I couldn’t believe we were back here so soon to bury Amy.
The churchyard was already packed by the time we arrived. Hundreds of faces turned towards us, but I kept my sunglasses on and my head down. I didn’t want to make eye contact, let alone small-talk with these people. I just had to focus on the kids and getting us through the next few hours.
In her list of requests, Amy had explicitly forbidden a funeral procession, believing it would be too upsetting for the children, so we had made our way to the church on foot. Adam was waiting for us by the entrance, smart in a blue wool suit with a purple cravat. I led the family inside.
At the front of the church, an oak coffin was drenched in peonies – Amy’s favourite flower. The vicar, whose name I had already forgotten, greeted us in a soft voice. I looked the other way while he held Mum’s hand and whispered blessings on the children.
This wasn’t the same vicar who had been here when Dad had died. That day had been bitterly cold, and I remembered I’d been worried the ground would be frozen when they lowered Dad into it. Me, Amy and Mum had sat at the front of the church, clutching onto one another, Mum staring vacantly ahead.
I allowed myself a peek at the crowd that had filed in behind us. The church was a riot of colour – underneath their dark coats, everyone was dressed brightly as requested, with flashes of purple everywhere.
Some of the nurses from Amy’s hospital were in uniform, and members of the RNLI were in formal dress, complete with medals and caps tucked under their arms. They had run out of space on the pews and people were packed into the back and down the sides of the church.
I tried not to think about the coffin. How could a whole life fit into such a small box? The finality of it hit me. There was no more time, no more Amy. She was really gone, and now I had to say goodbye.
Mike, Rachel and I sat with the kids in between us. I put my hand on Hannah’s shoulder. I didn’t want her to have to grow up as fast as we had after Dad died. I wanted, as much as possible, to cocoon her from the heartache of losing a parent, only to inherit so much of their responsibilities. I looked over at Mum. She had her arm around Lucas, who was weeping softly. I wondered how much of the aftermath of Dad dying she remembered. Did she even understand the pain she had caused? Was Amy right – had she turned over a new leaf?
Betsy snuggled into Rachel, sucking her thumb, a habit that Amy had been trying desperately to break the last time I’d visited home. It had also been a habit of Amy’s when she was little, and Betsy looked so much like her. I flashed an appreciative smile at Rachel, and Adam gave my shoulder a little squeeze from his seat on the row behind.
I had said no to doing any kind of reading – that was completely beyond me. Mum had wanted to do something, but Mike had diplomatically talked her out of it. With Mum, you never knew which way it might go.
I just about held it together until the kids went up to the front. Hearing them reading the messages they had written to their mum was almost too much to bear. Hannah had written a particularly poignant poem, and I dabbed at my tears under my sunglasses as muffled sobs echoed around the church. Mum was in pieces, with Auntie Sue and Adam trying to prop her up, and I wished in that moment that the gulf between us was smaller. I reached across to her and held her hand.
Outside the church, a strong sea wind whipped at us as we stood huddled together around the freshly dug grave, watching Amy’s coffin being lowered in to the ground. A lone gull cried out above us. We had asked for this part of the service to be private, and so it was just us – the family, plus Adam, along with Rachel and her husband Phil, who clung to each other, both crying. Even Adam had given up trying to hold himself together. I said my silent goodbye to my sister, salty tears streaking my cheeks. The wind carried away the sounds of our sobbing.
I wasn’t sure the children would want to go to the wake, but they pulled through and once again amazed me with their resilience. We had chosen to hold it at The Castle, because The Ship didn’t have a big enough function room, and besides, we didn’t want to spoil the happy memories we had there.
As soon as we got to the pub, Adam and I stole away to a quiet corner for a whisky – I had two – which blurred the edges of my pain and numbed me just enough to shake a few hands and accept some condolences.
Rachel introduced me to Betsy’s headteacher – I immediately forgot his name and would have forgotten him entirely, except that he held my hand for just a little too long. He had deep, blue eyes, and looked like he might burst into tears. I pulled myself away and move on to the next well-wisher.
I hadn’t seen Mum for a while, so I went looking for her. She was sitting on a bench with Auntie Sue, not in the sheltered beer garden at the back, but on the side of the pub that faced out to sea, staring down the lashing wind. I sat down and looped my arm around Mum’s shoulder. She looked up at me with red, wet eyes and the three of us stayed like that for a while, watching the frenzied sea, saying nothing. Two sisters who were inseparable, and one who had
