Chapter 21
21
The day of Noah’s funeral arrived. It was dark and wet with storm clouds gathering – the perfect metaphor for my mood. My parents and Flynn’s, Maggie and Keith, had gathered at The Bothy so the six of us could travel together in a funeral limousine behind the hearse. I shuddered as I watched the two vehicles pulling into Whinlatter Close. Flynn went to the door and Maggie joined me by the window, putting her arm round my shoulder as the drivers navigated the turning circle outside our house.
‘It’s not the right way round,’ she said, her voice shaky with emotion. ‘ No parent should have to bury their child .’
That damn phrase. I’d heard it so many times since Noah died, said it repeatedly myself, but it didn’t bring any comfort. Was it even meant to? I suppose it was a shared declaration that it felt wrong, but feeling wrong didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. I couldn’t force any words past the lump in my throat so I rested my head against Maggie’s to convey that I’d heard and agreed.
Nobody spoke during the journey to the crematorium, which was a good thing as I really didn’t want to make small talk. There was a sizeable crowd gathered outside but I lowered my eyes as the car pulled up, not wishing to make eye contact with anyone. I wasn’t strong enough to see their pain while drowning in my own.
The service began and I barely registered anything the celebrant said. During the eulogy, there were intermittent ripples of laughter, presumably in response to the childhood anecdotes we’d shared and it struck me how inappropriate it was to laugh at a funeral. Why had we shared humorous stories when there was nothing funny about any of this? With every passing minute, I became more tightly wound. I turned around at one point and cast my gaze across the mourners. There were several teenagers here, some of whom I recognised as the friends who claimed to have been ditched over the summer, and others who were strangers to me. Had one of them given Noah the drugs? Had one of his former friends done it and the alleged falling out over the summer had been a lie to deflect any suspicion?
Outside, the mourners gathered to look at the floral tributes and chat. I spotted Guy talking to Jan and Colin – our elderly neighbours who lived in The Stables – and the red mist came down once more as I marched up to him.
‘Helen and Jessie not with you?’ I demanded.
Guy visibly squirmed. ‘Erm, Jessie was too upset to come so Helen stayed with her.’
‘Upset? Is that because she’s feeling guilty for her part in this?’
‘She wasn’t there, Mel. She ended things with Noah in November.’
‘Yeah, and that’ll have broken his heart. Probably made him do what he did.’ I knew it was a low blow, laying the blame on Jessie, and clearly Guy thought so too.
He took a step closer to me, his voice low. ‘She ended it because he’d changed. Your son’s drug habit had nothing to do with Jessie so don’t even think about spreading rumours that it did.’
I winced at the word habit . Nobody knew I’d found those pills in Noah’s bedroom – not even Flynn – so what right did Guy have to suggest it was habitual rather than a fatal one-off?
‘Don’t bother coming back to the pub,’ I said, my tone harsh. ‘We don’t need your keeping-up-appearances sympathy.’
* * *
‘I’m going to bed,’ I said, heading for the stairs as soon as Flynn and I returned to The Bothy after the wake.
‘It’s only seven.’
‘It’s been a long day.’
‘You haven’t eaten anything,’ Flynn called after me.
‘I’m not hungry.’
In the bedroom I’d only got as far as removing my jacket when the door opened.
‘We need to talk,’ Flynn said.
‘Not now. I’m tired.’
‘So am I, but this can’t wait. What’s going on with you?’ His tone was gentle but it did nothing to soothe me.
I tossed my jacket onto the bed and stared at him, incredulous. ‘What’s going on with me? You’re seriously asking me that? It was our son’s funeral today in case you didn’t notice and I hated every single minute of it because it shouldn’t have happened. That’s what’s going on with me.’
‘You don’t need to shout and you know that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m worried about you, Mel. This obsession with finding out what happened isn’t helping anything.’
‘It’s helping me.’
‘How? You’ve fallen out with Helen and Guy and had a go at Jessie. You’ve trashed Noah’s room. You even shouted at his friends and accused them of being drug dealers in the middle of the wake.’
‘Caused a scene, did I? Embarrassed everyone there?’
I hadn’t been able to help myself. I saw them and I kept telling myself that it wasn’t the time or the place but a few glasses of wine later and it felt like the only time and place I’d get the opportunity to speak to them. Except I hadn’t spoken. I’d yelled accusations at them.
‘I didn’t say that,’ Flynn said, his voice still gentle. ‘You say it’s helping you. Can I ask how?’
‘I need answers.’
‘We have answers.’
‘No, we don’t. How can you be so accepting of this?’
‘It’s not about accepting it. It’s about drawing a line and knowing that, even if we did find the person who gave him the drugs, it wouldn’t make a difference. Noah would still have taken the drugs and he’d still be dead. So why torture ourselves further when we’re already going through hell?’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘I’m trying to.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the duvet beside him. ‘Please talk to me. Help me understand.’
Deep down, I knew that I needed to sit down, hold Flynn, and let the grief pour out in tears, but I couldn’t seem to.
‘Someone knows something,’ I said, my voice sounding cold and distant.
‘Mel. Please. Sit down and talk to me.’
I removed my necklace – a delicate silver chain from Noah for my fortieth birthday – and turned my back against Flynn as I gently placed it inside my jewellery box, fighting hard not to unleash the cruel words circling round my mind. You obviously don’t care. If you cared, you’d want answers. What sort of father doesn’t want to know who killed his son?
I heard him rise from the bed and cross the bedroom, stopping near me. I thought he was going to touch me, although I prayed he wouldn’t because I felt so tense I knew I’d shake him off.
‘Mel? Please look at me.’
Reluctantly, I shuffled round and tilted my head to meet his gaze.
‘Why don’t we get away for a bit?’ he said, his voice soft.
‘On holiday?’ I asked, shocked he could even suggest such a thing.
‘Not a holiday. Just some time off to go somewhere on our own. A remote Scottish island, perhaps. Somewhere we can relax and find some peace.’
‘We’ve cremated our only child today and you want to go on holiday? What’s wrong with you?’
‘It wouldn’t be like that,’ he insisted. ‘I just think we need some space from all this.’
I wasn’t listening to him. I heard holiday and a montage of all our family holidays filled my mind – sunshine, laughter, love. How could he possibly think a holiday was appropriate right now? Had he ticked off funeral on a list of things to do and now it was the resume life part? Resume life, take a holiday, return world to axis.
Then out it all came – everything I’d tried to keep buried. I accused Flynn of not caring and never loving our son or me, of being more concerned about keeping up appearances than finding answers. As I ranted and raged at him, a little voice in my head was telling me I’d got it all wrong but there was an angrier louder voice refusing to listen. I shouted, paced, gesticulated and Flynn just stood there, letting me pour it all out. He didn’t get angry, he didn’t try to defend himself and I took that as proof that he really didn’t care.
When I finally ran out of steam, Flynn reached his arms out as though to draw me into a hug but I backed away, hissing that I didn’t want him to touch me. That I never wanted him to touch me again. I’d never seen him look so hurt. Mumbling something about needing some fresh air, he left the room and, moments later, I heard the front door slam and his car start.
I dashed to the window and watched him pull out of the close. It tore me apart that I’d hurt him like that. Those words had been cruel, designed to sting, and they’d certainly done that and, at that moment, I knew that if I stayed it would happen again. And again. And again. Because I needed to lash out at someone. I needed someone to pay for taking my only child away from me. Flynn wasn’t to blame but my anger would find a way to turn on him. So I needed to leave too. It would only be for a while – just until I found my answers and the red mist lifted.
It wouldn’t be forever.