A Good Man
Copyright© 2011 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 46: News
Wednesday dawned bright and sunny.
Aren’t funeral days meant to be gloomy, wet and grey, reflecting everyone’s mood? Not this one. The thin curtains in the east-facing dining room where Will and Vicky had set up my bed couldn’t keep the early morning sunlight at bay, so I was up and hobbling into the lounge by myself far, far too early.
“Oh, good, you’re already up,” Vicky said when she came downstairs and saw me in my armchair, remote control in hand as I flicked through the early morning dross. “I’ll just shower and then help you get ready.”
“Ready for what?” I mumbled.
“The funeral. You need to look smart. Or as smart as you can like this.”
“But I’m not going.”
“Of course. Half an hour and a cup of coffee, and I’m good. Okay?”
An hour later, she came back carrying the jacket from my best suit, a shirt and an old pair of jogging pants. “We might have to cut these to get them on,” she said, holding up the jogging pants. “But it’s better than cutting your good trousers to shreds.”
“I’m not going, Vic,” I said.
She huffed, dumped the clothes on the sofa and retrieved her phone from the kitchen. She waited for the other person to answer, then said, “He’s still adamant he’s not going.” A Pause. “Yes, okay. Here he is.” She held the phone out to me and said, “Will.”
I took it with a scowl and barked into the handset, “I’m not going, Will. And you can’t make me.”
“Yes, I can, and I’m going to.” He sighed. Paul, how many times over the past four years have I made you do something that you didn’t want to?”
I thought for a second before answering, “Never. At least, not that I can remember.”
“Exactly. So, this will be the first, and probably the only time. I might not technically be your legal guardian anymore, but like it or not, you’re going to this funeral. Do you understand?”
“But ... I ... I just don’t think I could cope with it.” God, I sounded like a pathetic, whiny teenager.
“Which is why you need to go.” His voice softened. “Look, Paul, I know that sounds twisted, but trust me on this, please. I have ... Experience. I’ve been dealing with grieving families my whole career, and I’ve seen people tear themselves up with regret over missing a loved one’s funeral. Hell, I was forced to miss the funeral of an old friend from university a few years ago. I told myself I had too much work to miss a day and I swear I’ve never really forgiven myself.”
“An old friend ... You don’t mean...”
“No, I don’t mean Ben or Andy. Nothing would have kept me from saying good bye to either of them. They meant too much to me. I loved them too much. Almost as much as you loved Clarissa.”
I didn’t answer.
“Paul, funerals aren’t for the dead. Not really. This is your chance to say goodbye. To grieve. To get it out of your system. If you don’t go, it will haunt you for the rest of your life. You only get this one chance to be there. I’m not going to let you pass it up.”
“But I don’t want to get it out of my system. I don’t want to just put her in a box, bury it in the ground and forget about her!”
“That’s not what we’re going to do, Paul.” I heard him suck in a breath. “No one wants to forget about her. No one will forget about her. All anyone wants is a chance to show how much they loved her. And to say goodbye.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye,” I whispered.
“I know. None of us do. We all wished we didn’t have to. But we don’t really have a choice, now do we? Just ... Just trust me, okay? It’s going to be hard today. Incredibly hard. But if you don’t go, it’s something you’ll regret for the rest of your life. You will never forgive yourself. And that’s not what Clarissa would want, is it?”
It was a few seconds before I answered. “No. It’s not.”
“Good. I’ll be there in half an hour to take you and Vicky to the church.” He paused. “You’re not alone, Paul. Not today. Not ever. We’re all here for you. We’ll help you get through this. And I don’t mean just today.”
I suppose you expect me to tell you it was the worst day of my life. The worst pain of my life. That the whole torturous episode is burned in my memory forever.
But the truth is, I don’t recall many of the details of Clarissa’s funeral.
I spent the service on autopilot, sitting comatose between Christine and Emily, first in the front row of the church, then at the graveside.
I remember the difference between the way Chrissy and Emily held my hands. Chrissy was gentle, holding my hand like it was a baby bird, but Emily squeezed so hard at times that it actually hurt.
A real, physical pain that matched the pain deep inside me.
But the details?
The vicar said something. Somebody I didn’t know read something. Hymns were sung. People cried.
But not me. I spent the entire service staring at that damn box containing the woman I loved, and shed not a single tear.
Beyond the pain in my hand as Emily squeezed it, and the deep, unending sense that nothing mattered any more that I’d felt ever since I woke up in that hospital, I felt ... nothing.
I think my emotions had shut down.
Yes, I was in pain. Deep down in my gut, the world felt wrong. It hurt. It hurt so much. But that pain was so overwhelming and so constant, that no other emotions got a look in. I didn’t feel ‘sad.’ I didn’t feel ‘angry.’
I felt ... Nothing.
So, I stared at the coffin and concentrated on the difference I felt in my hands held by the two ladies on either side of me. One held so gently, the other so painfully, where Emily squeezed. And squeezed. And squeezed.
After the church service, I sat in my wheelchair by the graveside as the vicar did his ‘Ashes to Ashes’ bit and the coffin was lowered.
It was warm. So warm. So uncomfortable.
Chrissy and Emily, now standing on either side of me, sobbed. Great, grieving sobs. They sobbed until there were no more tears to flow.
But not me. I just sat there. And felt ... Nothing.
I watched as people threw flowers or dirt down on top of that box, now six feet below ground level in a dark, dank hole. And then asked Will to take me home. Emily came with me, and we spent the rest of the day watching television. We didn’t speak, well, not much. We didn’t want to. Either of us.
I don’t think I slept at all that night.
Although the university term didn’t start until the end of September, it was too late to rescind my application to take a gap year. Apparently, they’d already allocated the place I’d vacated to someone else through the clearing system.
Not that I’d have been able to start the course anyway, as my cast wasn’t due to come off until around the same time, and the rehab I’d need after that would have meant it would have been very difficult to get around campus and to lectures on time.
Clarissa and I should have been making last-minute preparations for the European leg of our trip. We had planned to get the ferry to Calais the weekend after the ball, but obviously, that didn’t happen.
Instead, I spent most of September with Emily.
Or rather, I should say that Emily spent most of September with me. And I felt guilty about it.
She should have been getting ready to move into the halls of residence in Westmouth, not hanging out in my lounge watching telly. Because that’s all we did. Watch telly. She’d sit in the armchair next to me, holding my hand. Sometimes we’d talk, but mostly not.
And although I felt guilty, I didn’t feel like I could tell her to get on with her life. I didn’t feel like I could push her away. The thing was, Lisa had been right—I needed Emily. Her presence was...
I just needed her there.
Because I really didn’t want to be alone.
I graduated from the wheelchair to crutches, but getting around was still an effort. It was so much easier to stay at home—plus, this had the added appeal of not bumping into anyone and going through the god-awful ritual of them offering their sympathies and enquiring as to how I was ‘bearing up.’
I cringed every time I heard those words.
My cast finally came off on the Thursday before Emily left for Westmouth, revealing a pale, shrunken leg that looked as weak as a spring sapling. The bones had healed, but the muscles needed building back up, and I’d be on the crutches for a while yet.
That weekend, Emily moved into her term-time home, and I was alone for the first time since the accident.
I hated it. I hated the dark thoughts that kept threatening to overtake me.
That’s why I needed Emily there. Her presence kept those dark thoughts at bay.
And now...
Now she wasn’t there. And I couldn’t keep those thoughts quiet.
Even Will’s visit on Sunday morning couldn’t lift my mood, despite both the news he had and the offer he made.
“First,” he said as he sat on the sofa opposite what I’d come to think of as my armchair, “I’ve heard from the police about the driver of the other car.”
“Oh? Are they letting him off? What’s the excuse?”
“It’s not as bad as you think, Paul.” He took a breath. “Yes, he’s offered to plead guilty, and that will reduce his sentence. Now, I’m no criminal lawyer, but we do have a small criminal department in the office, and I had them follow this case closely. They can’t really get involved, if you know what I mean, but they have been able to...” He paused. “Let’s say that if the prosecutors didn’t have all the relevant information, we’ve been able to help them get hold of it.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“All above board,” he said. “All perfectly legal. Even if it is morally ... ambitious.”
“Sometimes,” I said. “I forget just how much of a ‘lawyer’ you are.”
He grinned. “I’ve been doing this a long time now, Paul.” He took a breath. “Now, the driver’s also offered mitigating factors in an attempt to reduce his sentence further, but the facts are pretty clear, and the aggravating factors can’t be ignored?”
“You mean the fact that he was drunk, in a stolen car with no insurance and running from the police?”
He nodded. “Pretty much.”
“So what does it mean? How long will he get?”
Will closed his eyes and took a breath. Then he opened them and looked at me. “I don’t like this any more than you will, Paul. But the system is at breaking point. It’s underfunded, and this sort of thing is the result.”
“Just tell me.”
“It’s likely he’ll be sentenced to between seven and ten years. But he could be out on licence in half that.
“Half?”
Will nodded. “There will likely be a long driving ban after that. Maybe five years.”
I shook my head. “So, he could, in all probability, be out of prison before I’ve even finished university.”
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