Chapter 11 #2
‘Old friends,’ Jameson echoes softly, glancing at me. The rims of our glasses tap together as we toast again, and for a moment the others fade and it is just the two of us.
I wish.
This is crazy. I’ve been in his company for less than an hour and all the feelings I thought were long gone are back, rampaging through me like a storm.
‘To absent friends,’ says Alex.
We echo him and our sombre voices bring goosebumps rising to my skin. We pause in the toast, glasses touching, fingers brushing. The knuckles of Jameson’s hand are rough against mine and I remember his Insta pics: the hiking and climbing trips, the outdoorsy wholesomeness of him.
We drink, wondering who will break the tension, who will invite her into the room …
Genevieve.
She’s here, somewhere. In the spaces between us, the gaps in our words.
Perhaps it should be Leo, her first (and last) love. But Kimmy is by his side, and I fancy her presence will inhibit any insensitive show of affection for his dead lover.
Perhaps it should be me then – her best friend in the world. I’d wager I loved her even more than Leo.
But Alex gets there first. Alex whose idea this was, who cared enough to make it happen.
I am suddenly supremely grateful to him for bringing us together.
Hard as it may be to navigate some of the conversations we need to have, I already know I want these people back in my life.
‘To Genevieve,’ he says grandly, tilting his glass again, the contents sloshing like an unsettled spirit level.
Her name echoes around the room, quiet yet cacophonous. Filling Tarnmore with her spirit, the ghost of her brilliance. It changes something in us, irrevocably alters something fundamental about this gathering, as I knew it would.
‘We haven’t forgotten you, Gen,’ Alex continues in a voice rough with emotion.
‘We miss you. We’ve come together in your memory, finally.
Sorry it took so long. I hope you’ll be happy we’ve done it eventually, wherever you are.
’ He crosses himself reflexively, and solemnity settles like a shroud over us.
My stomach lurches. I’m not religious, in any shape or form.
I’d forgotten about Alex’s lapsed Catholicism.
He might not worship, but it’s woven into his identity all the same.
Jameson is a Baptist, although he only ever went to church to please his mother.
I have no idea if Leo or Becca harbour religious beliefs.
Kimmy toyed with Buddhism for a while at university, but I suspect it was just a passing fancy.
Still, there’s something deeply spiritual about the moment that follows Alex’s speech. I find my eyes closing of their own volition, as though in prayer. It unnerves me to think of Gen being anywhere.
Would she be happy to see us here, drinking and remembering? Alive, when she is … wherever she is. Frozen in time.
Becca’s earlier accusations have soured her memory for me a bit, I have to be honest. Coloured things. It’s not comfortable to think of her that way. Still, I only have Becca’s side of the story. Surely it wasn’t as serious as she made out.
Our glasses clink again, a happy-sad sound. Our smiles are bright, trying to compensate for the lurch of melancholy that swells to fill the room.
I glance around at the others. No one is outright crying, but Becca is sniffing a bit, wiping ostentatiously at her eyes in a way that makes little sense if what she said earlier is true – why would she grieve a girl who hurt her?
Leo looks troubled, but of course he can’t cry for his ex-lover in front of Kimmy. Alex is grave and glowering, and Jameson is … staring at me.
A spark leaps between us.
Kimmy is an imposter to our grief. Not only was she never friends with Genevieve, but she also surely hated what Gen did to her after it all came out about her and Leo.
I almost feel sorry for Kimmy, having to pretend to care, then Euan comes into the room and she’s no longer the only one without a vested interest in memorialising Genevieve.
The others shift, restless. I sense that they all want now to veer away from the emotion, get things back on track. We can’t stay miserable this whole time. We’re alive, we’re here and we’ve got catching up to do.
What would Gen think if she were really here with us now, looking down, lurking in the shadows?
She’d hate Kimmy’s fake sentimentality, chiming in with our toasts – hell, she’d hate the fact that the girl is here.
She might like that she’s the centre of attention again – she was always the main character.
But she wouldn’t like it when our attention strays as it surely will.
Would she judge me, if she could see me now?
The best friend who didn’t make it to her funeral …
Who wasn’t able to save her.
Who can’t even grieve properly without her thoughts straying to a boy she once loved.
I clear my throat. I haven’t spoken except to echo the toasts, but the words leap from me. ‘Did you guys … did you go to her funeral?’ I hate the idea that I was conspicuous in my absence, the only one who didn’t honour her.
Kimmy takes a tentative step out of the circle, sipping her Champagne and examining her nails. She and Euan strike up some innocuous small talk like the outsiders they are. I can hear their voices but not the words. Probably they feel equally awkward, not party to the in-jokes and shared memories.
Becca heaves a sigh. ‘Ugh, I hate to admit that I didn’t. It clashed with a big event my parents were hosting and I …’ she trails off, probably aware that there’s no way to make that sound okay. But it makes sense, I guess, now I know how she really felt about Gen.
Leo bites his lip sheepishly, suddenly seeming much younger and less assured than I’ve ever seen him.
‘I … well, my parents paid for me and my brother to take a trip abroad after what happened. To help me come to terms with it. We were in Prague and our flights were delayed so I didn’t end up making it back in time for the funeral. ’
I look at Jameson, fully expecting him to confirm that he attended.
When we were at uni he went to the funerals of one of his professors who he barely knew, and an elderly neighbour from back home.
That’s the kind of guy he is. ‘I was really sick,’ he says.
‘The worst flu I ever had. I wanted to go, but I was weak as a kitten, couldn’t even get out of bed.
I felt terrible about missing it, but Mum went on my behalf. ’
Alex downs the last of his Champagne. ‘I fucking went. The only fucking one of us.’
Oh God, poor Gen.
In life she was the centre of our little world; she was the sun. But in death we let her down.
Kimmy sighs dramatically. ‘This isn’t very cheerful, you know …’
‘Yeah,’ adds Euan. ‘And dinner’s ready, so if you want to come and eat …’
‘Good idea, mate,’ Leo says; he’s back to himself again. And just like that, the spell breaks. Genevieve’s ghost drifts away like smoke and a ripple of relief seems to run through the group, like we’re all glad that’s over, so we can move on to better things.
As we head towards the dining room, Jameson falls into step with me and his arm brushes mine.
I think he gets it – that for me it isn’t just about brandishing a glass and saying some words.
Gen was much more important than that. She deserves better – even if she did behave in a less than stellar way towards Kimmy, and if Becca is to be believed, threw a few catty comments her way too.