The celebrant appeared by his side at the end of the row and asked if they could start. Gabriel looked behind him at the crowd. A blur of people. All here for his mother. He nodded. One of Sofia’s favourite songs played through the speakers and the crowd hushed.
The service began. He kept his eyes down, not listening to what was being said. He’d worried so much about Sofia, that he’d left her to struggle when he moved to Sydney, but the size of the congregation showed she’d not been alone. It was he who’d isolated himself, and now the one person who’d been an anchor in his life was gone and he was adrift.
‘Gabriel,’ Angela whispered, her hand tapping his leg. ‘It’s time for your eulogy.’
He lifted his head, heavy with woe it was difficult to raise. They were waiting. When had the celebrant stopped talking? What had she said?
He stood and walked to the lectern, scanned the crowd and smiled quickly before dropping it for being inappropriate. But there were rows of people here, all come to see Sofia, all come to say goodbye. Faces he knew, many he didn’t, so many from the theatre— Kenzie and Lexi and Magda. He searched for Bruce but couldn’t find him. Not that it would do any good. Yes, he wanted him there but they’d only fight again. He’d heard how Rachel had ransacked his house. It was the one thing that had got through to him. The damage would have broken Bruce’s heart.
If I hadn’t done it already.
Like he’d done to Sofia.
He dropped his gaze, afraid they’d see the truth about what he’d done.
‘Thank you everyone for coming.’ His words came out croaky. ‘I know it would have warmed Mum’s heart to have so many of you here. It’s just a shame she’s not with us to see it.’
His lips twitched to show he meant it to be light-hearted while a vice constricted his chest.
‘Sofia Gabriela Mora was born on 15 September 1967. She moved from Spain to Australia with her family when she was seven years old, the eldest of three daughters. She married when she was eighteen and would have lived an ordinary life in the suburbs if not for her rebirth. Nine years ago we moved to Brachen with nothing.’
Because of me.
‘She had some money but there wasn’t a lot and with a fifteen-year-old kid in tow things were not easy. But in Brachen she found a home, she found friends, she found a way to become who she’d always wanted to be. It helped that she was the kindest, gentlest and funniest woman I know and that brought many good people into her life.’
She deserved them for what I’d done. The words on the page shimmered. He gripped the edge of the lectern and blinked them back into focus.
‘Within a short while she’d found a place to live and transformed it into a home. She worked at The Page Turner and loved it. No-one could refuse to buy something after Sofia had talked their ear off for half an hour.’
A ripple of laughter through the crowd.
‘But the thing she loved the most was Rivervue, where she was the costume and set designer. She worked on sixteen productions, applying her creativity and following her dream. She found herself in Rivervue.’
And I was going to take it from her, like I took her first home.
The pressure on his ribcage squeezed the air out of his lungs and the grief hardened in his heart with a pain that stopped thought. He struggled to continue. He couldn’t look up. Couldn’t risk them seeing how much he lied. Couldn’t risk them guessing what he’d done.
Wounded, he forced himself on.
‘When she got sick, the idea of not being able to work on Rivervue’s last production was unacceptable to her. I tried to get her to slow down but, as anyone who knew her can attest, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. So I helped her. I became her hands.’
One more lie to go.
‘She directed me on what the designs should be and working with her on them I saw her passion, her creativity and her love for Rivervue and Brachen. It sustained her until the end. You sustained her until the end and for that I’ll be eternally grateful.’
It was short but he didn’t have the energy to say more. Anything else would be punctuated with sobs. He’d save it for when he was alone. He returned to his seat, slipped back into the unfeeling gloom and waited for it all to be over.
***
‘I think that’s all of it.’ Angela put the last of the dirty crockery into the dishwasher and turned it on. She dried her hands on a tea towel and rehung it over the oven door rail.
‘You didn’t have to stay,’ Gabriel said.
Everyone had tailed off after a few hours. The wake had been held at home, filling the garden and the house with people, laughter, noise. Now they were all gone and soon it would just be him. Their lives continued but grief cocooned him: comforting in a way, suffocating in another. He would have distracted himself by cleaning the house but Angela had done everything. It was like no-one had ever been there.
‘I know but I wanted to. I’m worried about you, Gabriel.’
He shrugged, unable to say he was fine, and got up from the stool. He searched for anything she might have missed, some cup left out, some fork, hell, even crumbs, but there was nothing.
‘Your mother told me it was you who did the designs for Larrikin.’
Angela’s declaration cut the thread that had been keeping him together. His shoulders sagged, his chest caved and his knees buckled. He sank onto the edge of the sofa. Why would she do that? Was she so ashamed of what he’d done and how he’d lied to her that she didn’t want her work associated with his? Bruce had
