Chapter 5
5
FRIENDS REUNITED
Niamh picks me up at seven, on the dot. She is nothing if not punctual. I’m feeling a little frazzled having spent much too long trying to decide what to wear to the wake of my former best friend’s mother. Obviously my ‘Give Me Strength’ hoodie and leggings combo was a non-starter, but nor did it feel like the kind of smart casual work attire type of affair either. I needed something in between. In the end, I settled for a black jumper dress and red ankle boots. Red boots probably weren’t the most appropriate option but I didn’t want to dress completely in black in case I was mistaken for a chief mourner and God knows that would be awkward. I did not need or want people shaking my hand and offering condolences. I brushed my hair into a sleek ponytail only to look in the mirror and see an uncanny resemblance to Miss Trunchbull from Matilda staring back at me, so I immediately took it down. I gave my head a little shake in the hope it would fall into a perfect ‘just stepped out of a salon’ beach-wave style, but instead it just sort of limply fell into a frizzy helmet of a style and I ran out of time to try anything else.
I explain all this to Niamh in an epic bout of verbal diarrhoea as soon as I get in the car. To give her her dues, she lets me talk before gently placing one hand on my knee. ‘Becks, I think it’s possible you might just be overthinking all of this,’ she says softly. ‘I understand why you’re nervous, of course. I’m pretty much shitting bricks too. But we can do this. Kitty deserves this.’
‘I know,’ I say.
‘And Laura does too,’ Niamh says, and I nod but stay quiet because I’m not sure deserve would be the word I would use. I still have no idea how she will receive our arrival at her mother’s house. She’d be well within her rights to turf us out, or at least turf me out, on our ears.
‘I checked the death notices,’ Niamh says. ‘The funeral is at ten, from the Cathedral. We should go to that too, shouldn’t we?’
‘Let’s see how things go this evening first. I wouldn’t want to cause any further upset,’ I say and Niamh nods before we both fall into an uncomfortable silence as we make our way through familiar streets to the home where Laura grew up. Both sides of the street are lined with cars so we park a short distance away and walk over, arms looped together. I know I should say something just to break the tension we are both feeling but for once I’m at a loss for words. My stomach twists the closer we get to the O’Hagan house and I can’t help but wonder if it was just a very bad idea to come here at all. Even though it’s a cold night complete with an icy breeze that would cut through a person, the garden outside the house is filled with mourners standing in small groups, their chatter rising on their cloudy breath into the night sky. I search their faces to see if Laura is among them but if she is then she’s well hidden.
‘Maybe she’s not here,’ I whisper to Niamh.
‘We should still go in though,’ Niamh replies although it’s definitely more of a question than a statement. I think we might be playing wake chicken with each other – hoping the other will call our bluff and we can walk away safe in the knowledge it wasn’t us who made the final decision to just go home.
‘I didn’t bring any flowers,’ I say, spotting a row of floral tributes lined up against the front wall of the house, ready to be loaded into the hearse in the morning and placed on top of the grave. My heart thuds at the sight of them – something about funeral flowers makes me feel deeply uneasy. Watching them wilt and decay on a grave reminds me too much that beneath the soil there is more decomposition. My stomach threatens to turn. Niamh, picking up on my mood, probably because I’ve just squeezed her arm as if I’m trying to push a ten-pound baby out, squeezes gently back.
‘It’s family flowers only,’ Niamh says. ‘I checked. With donations in lieu to the Foyle Hospice. I made a donation in our name earlier. I figured that would be easier.’
I nod again and blink back the tears that are threatening to fall. She’s right, it is easier and I’m incredibly grateful for her thoughtfulness. When we reach the door I see Conal, Laura’s older brother, standing in the doorway greeting mourners and rehashing the same script over and over again.
‘Thank you. It was good of you to come.’
‘Yes, it was good for her in the end, you know. She’d been through enough.’
‘You can never really can prepare yourself, can you?’
‘Mum’s in the front room if you want to go on through.’
And repeat.
We shuffle forward, still clinging together. ‘Remember you used to have a mad crush on him?’ Niamh whispers in my ear and, eyes wide, I look at her, announcing, ‘I did not!’ probably a little too loudly. I’m lying, of course. I was absolutely mad about Conal but as my best friend’s big brother he was deemed off-limits. Not that he ever showed even an ounce of interest in me.
Heads turn to look at us, people I don’t know or only vaguely recognise. I nod an acknowledgement to them, grateful for the dark night that’s hiding my scarlet face. When they return to their conversations, Niamh whispers again, ‘You so did. You even had a photo of him Sellotaped in your diary. I remember.’
‘You remember wrong,’ I tell her, adopting the patented Shaggy defence. Just like his hit song ‘It Wasn’t Me’, I will deny all charges levelled against me until the bitter end.
She shakes her head, a cheeky glint in her eye – one that isn’t entirely appropriate as we reach the front door and the alleged object of my teenage affections is taking us both in.
There’s a slightly too long moment of silence before Niamh detaches herself from me and thrusts her hand forward. ‘Conal, I’m very sorry for your troubles. Your mum was a brilliant woman.’
‘Thank you, it was good of you to come,’ Conan says, almost robotically and I wonder, does he even register any more who he’s talking to? He looks absolutely exhausted; his skin is dull, his eyes red-rimmed.
‘She really was one of the best,’ I say. ‘She always welcomed us in as if we were part of the family.’
Conal blinks and looks in my direction and then to Niamh before looking back at me. ‘Becki?’ he asks. ‘And Niamh?’
We nod in unison like two absolute day-release cases.
‘God, it’s been years. Sorry, I’m not quite myself at the moment, you know,’ he says with a nod towards the inside of the house. ‘I think we’re all just existing on fumes at this stage.’
We nod again and I will myself to speak but find I’ve reverted to the version of myself who became tongue-tied every time he walked into a room. He must’ve thought me to be a complete eejit.
There’s a pause before Conal breaks the silence. ‘Well, I imagine you’re here to see my sister,’ he says.
‘Yes,’ we chime in unison and I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. ‘She’s with Mum, I think,’ he says. ‘In the front room. Go on through.’
After yet another awkward pause we move on down the hall, Niamh whispering in my ear, ‘Well, that went well and wasn’t at all humiliatingly awkward.’ I have to hold in a snort of laughter, my nerves doing what they normally do in situations like this and threatening to bring on a fit of the giggles – which would be absolutely atrociously timed. The worst of it is, I can tell that Niamh is on the verge of a full-on nervous laugh fest herself and we absolutely cannot allow that to happen.
‘Take a deep breath, and let’s settle ourselves,’ I whisper as we shuffle forwards towards the front room, with me thinking this really is the worst idea in the world and I’d have been better off staying at home with Daniel, picking up his poo. There would be less chance of a disaster there than being anywhere near an occasion as stomach-churningly solemn as this.
But, when I see Laura, and see her face masked with grief, my urge to laugh disappears. I feel Niamh stiffen beside me and I know she feels the same.
We three were inseparable once. We used to joke that when one of us felt something, all of us did. We convinced ourselves we had some special psychic bond. The truth was that we were all just a little prone to being over dramatic, or at least I thought that was the truth. Because now, when I spot Laura, it hurts to see her so clearly in pain. Even though we’ve not spoken in ten years, I feel the urge to go straight to her and hug her and tell her I know how awful all of this is and that she doesn’t have to go through it alone. Even the fear of her rejecting me doesn’t hold me back. Before I know it, I am in front of her and I am trying to tell her how very sorry I am for her loss but the words are caught in my throat.
She stares back at me, her expression a mixture of shock and grief and something I can’t quite put a name on.
‘Laura, we’re so very sorry,’ I hear Niamh say from where she’s now standing beside me. ‘We were so shocked to hear the news and we just had to come and pay our respects.’
Laura’s gaze flits between the two of us while I stand here like a mute eejit, trying not to blink, knowing that if I do my tears will fall and if I start crying, I might not stop.
‘Girls…’ she eventually says and suddenly I’m looking at all the different Lauras I’ve known over the years: the precocious six-year-old, obsessed with Sindy dolls and My Little Pony; the eleven-year-old who walked into big school that first day holding my hand and telling me it would be okay; the teenager who had been the first of us to get her period and who thankfully didn’t try to scare the life out of us with horror stories about how awful it was; the Laura who had been my bridesmaid, and Godmother to Saul; the Laura who, despite our estrangement, still had a life interwoven with mine, and with Niamh, and the Laura who I’m now pulling into a tight hug while Niamh wraps her arms around us both and all three of us sob.
God only knows what our fellow mourners are thinking at the sight and sound of us but right in this moment, I don’t care. As we eventually pull apart, sniffling and shaking, I notice the room has emptied of everyone except us. And Kitty, obviously, who is lying in peaceful repose in her open coffin, hands clasped and a slight hint of a smile playing on her lips.
‘She looks well,’ Niamh says, softly.
‘Well, she’s dead, so to be honest she could be better,’ Laura says with a watery smile and the three of us burst into laughter, already so comfortable once again in each other’s company that we’re immediately back in tune with each other’s sense of humour. Grief is never very far away though, and while she is laughing, Laura is still wiping tears from her face.
‘But yes, she looks well. A lot better than she did in her last few days, if I’m being honest,’ Laura says, gently touching her mother’s face. ‘The cancer had left her grey, you know. Old looking, and she was never old looking. But she looks beautiful now. At peace, you know.’
The three of us nod. ‘She does,’ I say.
‘She had a hard time,’ Laura blurts, prompting a fresh flurry of tears. ‘I wanted to call you both, you know. She’d have loved to have seen you. I’d have loved to have seen you. But it’s been so long and I was afraid you might tell me to get lost. You’d have every right to. You especially, Becks. After everything.’
I swallow down the uncomfortable feelings those words bring. ‘After everything’ covers a multitude of things it is absolutely not the right time to start poking at.
‘Look, the important thing is that we’re here now,’ Niamh says as I turn my gaze from Laura back to Kitty to break the tension between us. ‘And we’ll be here for you in whatever way you need us to be. Isn’t that right, Becca?’
I nod and take a deep breath – this is not the time for a faint heart. Big girl pants are on. I look at Laura again. ‘Absolutely, just say the word!’ I tell her and she tears up again, as do I – which of course prompts Niamh to let tears fall as well. And once again, we find ourselves part of a triple-strength hug and it feels so nice, and so safe and so…
‘Dear me, what’s all this wailing about? Kitty wouldn’t have wanted that!’ bellows a voice that sends a chill through my bones.
Ladies and gentlemen, Simon – the ex-husband who has to be the centre of attention at all times – has entered the building.