There should be more people here.
Actually, there shouldn’t be any people here; this isn’t a place anyone should want to be, or really needs to be. But if they have to be here at all, Gerry thinks, there ought to be more than just six people in the room.
Well. Seven if you count the one in the box.
At least, Gerry assumes there’s a body in the box. Or what’s left of one, anyway. The casket is firmly closed and sealed, has been since they arrived. There wasn’t even a viewing this time around, although given the nature of…what happened, that’s not surprising. Melanie wanted to go for a cremation, for a couple of reasons—at least one of which, Gerry knows, is so he can be buried with both his wives—but Lily is his next of kin and isn’t yet considered unable to handle her own affairs, so the final decision for disposition of the remains lay with her. A normal person with half a heart would at least consider the wishes of his only living child. Lily, however, is neither normal nor in possession of any fraction of a heart.
And so, Roger Henry King is getting a full burial with honors.
There’s a man in a clerical collar with a tiny pair of round spectacles who looks more like he’s dressed up as a priest than that he actually is one standing behind the coffin, leading the service. Lily sits in the place of honor, front and center, wearing the same mourning outfit Gerry remembers from her father’s funeral fifteen years ago, this time with the veil covering her face. The only real difference is the absence of her cane, either the silver-tipped fancy one or the sturdy nickel-plated claw-footed piece of equipment she used to drag herself around the last time Gerry saw her—has it really been five years? Instead, she sits in a large, uncomfortable-looking hospital chair with PROPERTY OF ROSEWOOD FOREST HOSPITAL AND CARE HOME stenciled in flaking white on the back, the arms of which she is gripping very tightly indeed. Sitting behind her, one chair over, is a muscular middle-aged woman in black scrubs with a slightly bored look on her face—at least she had the decency to wear black, even if she didn’t dress up. Gerry gets it; she’s a nurse, and she needs to be able to keep herself clean and sanitary if she has to assist Lily, but still.
Melanie sits in the front row directly opposite Lily, dressed up for the first time in a while, the only splash of color the teal streak in her hair and the gigantic glittery bright pink butterfly clipped to it. Beside her sits Martin, it’s a miracle he was able to get the time off work for this, wearing the only black outfit he owns—a calf-length dress with half-sleeves and a high collar that fits him like it was made for him, which, well, it was. It looks good on him, but Gerry knows he’s internally panicking over what Lily might say. She’s not exactly the most accepting person in the world and she’s never been particularly thrilled about Martin’s “inclinations”, as she always puts it, and that’s just her knowing that he’s gay; seeing her only son in a skirt, especially a tailored one, is likely to send her into the stratosphere. Gerry’s just thankful what’s left of his mum isn’t able to get here.
Gerry’s suit doesn’t fit him quite so well, but then, it’s one he found in the back of one of the closets at the bookshop; from the fact that it’s forty years out of style, he guesses that it once belonged to his father. With his hair back in a neat braid and a touch of makeup pilfered from Melanie, he looks different enough that he won’t attract undue attention, even four years after his face got plastered across the papers. In the seat next to Gerry is the only really surprising one there. Evan only ever met Roger once, as far as Gerry knows. Still, the fact that he’s here means a lot. It either means that he cared about Roger, or that he’s there to support Melanie. Either one is fine with Gerry.
There isn’t another soul in the room.
It’s obvious the man leading it has never met Roger, and when he talks about how much Roger brightened the halls of Rosewood Forest before quickly correcting himself to Ivy Meadows, Gerry realizes he’s the chaplain for the nursing home where Lily lives. He’s probably used to running funerals, comforting the bereaved, all of that, but it does mean he never met Roger. And it means he’s doing this service completely on Lily’s memories, or Melanie’s, or possibly just making it up as he goes along. The latter seems more probable, since he’s droning on about things like great worker and brilliant mind and man of God. Gerry doesn’t know what religious beliefs Roger might have held, if any, but even his and Lily’s wedding hadn’t been in a real church, and he’s never known any of them to attend one. Maybe Lily’s found religion since moving into a home, which, honestly, good for her, Gerry hopes it might make her a bit nicer, but as far as he knows Roger never did. As for his being brilliant, or a great worker…maybe it’s just the poetic license of not speaking ill of the dead, but truthfully, even before he lost his job, Roger was never what anyone would call a genius. He’d had his A-levels but not a university degree, and while he’d been a diligent and steady worker, he hadn’t exactly been impressive. Sort of mediocre, really.
The important things about Roger are the things the chaplain doesn’t even know to discuss. Like how Roger taught himself to bake so Melanie—and later Martin—would get homemade cakes on their birthdays, and braved a phone call to his mother-in-law—his first mother-in-law, Adeline Yuen, to get her to walk him through making a traditional New Year’s Eve dish. Or how he took a spinning class one summer in the hopes of being able to give Martin some homespun yarn for his project and been genuinely upset when all his efforts failed. Or how he never, not once, no matter what else was going on, missed one of Melanie’s boxing matches or one of Martin’s concerts. Or how, even when his brain failed him completely, even when he couldn’t consistently remember his own name on a daily basis, he always remembered his “little moth”.
Their absence from the eulogy makes it fall a little flat.
At last, the chaplain comes to a merciful halt. He prays, gives a blessing, and dismisses the gathering. A pair of men Gerry assumes to be employees of the funeral home come in, lift the coffin onto a weird sort of cart-like contraption, and wheel it out of the room. As the rest of them get to their feet to follow, he notices Lily beckon to the nurse and say something. She listens, then nods, then crosses over to where Martin stands.
In a low, genteel murmur, she says, “Miss Liliana asked me to tell you that she is feeling unwell and needs to get back to her room. This is all a bit much for her. She will visit once he has been interred.”
Martin’s voice betrays none of the emotions he must be feeling as he murmurs back, “Of course.”
They wait for Lily and her nurse to leave before they follow. The funeral home has a memorial park attached, meaning there are no headstones rising from the grass—only flat plaques set into the ground, some of which are studded with flowers or flags—but somehow Gerry isn’t surprised to be directed along a paved path to a large stone mausoleum. Assuming Lily ever actually does come to see Roger, she wouldn’t be able to get her chair over the grass. At least with it being a stone vault, there won’t be the whole thing with throwing dirt into the grave, which Gerry is grateful for. Roger, of all people, doesn’t deserve to be covered in dirt.
Melanie checks briefly at the threshold, but with Martin’s supportive hand at her back, she braves her way in for the rest of them to follow. There is a stone sarcophagus open off to one side; the priest stands next to it, the casket before it on the wheeled contraption. Gerry can’t see the two workers who must have brought it in, but after the chaplain says a few words of the ashes to ashes, dust to dust variety, they emerge out of the shadows, lift the casket, and drop it unceremoniously into the sarcophagus, like they’re delivering a package instead of interring a body. Melanie flinches and takes a half-step back to press against Martin and Gerry. Both of them, without saying a word, wrap an arm around her shoulders. She takes a handful of Gerry’s suit jacket on one side and a handful of Martin’s skirt in the other, but stays silent and stone-faced as the workers lift the gigantic slab for the top and, with surprisingly minimal effort for as heavy as it must be, slide it into place. With a final blessing, the chaplain dismisses them, and they re-emerge into what little sunlight there is today.
Melanie takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and turns to Evan. “There’s a café a few blocks away,” she says, her voice rough, like she’s been gargling glass. “If you like to join us.”
Evan nods, but doesn’t say anything. Gerry’s never been up here, not this part of Devon, so he just trusts Melanie and Martin to know where they’re going and follows them to a quaint little place, very white and clean and tidy, with both indoor and outdoor seating. It’s not exactly crowded, but all the same, Gerry isn’t surprised when they elect to sit outside. A waitress comes to take their orders, but after she leaves, they all sit in silence for a while, broken only by the chirping of late-summer birds and the light breeze rustling the leaves of the big, showy rosebushes planted around the edges of the patio.
Finally, Melanie speaks again. “Thanks for coming. You didn’t…have to.”
“Of course I did,” Evan says gently, because all of them know damn well she’s not talking to Martin or Gerry. “What else are friends for?”
“Yeah, but you’ve got…work or, or class or something, right?”
“Right. And I told them I was going up to Devon for my mate’s dad’s funeral and wouldn’t be in today.”
“And they didn’t give you grief?”
Evan shrugs, obviously unconcerned. “Couple of them did. All I had to say to the lab supervisor was Ivy Meadows and suddenly I had the whole week if I wanted it, and I just told my thesis advisor where he could shove it. There are more important things than a master’s degree, and there will be other jobs.” He hesitates, then adds, “I…kind of expected there to be more people, if I’m honest. I, I thought your dad was pretty well liked.”
“He’s been out of a job seven years now,” Melanie says. “And…it’s not like anyone from Ivy Meadows who knew him was left to come. Maybe Hannah, I think she’s…but we lost touch after she quit, and that was before…you know.”
Evan winces, but nods. Martin sighs heavily. “She might’ve been able to come, if this had been in London, but…well, Mum insisted.”
A delivery van trundles by, and for a second, Gerry wonders if it slows down to look at them, but it moves on quickly enough, so probably not. He refocuses on the conversation as Evan says, hesitantly, “Well, it makes sense she’d want to visit, right?”
Martin shrugs. “Maybe, but I doubt she will, honestly. It’s mostly because Melanie and I live in London, and because that’s where the Yuen family plot is.”
Evan blinks. “The who?”
“It was Mama’s maiden name.” Melanie stares at the tablecloth like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Before she married Dad. Amy Yuen Xinyi. What of her family didn’t make it back to Fatshan to die is buried in Kensal Green. But Lily’s not really one for tradition and this is closest to where she is, so it’s probably where she’ll end up buried when her time comes. And she doesn’t like us.”
“She likes you,” Martin mutters.
“Bullshit. She thinks I get you in trouble.”
“Neens, seriously, Mum doesn’t think I need any help to get in trouble. As far as she’s concerned, ‘bad kid’ is my default state and always has been. I can’t tell you how many lectures I got before they got married about why I wasn’t more like you and Gerry.” Martin winces and glances at Evan. “Sorry, you don’t…”
Evan just raises an eyebrow. “Martin, I’ve known you since we were sixteen. Do you really think I didn’t know by now that Melanie is the only person at this table who wasn’t a complete disappointment to her parents? If it weren’t for the fact that mine don’t socialize, and that I don’t talk to them, I’d have suggested they come up here and meet her.”
Martin gives a surprised-sounding laugh. “That would probably be a disaster waiting to happen.”
The delivery van rolls by again, or maybe it’s another one for the same company. Gerry watches it less because he’s concerned about it and more for somewhere to look as Melanie sighs. “Mama died when I was seven. I’m sure she’d have been plenty disappointed in me given time.”
“Hey, don’t say that.” Gerry’s head snaps back around to frown at her. “You’re a goddamn delight and any mother would be proud of a daughter like you.”
“Any mother should be proud of a son like you or Martin or Evan, too, and we all know how that worked out,” Melanie points out. “It’s immaterial. I’ll never know.”
Martin and Evan both blush. Gerry shakes his head at Melanie. “The difference is that our mothers never loved us in the first place, only what we represented for them, and that ended pretty quickly when they decided we weren’t going to be what they wanted. From what I’ve seen, yours liked you for being you.”
“You never met her.”
“No, but I’ve seen that picture of her taking you skating for your birthday,” Gerry reminds her. “You know, the woman who’s smiling and laughing with you, for you, knowing she’s so sick that in less than a week she’s going to have to go into a hospital and that she’s likely not coming out? That woman? That’s not someone who would ever have been disappointed in you.”
Gerry still, despite having known Melanie for sixteen years and loved her for fifteen of them, doesn’t speak Cantonese, but he recognizes every single one of the words that flow from her glossy lips as an obscenity. He also sees the suspicious brightness in her eyes and the slump of her shoulders and knows it’s only halfheartedly directed at him. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles and murmurs softly, “Je t’aime, ma petite soeur.”
Melanie’s French is about on par with Gerry’s Cantonese, but from the tiny smile she gives him, he knows she understands that much, at least. Evan smiles, too, then it morphs into a puzzled frown and he stands up. “Hang on. Those guys must be lost…I swear that van’s been by four times already, and now it’s slowing down.”
He starts towards the street, but the delivery van accelerates, quite naturally, as if the driver was just waiting for something to get out of the road and is continuing its journey. Martin frowns in its direction. “You’d think whoever runs the company would give them better directions to deliver.”
Gerry shrugs. “This is outside their normal route.”
“How do you know?”
“Mum used to use Breekon and Hope for deliveries all the time. They’ve got a pretty broad delivery range and branch offices in a couple different places, but Devon isn’t one of them, as far as I know.”
Martin shivers slightly. “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”
Gerry pats his arm as reassuringly as he can. “I promise, Martin, she just used them for delivering the…normal stuff. Not that she had a lot of that, but still.”
“Yeah, okay.” Martin sighs.
The waitress finally comes back with four cups of tea and the sandwiches they ordered. As she sets them down and gives them all a brilliant smile, she asks, “And what brings you four up here? I don’t think I’ve seen any of you before.”
Gerry frowns, because it looks like she’s flirting with either Martin or Melanie and he’s not about that—Martin won’t be interested, he’s gay, and Melanie is probably not in the mood—but Melanie doesn’t seem to notice. “We came up to bury my dad.”
That fast, the waitress’s smile vanishes, and she looks slightly horrified. “Oh. Oh, I’m—I’m so sorry to hear that.” She gathers her tray to her and scurries off awkwardly.
Evan snorts. “You seem to have broken her.”
“Eh.” Melanie shrugs. “She asked. I wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.” She picks up her tea and adds sugar to it.
Martin holds up his own. “To Roger.”
“To Roger,” the other three echo, clinking their cups against his, and they start telling Evan stories about Roger he hasn’t heard before. Melanie doesn’t exactly relax, and she certainly doesn’t look cheerful, but at least she looks less lost by the time they finish their meals and Evan solves the squabble between Martin and Gerry over which one of them will cover Melanie’s part by taking the check and paying the whole thing. He offers them a ride back to London, too, but they already have their tickets, so in the end he just gives them a lift to the train station and leaves them with a promise to see them the next time they’ll all be at the pub.
The trains don’t have compartments or three-across seating anymore, haven’t for years, but Melanie is skinny enough that doesn’t usually stop her from squeezing in between them if she needs it. Sure enough, when they find their seats, she sits on the hard plastic gap between them and curls against Martin’s side. Martin doesn’t let her do that for long, though. Instead, he just sweeps her onto his lap and holds her like a little kid.
“I’m not a baby,” she mutters, but makes no effort to get away from him.
“You just buried your dad,” Martin says in a gentle but firm voice. “You don’t have to be a baby to want to be held after that.”
Melanie sighs and flops her head against his chest. “I love you,” she says softly, reaching out a hand for Gerry. “Both of you.”
“We know,” Gerry assures her. He takes her hand and puts his free one on Martin’s shoulder, closing the circle, so that both of them know he’s there and that he cares about them. “We love you, too.”