Better Late

The day couldn’t make up its mind. Summer had come early, seen that no one was ready for it and so it had eloped with Spring in the dead of the previous night. Now all the seasons put in an appearance, one after the other. An intervention of sorts, but when it came time to speak there was nothing to be said, and so there was a washing machine of spinning emotions that created the ideal backdrop for the funeral and subsequent wake.

John was late for his own funeral through no fault of his own. A motorbike rear ended the hearse in traffic. What the rider was doing at the time was anyone’s guess. No one was seriously hurt. The bumper damage would polish out. The rider would find out later that his forks were bent and what he’d thought was superficial damage went far beyond that. That was life as far as the reclining occupant in the hearse had experienced it.

The service had been adequate. Which was all anyone could ask for. Faces were shown. Goodbyes said. The sudden departure of the deceased caused a problem that the funeral director had encountered thousands of times. Few planned ahead for the one certainty in their life.

The vicar suggested a suitable reading and provided a list of hymns to choose from. There were debates over the music he would have liked to have been played. The truth was that even John would have disagreed with his own choices. He was never a fickle man. But where was the fun in choices made in advance? John was all for going with the flow and enjoying the moment.

Compromise won the day. A Big Mac meal of a service as opposed to the badly presented yet tasty food he was well known for. John may have described it as a bacon butty affair dependent on the mood he was in. Whoever spoke to the vicar about the life that John had lived hadn’t been on form at the time. But then a few earnest lines couldn’t hope to encapsulate the span of a life lived.

As the coffin was carried in, two wives turned to watch its progress. The ex-wife, Sally’s gazed upon their son. He looked impossibly young. Too young to be carrying his father to his grave. She told herself that her tears were for their boy. That it was better to focus on the living. Some of what lived was a part of the man she’d made that boy with.

The music’s all wrong, was what she was thinking as she felt the wave of grief that she hadn’t thought would come. She’d talked through the service with Adam, her son. He’d been upset with his step-mother’s choices. Didn’t feel that he had a voice when it came to his Dad’s swansong. Sally had placated him. Told him that what mattered was how he felt and that he said goodbye in his own way. She could see this didn’t really touch the sides, but then she’d always had to tread a narrow path ever since the divorce. Even before that she‘d realised there was precious little room for her. The dream of an ever-loving marriage hadn’t translated well into a world full of demands and stress. She blamed a modern world that’d been filled to the brim with convenience, leaving no room for her to just be. She worried about how Adam would find his way. Didn’t want to consider the relief she’d felt at the news of John’s death. Hadn’t wanted John’s life for Adam. His early demise from a massive heart attack seemed to agree with her assessment of her ex-husband’s life. A life that’d killed him.

Linda, John’s widow was staring at the coffin as it wobbled its way towards the altar. Her tears were genuine, but few would understand that they were only for herself. Her daughter knew. Her daughter knew her only too well. But Laura would never tell. That was the cardinal rule of The Game. You never told. Exposing The Game ruined everything.

Laura had dutifully turned as they were bade to stand by the vicar, the music had begun and the coffin was carried in. Goodbye meant something quite different to her. This was a cessation of John’s use and that was all there was to it. She didn’t even consider that he was inside the coffin. There was very little to process here. Only a case of conforming to the expectations in the room. That was part of The Game. You read the room, smiled sweetly and then you found your in. There was always an in.

She resented her mother. This was her day. She was the centre of attention as the grieving widow. She knew how to play her role well. The church was filled with pain. All her Christmases come at once. A veritable feast of emotions and a display of wounds and vulnerability that would allow The Game to be played further. John had been transactionally useful. But like all the others, he’d been dull and stupid as he was manipulated into performative love. He never saw beyond what he wanted to see. The stress of the discord of the life he was trying to live and the life that he was actually living had broken him and he’d been too weak to survive. Laura wondered whether he’d ever even glimpsed The Game. Few did.

Adam was shaking as he returned to his mother’s side. She took his hand and squeezed it. This prompted silent tears. A release following the solemn duty he’d had to conduct. For his Dad. For himself. The shaking was a strange form of nervousness made all the more terrifying when a random thought had made itself known to him; don’t drop the coffin! After that, it was all he could do to control his body sufficiently to keep the coffin in place upon his shoulder and walk in time with the other pall bearers. Two of the funeral director’s colleagues had helped out and he’d found strength and support in that. They were calm and knew what they were doing. Talking softly to the rest of them all the way. He loved them for that. Had been wrongfooted by a feeling of camaraderie with all of the pall bearers. The weight of responsibility on their shoulders was one that none of them had wanted. He wished his Dad had been there to share the experience as he had with so much of Adam’s life and as he caught himself in this wish he’d had to stifle laughter. There was hope in that feeling and in that hope he saw his Dad’s face. He was reassured by that as much as he was comforted by the squeeze of his Mum’s hand.

I love you, Dad. Adam projected that thought and the accompanying feeling towards the coffin that lay there in a surreal act of symbolism. He knew his Dad was in that casket, but at the same time he couldn’t be. Would never be. The man he knew couldn’t be held within such tight confines. This was all a show. His Dad was out there in the world. Always would be. That was the world that Adam lived in.

The vicar said kind words between those that must be observed. Familiar hymns were sung, but for many, something was off with those hymns. They dismissed the feeling of unease as it sat so readily alongside their grief. Then it was Kev’s turn to stand up and say a few words. As with the music, the words had been agreed with Linda. A short religious reading that’d been read thousands of times at such gatherings. As he finished and the congregation echoed an amen, he reached into his inside jacket pocket. His hand was shaking badly as he held the piece of paper, “this is for John…” his voice cracked then and he sobbed uncontrollably. For a horribly protracted moment, everyone looked on. Frozen to the spot. No one noticed the look of utter contempt that Linda wore at this ad hoc rebellion from John’s best friend. A friendship that’d lasted decades and endured much.

Kev stood at the lectern and his body convulsed with a grief that went beyond anything that he’d experienced. John was a fact of Kev’s life. The ground beneath his feet had crumbled and fallen away when he learned of his mate’s death. Kev could face all the trials and tribulations that the world threw at him because he had a John. Theirs was a it isn’t just me friendship. They were different characters, but they always got each other. This was no flimsy and cursory validation friendship, it ran deep. Deeper than Kev had realised. The two friends had kept each other on the straight and narrow. Kept each other sane. They’d found the end of the rainbow when they’d met each other. Knowing there was someone who got it and was always in your corner was golden. Kev was glad they’d told each other that. That they’d not been too proud to speak of the love they held for one another. He’d wanted to proclaim that love for this man, but now he was too broken. Struggling to breath. Wishing everything away. Wishing his mate were here to make it all OK.

Adam beat the vicar to it and the older man ceded the ground. The lad’s heart went out to his Dad’s best mate. He also felt a sense of shame. He knew that grief wasn’t a competition, but Kev’s heartfelt display of emotion was something he wanted for himself. He wanted to roar his pain out into the world and be heard by it. Instead he felt ever so small. A child railing against the unfairness of his parent’s death. Frightened by the reality of his own mortality now that his Dad wasn’t there to protect him and envelope him in an illusion of immortality.

This though was something he could do. There was an opportunity here to redeem himself. To be there for someone. And not just anyone. This man had loved his Dad. Adam had always known that. There was a glow to the two men when they were around each other and whenever they spoke of each other. A simple love affair uncomplicated by anything other than friendship. There was a boyish purity to how they were with each other. A rich seam of fun carried them through life, even when they didn’t see eye to eye. A number of times, John had told his son about the time he’d fallen out with Kev. A drunken argument about the price of bread or how much rain fall there’d been in that really hot summer of their childhood that they both misremembered fondly. Whatever the words exchanged, the argument wasn’t about anything important. What it really was, was two stags locking horns. It was all about our egos, Adam. Adam remembered his Dad telling him that he’d damn near lost his best friend due to his ego. That even when they reached out and agreed to meet, they both maintained that they’d been right, despite being unable to recall what it was they’d been right about. That there’s ego, son. And although it’s there to protect you, it can destroy what you care about. Never forget that. Go beyond your ego to what’s right. Look after those you value. If you have to apologise? Do it. For the relationship and the love you hold for that person. Don’t lose what counts because you’re too proud to serve those you love. It was quite the speech, but then his Dad had this man in his life and that mattered. That counted for a lot and more.

When Adam reached Kev’s side he was looking at the coffin that held his Dad’s remains. And again, he saw his father’s face. That was important, he knew. Never to forget the face of your folks. To remember all that they were and everything they represented. In this moment he felt love. The love that he had for his Dad and the love his Dad had for this man. There was no thinking, only being. His arm was around Kev’s trembling shoulders and he became the strength that was needed.

“Thanks,” Kev whispered.

Adam smiled, “he’d have done this for either of us.”

“Not sure about that,” Kev laughed through his tears. Drew in a deep breath and tried to read from the crumpled printed page in his hand.

Adam took hold of the other side of the paper and began to read. “When I met John, I’d no idea I’d met a life long friend. I should have known though. He made it so easy to be his friend. So I never had reason to stop…”

There was warm, appreciative laughter at these words and as it subsided Kev grabbed the baton and completed the impromptu speech he’d written for his friend’s memory and the people who’d gathered to celebrate him. Adam stood by his side. Arm around him. His support and encouragement. Some of the bond John had with his oldest friend was transferred to his son in that moment. Adam would remain a part of Kev’s life for the rest of his days. Sometimes you don’t choose family, it chooses you.

Although a great many people knew John and there were those who loved him, the church wasn’t full that day. The weather at the graveside was a strange affair. There was a crack of thunder from an ominous sky and hailstones clattered down as the vicar spoke of ashes and dust.

Only two figures lingered at the grave.

“I thought there’d be more people,” Adam said almost to himself.

Kev clapped a hand to his shoulder, “wait ‘til you get to the wake, son!”

Adam looked askance at the mischievous expression upon Kev’s face, not quite daring to believe but knowing that sometimes people can surprise you in the most wonderful of ways.

On the journey from the church to the village hall where the wake was being held, Adam stared out of the window at a world that he no longer recognised, but would have to face and reacquaint himself with. The sun was making an appearance now, which was just as well as the village hall was already packed with people and many were spilling out into the gardens beyond.

Adam was greeted by a throng of familiar faces and an atmosphere of celebration that lifted him inexplicably. He marvelled at all the people he encountered as he walked to the bar and stifled a sob of joy that was the counterpoint to the service he’d so recently left.

“I wish my Dad was here to see this,” he said as he tapped his pint glass to Kev’s.

Kev smiled, “but he is. Can’t you feel his presence?”

And Adam could. He could feel him as though he were right there with him. As he would until his dying day.

But John was there that day in ways that Adam couldn’t have understood, for his dying wish was a wish he’d held ever since he was a child. To truly know those he loved and cared for. The wish had been granted for that day and that day alone. He saw into the hearts of those he held dear and he saw the truth of them.

His initial shock at Linda and Laura’s true feelings and their playing of The Game was almost debilitating; am I in hell already? he’d asked himself. Reeling as he heard Linda’s hateful thoughts and the plans she had to disinherit Adam. Her lifelong intent was to hurt and destroy. Suddenly he understood the cause of his premature end. The way he’d been twisted out of shape as he tried to love people who’d never intended to reciprocate his love and a wave of sorrow crashed upon him. Sorrow for all he’d lost and sorrow for the mess that he’d left behind.

Then he’d felt Sally’s mutual love for their son. Bore witness to Kev’s loving rebellion. His need to speak the truth about how he felt about his best friend. And through it all, there was Adam. Adam was a job well done. Adam was what mattered the most in John’s life and John knew that he was going to be alright. Better than that, he was going to have a good life and he would always shine.

There was just one more thing John needed to do before he left all those that he loved and cared for. Now it was his turn to play a little game. To push buttons and to pull levers. To even the score in a game he’d never realised he’d been playing ever since he’d met Linda. A nihilistic game she’d induced her own daughter into playing. Secretly hurting others in an act of petty but dangerous vengeance on the world. Attack as a bitter and broken form of defence.

The pleasant hubbub in and around the village hall was disrupted as everyone’s mobile phones chirped notifications at full volume.

That’s strange, mine’s on mute.

The baffling coincidence had everyone reaching for their phones. Wondering what’d just occurred. Linda, whose phone was never far from her face, opened the notification, her mask slipped and she took on an expression of abject horror. The unmasking witnessed by everyone who’d read the message and were now looking upon her in shocked recognition.

“I…” she began, “it’s not…”

But the simple truth was out and her secretly violent, egotistical and destructive reign in this place was over. Everyone present now knew she was supply fluid. Addicted to attention and hatefully using people.

She fled. Glancing across at one of her red-faced lovers as she ran away from the one thing that terrified her. Being truly seen.