filtered in. I squinted at the two figures who stood framed in the doorway. Everyone turned to look.
Haze and Fox, backlit by the sunlight behind them.
Both in black suits. Both wearing sunglasses. Haze had red lipstick on. Her bandaged hand was the only hint of the trouble they had managed to stumble away from.
They gently closed the door behind them and slipped into a pew at the back.
They kept their sunglasses on. To the many members of the congregation still staring, it would’ve looked like they were famous.
I gave everyone another minute to settle.
To try and turn back to me. To the main event.
I wasn’t upset. I understood it. Haze and Fox were the bright, glossy peacocks in a sea of pensioners’ M it was somewhere I went to look after them.
I was checking their fridge, making sure they had enough food, fixing things they’d let slide.
Dad was getting sicker, and Mum was worrying about him, not remembering things like she used to.
It broke my heart. But I was grateful that I could be there, that I could show them my love through my actions, like they’d always done for me.
Dad had slipped away with Mum and I sitting by his bedside. He was ready, and I wasn’t.
Last week, I was standing in Tesco, crying at a box of chicken Kievs.
They were the same brand we used to buy on the first night of every holiday we took to Cornwall in my childhood.
An easy dinner after a long drive. I was crying because it was a happy memory I’d never realized was happy.
It was so mundane. Chucking a box in the trolley.
Eating them and laughing at our garlic breath.
My phone had rung then, and when I’d answered it, mid-sob, a voice had told me that I’d been matched to a little baby girl. It was the call I’d been waiting for.
She’d be coming home with me in a couple of weeks. I was going to call her Frankie. I didn’t care what anyone else thought, I knew she was a gift from my dad up above. He always knew better than anyone what I needed.
I smiled over at Mum; she was gripping a tissue to her nose. Bibi and Felix sat together, kicking their feet.
I cleared my throat and began.
“Frank Dennis Needham was a good man. The best man. I was lucky to have him as a father. No matter what age I’d lost him at, it always would’ve been too soon. There’s never enough time with those you love the most.”
I let myself slip into autopilot. I didn’t want to let myself truly feel the words. I just wanted to say them without breaking down. I needed to honor him, to say everything that needed to be said. I could do this last thing for him.
As I talked, I looked across at Haze and Fox.
They were holding hands and nodding me on.
My friends. My family. My future. I might be their back-office pigeon, the support act to their starring roles.
But I was happy with who I was. Not everyone needed to be out shining on center stage.
They were different to me, not better. We were all trying to do the best we could with the lives we’d been given.
I was going to celebrate everything I was, not focus on what I wasn’t. I was choosing happiness.