Chapter 3
Chapter three
Terry
My wife pulls her long blonde hair back into a knot and pins it in place. The fitted black dress, which finishes a fraction above her knees, hugs her lean frame.
Two years of lifting have carved her down—muscles strain against fabric, calves coiled like rope. When I hold her, what used to give—her hips, her belly, the old softness I loved—doesn’t. My pride in her determination sticks in my throat beside the loss. I miss what she was.
Today marks the end of an era ― we will lay Bex in her final resting place. The last few years blurred with hospital appointments and counting good days. Amy set her alarm by Bex’s needs.
Our plans were folded away, slid into the back of a drawer to be dealt with later. I’d never say it out loud, but as much as I loved my old friend, Bex, I’m glad this tragedy has come to an end. Toxic relief settles beneath the guilt.
“What time should we expect the car?” I ask.
“They’re picking up Ben and the kids, then coming round for us.
Our car will be at the back.” I nod. She never actually answered my question.
“My parents are meeting us there. They didn’t think Bex would want them using the cars.
They’re probably right; she never forgave them for wanting her to have Liam adopted. ”
I could mouth along to this part of the story; we’ve rehearsed it enough. One stupid-perfect night, a blue line, and two parents who thought paperwork could hide their grandson away.
Though I didn’t support her not telling Ben about the baby, I understood why.
After their encounter, Ben reconciled with his wife and went back to the house with the posed family photos on the fridge before Bex had even missed a period.
Bex stayed silent to be noble, to not ruin his family that he only just got back. She was never a homewrecker.
Years later, the school gates did what confessionals couldn’t and brought it all to light, and they finally got their happily ever after. Her relationship with her parents never recovered. It was icy until the end.
“Okay, well, do you want a cup of tea while we wait?” She drags another coat of pink lipstick over quivering lips before shaking her head. “I’m going to wait in the living room,” I mumble and leave our bedroom.
Amy appears in front of me moments later and wraps her arms around my waist, snuggling into my chest. “It’s going to be alright. Once today is over, we can start healing and moving forward,” I whisper.
Her head snaps up, her red-rimmed eyes narrowing to slits. “Move forward!” she cries. “My sister isn’t even buried yet, and you’re talking about moving forward? For fuck’s sake, Terry, don’t be such an asshole.”
Biting my tongue till iron floods my mouth, I kiss the top of her head and squeeze her tighter. Now is not the time for this argument. The day of her sister’s funeral shouldn’t be shrouded in our marital issues.
Releasing her, I go to look out of the window. The three black cars are lined up at the curb, and my phone pings. It’s Ben.
Outside
Ben has been my friend as long as my wife. He and I have painted the town red many times and cried on each other’s shoulders. I don’t know how he stitches this kind of tear, even with four kids to anchor him.
Sometimes I watch him with his kids, and jealousy lights a match in my chest. Four faces for his Christmas card; I can’t even get one. Then, the shame squashes the flame. The man’s just lost his wife.
“That’s the car here, Amz. You ready?” I walk over to her sitting on the sofa and hold out my hands. She takes them and rises to her feet. Once I’ve turned her to the door, I wrap my arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward it.
I’ll be glad when today is over.
***
When we arrive at the church, our car stops at the bottom of the steps. Hilltop Manor’s chapel, the one Bex used to cut across to staff meetings she hated, sits just inside the huge iron gates.
The towering stained-glass windows depict images of religious scenes, and a tall bell tower stands like a watchman.
Bex will be laid to rest in a small cemetery at the rear of the building.
It cost Ben a small fortune to secure a plot, but this is one of the places Bex felt most content.
He wanted her final resting place to be a happy one.
I take my wife’s hand, and we step out of the car onto the white gravel. She tucks her face under the brim of her hat as if it will keep the day away. Ben climbs out of the car in front, his four children lining up beside him.
We all walk in together, past the lilies in huge planters by the door, and make our way to the family benches at the front.
The pews are packed, latecomers stand three deep at the back. The organist plays “Fields of Gold” as the congregation stands for the entrance of the coffin. Ben holds his kids as if they’re his life source, his arms wrapped around trembling shoulders.
Halfway through the service, Savannah stands and moves to the front. The room takes a breath. She clears her throat before she speaks, a single tear gliding down her cheek, leaving a trail of pain.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming. I felt it was important for one of us kids to stand up and speak today. And as the oldest, it was my duty to talk for us all. Bex was an incredible mum and step-mum. Our family is certainly not conventional. She hadn’t been in my life for long, but she brought joy to all of us.
I loved her, and my brother and sister loved her.
When we discovered we had another brother, Liam, we were frightened he would steal our dad.
But we not only gained a brother but also a mother. ”
She directs her gaze at her young brother. “Liam, we’re all here for you. Time will pass, and life will become more bearable. But we will always want to remember your mum with you.”
My nephew keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes as his sister speaks. Rose threads her fingers through the unsteady ones resting on his lap. He doesn’t answer, just grips her hand tighter, shoulders tense as if bracing against a blow.
As I look around the congregation, there’s hardly a dry eye to be seen. Ben is watching his daughter, a mixture of pain and pride in his eyes. Amy’s face is a canvas of smudged makeup and grief. “I’m so proud of my niece right now,” she whispers.
We watch the coffin pass and follow it out like a tide. The rest of the day passes in torrents of tears wiped away with hugs and alcohol.
Finally, in bed with my wife, relief and guilt curl around my spine. It feels as though the door has finally closed on Bex’s tragedy.
Now, our lives can restart. We can move on.
I can breathe again even though she can’t.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and think about the future, or lunch, or something ordinary, while Bex’s story ends here, years too soon. And that truth burns deep because even after craving this peace for months, part of me hates it’s finally here.