I was so thankful for Kale. He didn’t have to give me the time of day, yet he sat beside me and held my hand through the entire mass. He hugged me to him when both of my brothers read out their prayers, and rocked me as I cried during my father’s eulogy. It made people laugh to hear of the crazy side to my uncle, but it mostly made people cry, knowing they had lost such a character from the town.
While the priest was reading one of the final prayers, my mind drifted to my last Skype conversation with my uncle, and it brought me both comfort and heartache.
“You would not believe the day I’ve had,” I said to my uncle when his face filled my laptop screen.
My uncle snorted. “Hello to you too, darling.”
I grinned and adjusted my headphones so I could hear him clearly. “Sorry – hi, how are you?”
“Great now that we’re chatting.” He winked, then waved his hand. “Go on: tell me about the day you’ve had that I won’t believe.”
“Smartarse,” I chided, making him laugh. “Okay,” I began, “so you know how I’ve been editing a horror series for K.T. Boone?”
“The one where the little girl is really the killer?” my uncle asked warily.
Reading that series scared him.
“Yes,” I said, nodding.
“What about it?” he asked.
I had to contain my squeal because even though I was tucked away in the back of my local Starbucks, I would still draw attention to myself.
“The latest book in the series hit the New York Times list at number one!” I gushed. “Uncle Harry, something I edited, and helped shape, is a best bloody seller!”
My uncle cheered and clapped his hands together. “I knew it! I knew you’d do brilliantly. I’m so proud of you.”
For once, I felt something that resembled happiness.
“Thank you,” I said. “I can’t believe it. My name is associated with it, and because of that I’ve gotten three emails from different publishers – big publishers might I add – looking to hire me to work with some of their clients. Can you believe that?”
“Darling,” my uncle said with a beaming smile, “I’m not one bit surprised.”
I chuckled. “You knew this would happen, then?”
“I knew you’d be very successful at what you do, so yes, I did know. You’re rocking that city.”
I laughed. “I’m over the moon. Finally, something good has happened to me.”
“Will you still freelance?” my uncle questioned.
“Of course,” I said, nodding enthusiastically. “Indie authors are superstars, and it’s because of one of them that I’m getting job offers like this in the first place.”
“Good on you, darling. I’m so proud of you, and your parents will be delighted with the news.”
I slumped a little. “Do you think so?”
“Lane, of course. They’re so proud of all the books and articles you’ve edited. I told you that your father and I read everything you work on.”
That touched my heart in a way that I couldn’t describe.
“I can imagine you both huddled around the kitchen table discussing the books,” I said, laughing.
“We have to sit in the sitting room; your nanny and her friends knit at the table now.”
That caused me to laugh harder.
“You should call your brothers and give them the great news.”
“I don’t think so,” I grumbled. “I called on their birthday, and when I told Lochlan to stop asking me to come home, he told me never to call him again. I’m just abiding by his wishes.”
My uncle shook his head. “You’re every bit of your brothers: stubborn beyond compare.”
I grinned. “Like you aren’t stubborn?”
“I am,” he agreed. “I’m just not as bad as you and your brothers.”
I groaned. “I don’t want to argue with you.”
“I’m not arguing. I’m just mentioning something that you don’t like hearing.”
I rolled my eyes. “What did you do today?”
He thought on it, then said, “I went up to your aunt’s grave and put down fresh flowers. I put some on your friend’s grave too.”
My voice was tight with emotion.
“Thanks, Uncle Harry,” I said. “You’re the best.”
“That’d be you, darling.”
I blinked a couple of times when Kale moved next to me. Looking around, I realised the mass was over. The priest came down to my family and shook each of our hands as he offered his condolences. I couldn’t reply to him, so Kale did it for me.
“Thank you, Father,” he said.
I retook my mother’s and grandmother’s hands as Kale, my brothers, my father and two footmen lifted my uncle’s coffin back onto their shoulders and walked him out of the church, with everyone in attendance following slowly behind. Once my uncle was safely placed inside the hearse, we got back into the black car and journeyed to my uncle’s house for one final drive-by.
It hurt like hell.
It tore me up as we passed by the house and headed to his final resting place at York Cemetery. Everything seemed to fly by at that point. Within a blink of the eye, we were at the gravesite, standing next to the grave plot as my uncle’s coffin was lowered down into the ground and the priest spoke his prayers.
A friend of my mother’s passed a single red rose to each of my family members and Kale, for us to throw down on top of my uncle’s coffin. I was the last person to throw my rose, but before I let it fall, I kissed the petals and whispered, “I’ll miss you forever.”
The rose seemed to fall in slow motion and landed on the nameplate of the coffin, where my uncle’s name was engraved as clear as day. The priest spoke some more about what a well-loved man my uncle had been and how many lives he had touched.
Not long later, “Time to Say Goodbye” by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman began to play once the priest had said his final prayers. I managed to hold it together for the first minute of the song, but as soon as the chorus began to play, and the words “time to say goodbye” were sung, I broke down.
Arms came around me from behind, and a face rested against the side of mine.
“He’ll always be with you,” Kale’s gruff voice whispered.
I sobbed and turned into his body, holding onto him as I cried through the heartbreak that was surging through me. I didn’t know how long I cried, but I was soon in my parents’ arms as we wept for my uncle. People began to leave then, once the song drew to a close, signalling the end of the funeral.
I looked through the crowd of people that was dispersing, and my eyes landed on Kale. He was standing in front of Kaden’s grave, which was only thirty or so plots down from my aunt and uncle’s grave. He was staring at the headstone with his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his slacks. I was about to walk over to him, simply to be there for him, like he had been for me, but I froze to the spot when, out of nowhere, I saw Drew making her way over to Kale.
I took the time to take her in, noticing that while she still very much looked the same, her face showed signs of her loss. It wasn’t as vibrant as I remembered. I didn’t know if she spoke to Kale when she reached his side, but he glanced down to her and, taking his left hand from his pocket, put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her to him before they both turned their focus to the headstone of their son.
Jealousy swirled around in my stomach, and I wanted to beat myself into a pulp because of it. Why did I still have to feel envious at the sight of them together when it was so obvious that the only connection between them now was the memory of their lost son?
I looked away from them so they could share their moment with their son in private instead of having my roaming eyes lingering on them. My focus quickly landed on my grandmother, who was hugging Kale’s parents. I hadn’t seen them in years, but they were just how I remembered them; they just had a few extra lines around their eyes and less of a spring to their step.
Losing their grandson, and watching their
son go through his struggle, was the cause of that, no doubt.
When I approached them, Mrs Hunt spotted me first.
“Lane,” she gushed. “Oh, my girl, it’s so good to see you.”
I smiled wide when she rushed at me and wrapped her arms around me, hugging me so tightly I was afraid she would break me.
“Let the poor lass go, Helen – you’ll crush her,” said Mr Hunt, his Geordie accent as thick as ever.
I was always surprised that Kale had never picked up even a hint of his father’s accent. The Newcastle accent was strong, but it just went to show that he was a Yorkshire lad through and through.
I chuckled when Mrs Hunt let me go only to hug me again. When she finally separated from me, Mr Hunt cut in fast before she got another chance to enfold me in her arms.
“It’s brilliant to see you, love,” he said, smiling down at me, and then kissed my forehead like he had done so many times before, when I was younger.
“And you, sir, you’re looking well.”