Until Harry (12 page)

“You should call your brothers and give them the great news.”

“I don’t think so,” I grumbled. “I called on their birthday, and when I told Lochlan to stop asking me to come home, he told me never to call him again. I’m just abiding by his wishes.”

My uncle shook his head. “You’re every bit of your brothers: stubborn beyond compare.”

I grinned. “Like you aren’t stubborn?”

“I am,” he agreed. “I’m just not as bad as you and your
brothers
.”

I groaned. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“I’m not arguing. I’m just mentioning something that you don’t like hearing.”

I rolled my eyes. “What did you do today?”

He thought on it, then said, “I went up to your aunt’s gra
ve and pu
t down fresh flowers. I put some on your friend’s grav
e too.”

My voice was tight with emotion.

“Thanks, Uncle Harry,” I said. “You’re the best.”

“That’d be you, darling.”

I blinked a couple of times when Kale moved next to me.
Looking
around, I realised the mass was over. The priest came down to my family and shook each of our hands as he offered his condolences.
I co
uldn’t reply to him, so Kale did it for me.

“Thank you, Father,” he said.

I retook my mother’s and grandmother’s hands as Kale, my brothers, my father and two footmen lifted my uncle’s coffin back onto their shoulders and walked him out of the church, with everyone in attendance following slowly behind. Once my uncle was safely placed inside the hearse, we got back into the black car and journeyed to my uncle’s house for one final drive-by.

It hurt like hell.

It tore me up as we passed by the house and headed to his final resting place at York Cemetery. Everything seemed to fly by at that point. Within a blink of the eye, we were at the gravesite, standing next to the grave plot as my uncle’s coffin was lowered down into the ground and the priest spoke his prayers.

A friend of my mother’s passed a single red rose to each of my family members and Kale, for us to throw down on top of my uncle’s coffin. I was the last person to throw my rose, but before
I l
et it fall, I kissed the petals and whispered, “I’ll miss you forever.”

The rose seemed to fall in slow motion and landed on the nameplate of the coffin, where my uncle’s name was engraved as clear as day. The priest spoke some more about what a well-loved man my uncle had been and how many lives he had touched.

Not long later, “Time to Say Goodbye” by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman began to play once the priest had said his final prayers. I managed to hold it together for the first minute of the song, but as soon as the chorus began to play, and the words “time to say goodbye” were sung, I broke down.

Arms came around me from behind, and a face rested against the side of mine.

“He’ll always be with you,” Kale’s gruff voice whispered.

I sobbed and turned into his body, holding onto him as I cried through the heartbreak that was surging through me. I didn’t know how long I cried, but I was soon in my parents’ arms as we wept for my uncle. People began to leave then, once the song drew to a close, signalling the end of the funeral.

I looked through the crowd of people that was dispersing, and my eyes landed on Kale. He was standing in front of Kaden’s grave, which was only thirty or so plots down from my aunt
an
d uncle’s grave. He was staring at the headstone with his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his slacks. I was about to walk over to him, simply to be there for him, like he had been for me, but I froze to the spot when, out of nowhere, I saw Drew making her way over to Kale.

I took the time to take her in, noticing that while she still very much looked the same, her face showed signs of her loss. It wasn’t as vibrant as I remembered. I didn’t know if she spoke to Kale when she reached his side, but he glanced down to her and, taking his left hand from his pocket, put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her to him before they both turned their focus to the headstone of their son.

Jealousy swirled around in my stomach, and I wanted to beat myself into a pulp because of it. Why did I still have to feel envious at the sight of them together when it was so obvious that the only connection between them now was the memory of their lost son?

I looked away from them so they could share their moment with their son in private instead of having my roaming eyes lingering on them. My focus quickly landed on my grandmother, who was hugging Kale’s parents. I hadn’t seen them in years, but they were just how I remembered them; they just had a few extra lines around their eyes and less of a spring to their step.

Losing their grandson, and watching their son go through his struggle, was the cause of that, no doubt.

When I approached them, Mrs Hunt spotted me first.

“Lane,”
she gushed. “Oh, my girl, it’s
so
good to see you.”

I smiled wide when she rushed at me and wrapped her arms around me, hugging me so tightly I was afraid she would break me.

“Let the poor lass go, Helen – you’ll crush her,” said Mr Hunt, his Geordie accent as thick as ever.

I was always surprised that Kale had never picked up even a hint of his father’s accent. The Newcastle accent was strong, but it just went to show that he was a Yorkshire lad through and through.

I chuckled when Mrs Hunt let me go only to hug me again. When she finally separated from me, Mr Hunt cut in fast before she got another chance to enfold me in her arms.

“It’s brilliant to see you, love,” he said, smiling down at me, and then kissed my forehead like he had done so many times before, when I was younger.

“And you, sir, you’re looking well.”

He was; he had lost a lot of weight and looked great.

He winked. “Kale and your brothers have taken over my diet and have me eatin’ healthy. Trust me, I’d rather be with your da down the pub and chippy a few nights a week than countin’ how many calories I’m eatin’.”

I joyfully laughed. “It seems my dad has been eating and drinking enough for
both
of you.”

Mr Hunt laughed, and it brought a genuine smile to my face.

“So,” he said after he settled down, “how is living in the Big Apple?”

I lost my smile.

“It’s . . . okay.”

Mr Hunt’s lip twitched, but he said nothing further.

I looked in the direction of a couple that called out my name. They were my parents’ friends, so I excused myself from Mr and Mrs Hunt and greeted the couple, as well as many other people who stopped me and gave me their condolences. I didn’t know how I managed to keep it together, but I did, and I was mildly happy about it. I knew tears would lead to sympathy, and sympathy would lead to more tears. And by God, I didn’t want to cry any more.

When I finished greeting and thanking people, I made my way over to the car that had brought me to the graveyard, and I bumped into my mother along the way.

“Are you coming to the pub?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I just want to go back to your house and go to sleep. I will only cry around everyone in the pub, Mum.”

My mother nodded in understanding. “I know, baby. I can’t see myself staying very long either. I just want to go and thank everyone for coming.”

“Give those I know my best, will you?” I asked. “Oh, and say bye to Kale too. I didn’t get a chance to.”

My mother nodded once more and kissed my cheek. “I will. Now go on home and get some sleep. I’ll check in on you when I get in. Ask the driver of the black car to bring you back. Ally and Samantha drove here. They’re bringing us back to the church.”

I hadn’t seen either of them since I arrived at my parents’ last night, but that wasn’t surprising given the number of people who had turned out for the mass and funeral itself.

I hugged my mother tightly before heading over to the black car. The driver was having a cigarette, but he quickly dropped it and covered it with his foot when I neared him.

“Hello, miss,” he said, dipping his head in greeting.

I nodded. “Hello. Could you bring me home, please?”

“You don’t want to go to the afters venue?”

I shook my head. “I’m not feeling up to it today, I’m afraid.”

He frowned. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

With his line of work, it saddened me to think of how often he had to say those words to people.

“Thank you, sir.”

He opened the door behind the driver’s seat for me and gestured me into the car.

“I’ll have you home in just a few short minutes,” he promised with a wink.

One minute I was in the black car driving through town, then the next I was climbing the stairs of my parents’ house. I wanted to go straight to bed and just curl up into a ball, but I needed to shower and try to wash this day off my body.

After my shower, I grabbed a large towel from the rack, wrapped it around my body and walked out of the bathroom and into my
bedroom
, where a cold chill wrapped around me, causing me t
o s
hiver. I found myself smiling and shaking my head when I found another set of Pokémon pyjamas, and it only caused my love for my mother to grow.

She was so thoughtful.

After I was changed, I put on some fluffy socks and slipped on a pair of new slippers before I blow-dried my hair. I didn’t bother with keeping it straight, but just blasted it dry, and when I was finished, I tied my hair on the top of my head in a messy bun.

I felt relaxed then.

Just as I was about to crawl into my bed and resign myself to the quiet and darkness, the doorbell chimed. I closed my eyes on a sigh and momentarily contemplated ignoring it, but I decided against that when I thought of all the people who had been by since I’d arrived, to pay their respects and offer their condolences for my uncle’s passing. I left my room and headed downstairs to greet whoever was at the door. My uncle deserved everyone’s respect and condolences, and I would happily accept them even if it killed me.

I opened the door, and through my sore eyes, I saw a very familiar face instead of a strange one. “Kale,” I said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

His lip twitched as his eyes flicked down to my pyjamas before they resettled on my own. “Your mum said you came home because
you couldn’t deal with everyone in the pub, so I came here to
kee
p y
ou company. I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

I whispered, “But I don’t deserve your comfort, I don’t deserve anything from you.”

Kale’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

I shrugged. “Because I made everything horribly complicated for you, then just left and never spoke to you for six years.”

Kale’s lips thinned to a line. “Let’s get you into the sitting room, and we can watch a film or something. I’m not talking about this today, tomorrow or the next day. When things aren’t so fresh about your uncle’s passing, we
will
talk, but for now let’s just hang out.”

I widened my eyes for a moment but quickly nodded, turned and went into the sitting room while Kale shut the front door.
I was
glad for the few seconds alone because I felt like I was about to freak out. While I knew Kale and I would have to talk – and talk about
everything
 – hearing him say it out loud sent me into a bit of a tailspin.

I dreaded to think how that conversation was going to go.

“Are you okay?” asked Kale, his voice startling me.

I numbly nodded. “I’m great.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You can’t lie to me, Lane.”

Isn’t that the bloody truth?

“Okay, I’m not great, but I’m not in bits either – not right now anyway.”

He gestured to the sofa. “Sit down and turn on something for us to watch. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I blinked. “Where are you going?”

“To make us tea, obviously.”

I was surprised when I snorted, and even more surprised when it brought a bright smile to Kale’s face. “A cup of tea would be
perfect
.”

He chuckled and turned on his heel. “Three sugars and loads of milk. On it.”

I felt my jaw drop open. “You remember how I take my tea?”
I a
sked, my shock laced throughout my tone.

He stopped by the sitting room door and, without turning around, he said, “You think I’d forget it?”

I said nothing, so Kale proceeded to walk out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen. I gazed at the space he vacated for a few moments, before sitting down on the sofa and staring ahead at the blank television screen.

He remembered how I took my tea. I didn’t know if it was just an afterthought, because he’d made me so many cups of tea during my lifetime, or if it was a bit of knowledge he held onto after I left, and it killed me because I couldn’t ask. It would have been awkward. I couldn’t ask him any kind of question that related to feelings between us. I knew how that conversation went, and it wasn’t pretty.