Second Chance - Jane Green [32]
‘On August the seventeenth, 1968, I was standing outside St Mary’s hospital having a cigar in anticipation of the birth of my first child,’ he starts, his voice surprisingly strong and clear.
‘In those days we weren’t allowed to be present at the birth, or at least that’s what I told my wife,’ a ripple of relieved laughter throughout the crowd, ‘and I wasn’t supposed to be having the cigar, but it was burning a hole in my suit pocket and I couldn’t wait.
‘Well, it took the nurses half an hour to find me, but eventually they did, and they told me I had a beautiful bouncing son, Thomas Henry Fitzgerald. Good job I wasn’t in the room because I had other plans for the name – Octavius Auberon was one of my choices…’ more laughter, ‘but Maggie won and, more importantly, Thomas Henry completely won my heart.
‘The name Thomas means dependable, and even as a little boy, Tom was always dependable. There are plenty of other words I could use to describe him, and those of you who accompanied him on his annual New Year’s pub crawl could, I’m sure, certainly think of a few choice alternatives, but you could always rely on Tom, and he was the most loyal son, the most loyal friend any man could wish to have.’
Laughter and tears. Pleasure and pain. The range of emotions throughout the service is so great that at times Holly thinks she can’t stand it. She looks around and sees people looking blank, or whispering to one another, or laughing about something, and she can’t understand how they can look so normal, how they can behave as if nothing is wrong, when she herself is struggling so hard to suppress sobs she can feel welling at the back of her throat that she thinks she is going to explode.
They are all so dignified, she thinks. His dad able to smile through his speech, his mum looking pale but strong beside him. Will, his brother, telling funny stories of things they got up to when young, ridiculous pranks they had played on each other, and how they were so close people would think they were twins (‘Will being,’ he said, ‘the better-looking, more charming, more successful one,’ which cracked up all of Will’s friends who knew him to have a somewhat unreliable career).
One more friend, and then Sarah. Still and quiet, there is something mesmerizing about her lone American voice in this oh-so-British service. She talks about why she fell in love with Tom. About their children. About what a wonderful father he was. And as she is talking a little girl runs over and tugs on her sleeve.
‘Mommy?’ she says loudly. ‘Why are you talking about Daddy? Can we see him now? Is this heaven?’ And Sarah picks Violet up to comfort her as the church fills with tears yet again.
Sarah ends with a Christina Rossetti poem, her voice breaking halfway through ‘Remember me when I am gone away’, and she struggles to finish, Chopin’s Prelude No. 6 finally easing through the speakers, allowing people to hug one another and break down, file slowly outside, blinking in the glare of the sunlight as they fish crumpled tissues out of pockets and blow their noses, smiling sorrowfully at strangers.
Holly takes deep breaths to regain her composure, then turns to see Marcus joining them.
‘Where were you?’ he says sternly. ‘I was looking…’ and he notices Holly’s tear-stained crumpled face and stops, holding his arms out to hug her instead.
‘Thank you,’ Holly says, disengaging herself after a few moments. ‘Wasn’t it heartbreaking?’
‘It was tough,’ Marcus agreed. ‘And I didn’t even really know him. I thought Sarah was wonderful, though. So strong and stoic’
Ah yes, thinks Holly. How typical of Marcus to admire those qualities in a widow, or indeed in anyone.
‘I don’t think it’s necessary to go back to the house, though,’ Marcus says. ‘Far too many people, plus I’ve got to prepare for a court hearing tomorrow. We have to leave.’
How very different we are, she thinks again; and then, as so often happens these days when she thinks