Chapter 47
‘Time waits for no man.’
Mr Feeney was wrong.
On the day my best friend died time stopped.
There was no birthday.
There was no first day of summer.
With time having stopped it meant I could stay as close as I possibly could to the life I had lived up to that point, a life that had Ronan in it.
If time were to start again every second would take me away from that life and into a future without him.
Because time had stopped I didn’t sleep.
But the dawn light came.
I watched it.
And the distant bell of St Matthew’s rang out.
Mr Feeney was right.
It was the first day without my best friend.
‘Brendan?’
It was Dad’s voice on the other side of the door. I was lying flat on my bed, I didn’t want to move, stillness meant no pain.
‘Brendan?’
When I turned my head it sent a splintering ache up into my temples and I squeezed my eyes shut. The sound of the door opening on squeaking hinges almost deafened me.
‘Got you a cup of tea and a banana if you want it,’ Dad said, coming into my room and setting the mug and fruit on my bedside locker. ‘How you doing?’
I couldn’t open my mouth, I made the sound of ‘OK’ in my throat.
‘Your mother has a fry going downstairs if you fancy it in a bit?’
I unglued my lips and propelled my vocal chords to work.
‘Has she? I can’t smell anything.’
‘Aye, well, she was just putting the bacon under the grill before I came up, she’s only starting.’
‘Ah right.’
‘Are you heading down?’
‘In a minute maybe.’
‘Dead on.’
He sat silent on the end of my bed for a while.
‘Feeney’s are doing the funeral. It’s on Friday.’
‘Was that Mr Feeney on the phone earlier? I thought I heard it ringing?’
‘It was Aaron. He was letting us know. Ten o’clock on Friday at St Matthew’s.’
‘Are they having a wake?’
‘No, that’s what Aaron was phoning to say, they’re arranging everything with Gerry, er, Mr Feeney and … they’re, eh … they’re sorting that out … arranging it …’
‘Right.’
‘Sure we can talk about the arrangements and all when, um, what it’s all …’
‘Arranged.’
‘Aye, when the arrangements are arranged.’
‘Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘What day’s today?’
‘Today? Wednesday.’
‘Aye, that’s what I thought. Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘I passed my driving test yesterday, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, course you did.’
‘Aye, that’s what I thought.’
‘You alright, son?’
‘Yeah, no, I’m just, I’m just checking because everything’s all over the place.’
Dad looked at me and nodded slowly.
‘Do you want to come down and get some breakfast? Get some strength into you? You haven’t ate anything since yesterday morning.’
I was lost in my head trying to piece together some sense. Then a twang hit the back of my nostrils.
‘Oh, I can smell the bacon now,’ I said. ‘I’ll come down in a minute.’
‘Dead on,’ Dad said, getting up and walking out, leaving the door open.
My body sat up when he left, a smooth sleepwalker motion, up and out of bed. I pulled on a hoodie, glided across the floor, out onto the landing, down the stairs and sat on the third step with the phone on it. I lifted it and dialled a number I knew by heart.
‘Hello, Feeney’s Funeral Home,’ came the familiar voice on the other end.
‘Mr Feeney.’
‘Brendan? Is that you?’
‘Yes, it’s me, Mr Feeney.’
‘Goodness, I’m terribly sorry, young fella. How are you?’
‘Mr Feeney, can I come in tomorrow?’
There was silence on the other end.
‘I really need to come in tomorrow. Can I?’
‘Of course, Brendan, whatever you need, of course, I’ll be here all day.’
‘Thanks, Mr Feeney. See you tomorrow.’
‘Aye, Brendan, see you the’mara.’
I set the phone down and walked into the kitchen. Mum was frying mushrooms and sliced potatoes on the pan, eggs were boiling in a pot and Granny’s old hourglass egg timer was on the counter; the top half was empty and the bottom filled with sand.