“No, it’s fine. I can’t bear to see Yvonne’s face if I robbed her of an extra day with her precious son.”
“What’s this?” Harry asked, pointing to a small, insulated bag on the counter.
“Just a little survival kit in case you get hungry. A few drinks and snacks.”
“You really are the most amazing wife in the entire world, you know that?”
“I can’t have my man going hungry, can I? Or eating questionable service station sandwiches. When do you need to set off?”
“I thought I’d go now; the car is already packed. I’m going to try to avoid the morning rush. Is that okay?”
“Of course. I love you; I’ll see you tomorrow,” I smiled, leaning in for a kiss.
“I love you, Ames. Let me know how it goes.”
Harry grabbed his bags and made his way out of the front door to the car, and I followed him so I could see him off on his drive. He opened the car window and waved at me as he reversed down the drive. He liked to play this little game where he would pull a stupid face just before he peeled out onto the main road. Every time, I thought he would run out of faces and repeat one, but somehow, he managed to keep it fresh.
“Au revoir!” Harry shouted with his eyes crossed, lifting his top lip to expose his teeth. Unfortunately, the image of him pulling that stupid face is seared into my memory forever.
It was the last time I would ever see Harry alive.
I
DEATH
AMELIA
With each strike of the shovel, piercing the mountain of earth beside him, my unwillingness to accept his death grew inside me. Thud. The collected shovel full of dirt is cast into the void. I felt every wet-slapping noise the soil made when it fell on the coffin as if it were punching me in my stomach. Thud. Every blade of grass around the grave shuddered under the force of the shovel hitting the ground. I still hadn’t shed a single tear yet, not that I didn’t want to; I just wasn’t capable. I know how I should have felt; beside myself, hysterical. Still, I felt none of those emotions. Numb probably describes it most accurately. I felt as if I was having an out-of-body experience, watching myself through third-person eyes. ‘Why isn’t Amelia crying?’ I thought about myself. I became increasingly agitated when I could no longer hide the absence of facial expression and the lack of emotion I was experiencing. I kicked myself internally to try and get it together.
His mother, my mother-in-law, who was wailing like a banshee being dragged over hot coals, glared at me in between the dabbing of her eyes with a handkerchief. It’s worth noting that her excessive eye make-up was still intact; it must have been immune to the effects of crocodile tears. Just cry, I thought to myself, just one single tear, to show everyone how much he meant to you. I pushed myself to picture his cold and lifeless body in the coffin below to try and force some kind of emotional response, but I remained numb. I loved this man more than I’d ever loved anybody in my life, and he was gone, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to accept it. I was half expecting a trademark Harry-style prank, and he would spring from the loose earth and scare us to death. As much as I would have loved for that to happen, it never did.
The coffin was now completely obscured, covered by the dirt. The gravedigger carried on piling the dirt on top of it without relenting, and the rest of the cavity filled up quickly. In my left eye a tear finally started to form, but quickly retreated when I saw my mother-in-law shoot more daggers at me. She looked as if she was working up to say something scathing to me. ‘Not here, not now,’ I thought on repeat, but tact wasn’t a word she ever had in her vocabulary.
“You could at least try to look upset, Amelia,” She scolded, being held tightly by her latest husband, John.
“Look upset? I am upset, Yvonne,” I uttered in response, barely looking at her.
“Just leave it, love,” John said, delicately restraining her.
Yvonne and I never got on, so it came as no a surprise that she would be like this at my husband’s funeral. To her, I was just the woman who swept her son off his feet and dragged him back to Manchester. She never forgave me for that. Although Harry had never implicitly said it to me, Yvonne blamed me entirely for our bad luck in conceiving, too, not that we even had a chance to. She continued to stare pure venom in my direction; she couldn’t even hold it back for a few hours out of respect for her son.
Half of the mourners looked genuinely upset, whereas the other half were either waiting for the sandwiches or secretly amused by Yvonne’s outburst. Stripped of the context, Harry would have found his mother saying that to me hilarious. He would have given me that knowing look that said, ‘I’ve had to put up with her longer than you have.’ I’d have to avoid her at the wake. It wasn’t worth the inevitable argument. The last shovel of dirt was placed on top of the mound, and it was done. The earth beside Harry had entirely depleted and had been returned to the grave. The digger gently patted the mound flat and turned to the celebrant conducting the ceremony with a nod.
“The family would like to thank you all for attending and warmly invite you to enjoy some light refreshments and swap some stories about Harry at the ‘Ox and Plow.’ Anyone who would like to pay their last respects are welcome to stay behind for a few minutes,” the celebrant announced.
The hungry ones left immediately. One by one, the rest of the mourners visited the grave and whispered some words into the soil. I wanted to hear them, but I was still submerged in a trance of disbelief. It was only weeks ago that we were trying our hardest to start a family, and then all of a sudden, I was burying him. I wanted to claw at the earth violently to save him, but what was left of my inhibitions, in my deeply fragile state, deterred me from actually going through with it.
A group had formed in front of me, waiting patiently for me to snap out of my trance. Each mourner greeted me individually, mostly stereotypically expressing their sorrow for my loss. Yvonne stood a few feet across from me, still glowering at me disapprovingly with her particular flavour of intense disdain. I did think about pulling a funny face at her, but the resulting scene wouldn’t have been worth it. I was certain that Harry wouldn’t have been able to resist; he had a dark sense of humour, and to him, it would have definitely been worth the repercussions. Part of me did feel for Yvonne, but to put it bluntly, she lost her son over a decade ago. Despite being very vocal that it didn’t bother him, I never managed to find out if Harry was actually secretly upset about not having a decent relationship with her. When his father died, he and his mother kind of just grew apart, and Harry moving away from Filey was the final nail in that coffin.
Only one mourner remained. I didn’t recognise her. She was still standing at the grave, delicately laying a single flower on it whilst carefully whispering something into the dirt. It was plain to see that she had been crying. The profound sadness on her face led me to infer she must have been close to Harry at some point. The jealous part of me thought she could have been an ex-girlfriend, not that it mattered, given the circumstances. I could see Yvonne was rather irked by her presence at the grave. She was now turning the poisonous glare she had been exclusively aiming at me throughout the funeral to the unknown woman.
“Who’s that? One of your… friends?” She quipped bitterly.
“Not a clue.”
“I’m going to ask who she is.”
“Yvonne, just leave her, she’s obviously upset.”
Yvonne, determined to find out who the mysterious mourner was, shuffled over to her and tapped her gently on the shoulder. I followed her, mainly just to diffuse her anger in case Yvonne saw red again. Not that she saw any other colour.
“I’m sorry, but I seem to don’t recognise you. How’d you know Harry?” Yvonne enquired.
“Just an old friend. I’m Kim. I’m so sorry for your loss,” Kim replied.
“Don’t be sorry, Kim,” I began, “I’m sure Harry would have wanted you here.”
“I hope so,” Kim smiled through the tears welling up in her eyes.
“You’ll be joining us for the wake, I assume?” Yvonne asked matter-of-factly.
“No, sorry, I have to get back. I’m glad to have met you both,” Kim responded awkwardly.
“You too,” I uttered as she briskly walked off in the direction of the car park.
“That was a bit strange, wasn’t it?” Yvonne remarked.
