I kneel down and place my hand gently on my girls’ bare knee. “Hey, your mum is here. Are you ready to go?”
Her black dress is perfectly ironed, and her hair curled.
She looks devastated. “Okay.”
I hate the sadness she’s carrying around with her now, even when she laughs. I’d move mountains to take that away.
Wren pats her hand. “Come on, babe, we’ve got you.”
We stand, and she grabs hold of my hand. “Don’t let go.”
“Never.”
I kiss her temple and close my eyes at the smell of her hair. It’s always been the same since we were eleven. It’s my favourite smell, and it holds years of memories.
We head outside, letting my dad lock up.
Indie takes a sharp breath when she lays eyes on the hearse. Her mum is in there. Almost three months after she buried her dad, she’s doing the same with her mum. It’s not fucking fair.
I couldn’t leave if she tried sending me away.
The funeral director, Bob, tells us to follow closely behind the hearse. He’ll go slowly, of course. Indie didn’t want one of their cars to take us. She wanted it simple, without any fuss. A bright bouquet of pink and white flowers spells out MUM and leans against the coffin.
The service will be short, incorporating her mum’s favourite hymns, which were the same as her dad’s, and the reverend has a few words to honour her life. Indie found that part the hardest, summing up her mum’s life. There was only a small part of her adult life that was good. The rest of it was filled with alcohol and not much else.
Still, Indie’s managed to give the reverend enough to make a nice speech, focusing heavily on everything before her dad’s accident.
She gets into my car with my mum and dad. Mila, Wren, and Brody follow in his. Sheila will meet us at the church.
Her lips are sealed as we take the winding country roads to the church. Her hand still holds onto mine with an ever-increasing pressure.
“How are you doing?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I’m not sure. Everything is… surreal.”
Her voice is quiet. She’s been present in body only. Her mind is in another place.
It’s driving me crazy. She will open up just enough to be able to say she’s talking to us. There is a lot I’m not allowed to know. Her therapist—she had one of those for years, apparently—wants another appointment whenever Indie feels ready.
My mum says to give her time. She’ll open up soon.
Only, when it comes to her family, she’s never been good at sharing.
We pull up outside the church and get out. She does this without a word or glance at anyone. Mum gives me a small smile, telling me to be patient.
How can you be patient when your world is hurting?
The icy ground crunches beneath my feet. We walk in twos, as if we’d planned it, into the church. The undertakers carry Jessica to the front and lay the coffin down. The sky is grey, but it’s not supposed to rain. Two large heaters are placed on either end of the two rows of pews. We could fill one, but we spread ourselves out.
My parents sit with us, while Mila, Wren, Brody, and Sheila sit behind us.
Indie’s hold of my hand loosens a touch as she stares at her mum’s coffin. She doesn’t move; barely blinks. Mila’s eyes slide to mine. She’s worried, too. I’d rather Indie break down in tears or scream that it’s not fair.
I squeeze her hand. Nothing.
My stomach tenses.
The reverend reads about Jessica’s early years and working with Sheila, telling us how they would read romance novels on their lunch breaks, and laugh every time they caught their boss checking out his assistant.
He moves on to Indie’s birth, and how Sheila kept in touch throughout her maternity. He talks about how in love with Indie she was, and how proud she was to be her mum.
Indie’s eyes tighten.
I know what she’s thinking. She loved alcohol more than her in the end… and she certainly loved her dad more.
Will that ever stop hurting her?
Will I ever stop burning with anger whenever I think about it?
Reverend Mabel also talks about the difficult times and mistakes, while emphasising that she is now at rest.
There will be no rest for Indie. She will have to live with this for the rest of her life.
Bob comes forwards with five other men, and they lift the coffin. Jessica will be buried with her husband. Indie said they would want to be together.
It’s a morbid thought, but I like the idea of Indie on top of me for eternity.
We rise and follow them. Indie doesn’t look at anyone or anything but that coffin. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods robotically.
Outside, the wind blows around us. We’re wearing thick coats and gloves, but the icy weather still bites. Indie takes a breath, and a tear rolls down her cheek.
Fifty-One
Indie
A lot of very lovely things are said about you at your funeral. It’s like some unwritten rule that you forget every bad thing they’ve ever done and pretend that their life was perfect.
Every word feels like a big lie.
Reverend Mabel was good to mention the difficult times in Mum’s life but calling what we went through difficult is like calling a hurricane a bit of rain.
Mum wouldn’t want anyone hearing how bad things were. Especially not Sheila. It was good of her to come. They can’t have seen each other in fifteen years or so.
Spencer’s arms are wrapped around me. I feel safe with my back against his chest and his head resting beside mine. We’re standing by Mum’s grave as
