The Night That Changed Everything (35 page)

I hold out my hand and Rebecca's is already there to take it as we step back towards the ward.

I hear a woman shriek but it's not until we return to the ward that I realize it is Jamie's mum. The brunette nurse ushers her away from Jamie's bed as she pulls a pale green curtain around it.

Rebecca drops my hand and starts to run but a male nurse I haven't seen before stands between her and Jamie. I try to walk towards them but the lead weight is too heavy now, and it's stopping me from moving.

‘I'm sorry, you can't go any further at the moment.'

Rebecca turns back to me but there is so much happening and it's as though my brain has tripped, and suddenly none of my senses are working.

I'm vaguely aware of people all around the ward staring towards Jamie's bed. The only person who isn't is Rebecca. She is still looking at me, but now she's pointing at Jamie, and shouting something. I can't make sense of it.

Another nurse appears, and she is pushing some kind of trolley towards Jamie's bed, and the male nurse is having to hold Rebecca back, physically hold her back.

There is a noise I don't recognize, like a staple gun, and I wonder if it's got something to do with the trolley. I count the staples, one, two, three, four, five, six.

I wait for the seventh staple. While I'm waiting, in amongst a blur of a thousand thoughts, I remember that I never told Jamie about the bank saying we could rearrange our meeting. It's only then it dawns on me that the seventh staple never came, and now there is nothing, no sound and no movement, until Dr Stevens appears from behind the curtain.

He stops at Jamie's parents, and what happens next is in slow motion: Rebecca looking at me, pleading with her eyes for me to do something as Dr Stevens stands rooted, no more words coming from his lips, his eyes fallen to the floor.

And I know without having to be told that everything, everything, has changed.

Friday, 6 March

Jamie once told me that black suits me.

‘Whoa,' he said when I stepped out of my room before our graduation ball. ‘You look fit.'

‘You only think that because it's the first time you've seen me in a dress.' I glanced at my reflection in the hall mirror and frowned. ‘Wish I'd gone for something colourful. Black is a bit boring, isn't it?'

‘Black suits you.'

‘Because it's the colour of my soul?' I quipped.

Jamie laughed. ‘Because it's classy.'

I'm looking pretty classy right now, huh, Jamie? Dirty tracksuit bottoms and misshapen vest top, hair that hasn't been washed for days, and every piece of black clothing I own sprawled across my bed.

The only funeral I've ever been to was Granny's. It was sad – of course it was – but it was happy too. It was about family coming together. It was a celebration of the fact she'd lived a full and happy life. She was eighty-nine.

How can the death of my twenty-eight-year-old best friend be anything other than heart-wrenching?

Relentless questions I don't know the answer to cloud my brain. What shall I wear? How waterproof is waterproof mascara? What should I say to Jamie's parents? How much longer can Ben and I ignore what nearly happened the night he collapsed? How can Jamie be there one moment, then just cease to exist the next? All his personality, all his humour, his kindness, his charm – how can that just disappear? How can someone as loved as Jamie be gone and the world just carry on going?

‘Rebecca?' Stefan eases open the door. ‘You need to jump in the shower and start getting ready if we're going to make that train.'

‘I know, but I . . .' I take a deep breath and lean against the wall with my eyes closed, trying to get my thoughts in order. ‘I can't do this,' I sob, sliding to the floor and burying my face in my hands. ‘I can't say goodbye to Jamie. I'm not ready.'

Stefan sinks down next to me and wraps an arm around my heaving shoulders, pulling me towards him. ‘I know you're not. But you'll pull yourself together and get through it. You're a Giamboni.'

The train takes just over two hours to get to Manchester, and it's another twenty minutes on the tram to get to the church. I knew Jamie was popular but nothing prepares me for the number of people crammed inside. And there are still people arriving. Some I recognize from the bar, or from university, or his block of flats. Others I don't recognize at all.

Ben is sitting at the front, in the middle of the left pew, with his head bent forward. Is he weeping? My own eyes start to prickle.

As though he can sense me watching him, he stands and turns. Our eyes meet. He strides down the aisle towards us, folding a piece of paper into his top pocket as he goes. He must be practising his eulogy. How the hell is he going to stand in front of all these people and talk about our dead friend and hold it together?

‘Hi.' He stops in front of me.

‘Hi.'

‘Hey, Ben.' Stefan moves forward for a handshake. ‘I'm so sorry.'

‘Thank you.'

Russ and Tom walk in, with Avril trailing behind them, complete with beret and huge Jackie O sunglasses.

‘What a trek,' she's saying grumpily. ‘And we're going to have to do that journey all over again . . .'

‘Why are you even here?' I ask.

She crosses her arms and glares at me, but Tom steps forward.

‘Hey, Rebecca, long time no see. I'm really sorry about Jamie.'

‘Thank you, Tom.'

Danielle is next through the church door, and as the group turns to look at her, the corners of Avril's mouth make a rare journey north. Despite the dark glasses, I know her eyes are on me.

Without words, Danielle wraps her arms around my waist and I wrap mine round her shoulders.

‘This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do,' I whisper.

‘Me too,' she whispers back. ‘And not punching Avril in her smug face is the second hardest.'

Tom and Avril take seats at the back but Russ stays at Ben's side, giving him concerned looks and attempting to lighten the mood.

‘I've never been in a room with so many attractive women who appear not to have dates,' he observes quietly. ‘And all so vulnerable. Shame you're not allowed to pull at funerals.'

‘Says who?' asks a voice behind me.

‘Jemma,' I cry. ‘Thank you so much for coming.'

‘Don't mention it, hen.' She hugs me. ‘I've missed you.'

I went back to work on Wednesday but after Jake saw the state of me he gave me the rest of the week off as compassionate leave.

Danielle's eyes flick from me to Jemma questioningly, so I introduce them, then suggest we sit down.

‘I've saved a pew at the front,' says Ben, leading the way.

Jamie's parents are sitting on the other side of the aisle, his dad stony-faced, and his mum looking overwhelmed. I nod as I pass but don't wait to see if they respond.

I feel restless during the service. The words spoken by the minister say nothing about the Jamie I knew. He keeps calling him James, the name he was christened with, and the platitudes could be about any twenty-something-year-old man who died. But Jamie wasn't just anyone.

It's not the minister's fault. He would have only spoken to Mr and Mrs Hawley, who never took the time to get to know their son properly. They never knew how lucky they were to have him.

‘Now James's friend, Ben, will say a few words.' The minister steps down and Ben walks up, taking out his sheet of paper. He opens it out on to the lectern.

‘I always thought the only speech I'd be giving about Jamie would be a best man's speech,' he begins, his voice shaking. A few seconds pass and I wonder if he can continue, but he clears his throat and goes on: ‘On the way here we passed the secondary school that Jamie and I, and many others in here, went to, and it reminded me of our very first day.

‘Our form tutor, Mr Sheldon, or Shouty Sheldon as
someone
christened him . . .'

I smile, while many around the church audibly laugh.

‘. . . gave us all a blank sheet of paper and asked us to write what we wanted to be when we grew up. We all handed in our sheets and the next day Mr Sheldon had put every one of them on display in our form room. I think the point was to inspire us over the next five years.

‘Nobody knew who put what but there were all the usual things eleven-year-old kids would write: Premiership footballer, lead singer, ballet dancer. But on one sheet of paper someone had just written HAPPY.

‘I remember thinking it was a pretty stupid answer: did this person not know the international acclaim you got as a ballet dancer?'

Danielle and I smile at each other.

‘Jamie never would tell me which sheet of paper belonged to him, but when I passed the school today I realized that I'd known all along. All Jamie wanted in life was to be happy, and I reckon he's probably the only person in that class who ended up achieving their goal.' Ben takes a deep breath, and looks at his sheets. ‘Here's the part where I read a meaningful quote, something old and profound, and really, it has to be Chas 'n' Dave, doesn't it?'

He looks out into the sea of faces, and stops, as if noticing for the first time how many people are in front of him. ‘
Rabbit
,' a guy at the back yells.

‘Hey, I didn't say I was taking requests.' Ben smiles, composing himself. ‘Anyway, I looked up some lyrics and what I found was . . . Well, let's just say that between “Snooker Loopy” and “The Bollocks Song” I couldn't find anything appropriate.'

I notice Jamie's parents glance at one another. I can't see the expression on their faces, but I don't imagine they're going for this. I don't care. This isn't for them – it's for the people who really knew Jamie.

‘I do have a quote for you, though, and it's actually from Jamie himself. It was a few months ago, New Year's Eve in fact, and I'm not proud to tell you we were having an argument . . .'

I close my eyes, seeing my own New Year's Eve play out in my mind again.

‘It was totally my fault,' Ben continues. ‘I was moaning on about not knowing what to do with my life, which Jamie had heard a million times before, and when he pointed this out I acted like a spoilt kid. So much so that I didn't really take in the words he said until . . . Well, until he died.'

Ben inhales a deep breath, his voice starting to shake again.

‘What he said was this: the average person only gets three billion heartbeats in their life and you need to make sure that as many of them as possible count for something.'

Ben's shoulders slump and for a second I'm worried he's going to break down, but he pulls himself up straight again and his voice is strong. ‘Jamie didn't get his three billion heartbeats . . .'

My tears fall silently, but I can hear others crying all around the church.

‘. . . but I don't know anyone who made each heartbeat count as much as he did.

‘One thing I saw when I went travelling was that in a lot of countries, when people die the funeral is a celebration of their life, and knowing Jamie I reckon he'd buy into that idea. Although he's probably up there now smiling at the sight of us all crying over him.'

I laugh again. Ben is right. Jamie's life is worth celebrating.

‘He was a true gent, was Jamie, and though I'm devastated that he's gone, I'm proud to have been able to say that he was my best friend.'

He looks up at the ceiling, his eyes glistening.

‘I love you, mate.'

Ben's composure can only last so long, and it's as we're watching Jamie's coffin being lowered into the ground that he loses it, with big, audible sobs. I want to take his hand in mine. I want to tell him he'll get through this, and I want him to tell me that I'll get through it. But Stefan, Danielle and Russ all stand between us.

The irony isn't lost on me: all the times he tried to take my hand in public and I let it go, embarrassed. It seems so stupid now. I'll tell Ben that when we talk. Because we need to talk. Just not today, because today isn't about us.

When it's all over, I fall into step beside him as we walk along the gravelly path towards the graveyard's exit.

‘Ben, your eulogy, it was really lovely.'

‘Ta, Becs. That means a lot.' He stops when we reach the gate. ‘Are you going to the wake at the Hawleys'?'

‘Guess so. You?'

‘Guess so.' He doesn't need to say any more – I know he's thinking the same as me. It will be hard to feel Jamie's presence over salmon sandwiches, tea and polite conversation with his parents.

Stefan and Jemma catch up with us, with Danielle, Tom and Russ just behind them.

‘We're going to head off,' Tom says apologetically, but without explanation. Not that we need one. Avril waits for him a few feet away, the shades not concealing her impatience.

‘What now?' asks Jemma after we've said goodbye to Tom.

‘There's a wake at Jamie's folks' house,' says Danielle unenthusiastically.

‘Or,' says Ben, getting that look in his eye he gets when he's about to suggest something rebellious, ‘we can give it a miss and go to The Old Monk?'

No one needs much convincing and when we get to the traditional boozer, we gather round a corner table and I order six whiskies off the top shelf.

We drink in silence.

‘Nice,' says Russ eventually, nodding at his glass.

I attempt a smile. ‘It's one Jamie recommended.'

‘He was very wise, wasn't he?' Danielle says. ‘Not just about drinks but about life. He just gave really good advice without ever being preachy or patronizing.'

‘I know!' Jemma claps her hand together. ‘Let's go round the circle and all say the most important lesson we learnt from Jamie.' We all look at each other, silently agreeing. ‘We'll call it . . .' Jemma thinks for a second. ‘Lessons from Jamie. Ben, you start.'