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Mae shook her head vehemently. ‘I loved Pops. I always knew that you and he were a package. Pops and his mini-me. I’m going to miss him so much.’
A tear slips from Mae’s left eye and travels inch by inch down her cheek, leaving a white trail through her makeup. She wipes it away with the back of her hand and closes her eyes, to stop any further tears following.
She looks vulnerable and soft and before I allow myself to think and stop, I walk over to her and take her in my arms. I can feel her resistance, the tension that always appears in her body whenever I get close to her lately. But I remember Pops’ advice and don’t let her go. I hold her tight and stay silent. And then, at once, I feel her body relax and she moulds into my arms. Her soft breasts press in close to my own chest and our hearts seem to beat in unison. I hear her breath quicken or maybe it’s mine?
‘I miss you,’ I whisper into her hair.
‘What?’ Mae asks.
‘Mam, Dad, the car’s here,’ Jamie’s voice bellows out and Mae pulls apart from me. The moment, whatever it was, is gone. But her eyes meet mine and I recognise in them something that I haven’t seen for a long time.
Love? Or at least a recognition of the memory of a happier time. A spark of hope gives my grief blessed relief for a moment. All is not lost. I then feel crap that I’m even thinking about myself on the day of my father’s funeral.
‘Thank you,’ I say to her. I want to say so much more, but I don’t. I just put on my jacket.
‘For what?’
‘For being here. As long as I have you by my side, I can get through this.’
She looks away from me and murmurs, ‘It’s time to say our goodbyes. Come on.’
Damn it.
‘That was way cool,’ Jamie declares for the third time since we left the crematorium. ‘The way the coffin just disappeared behind the curtain. Pops would have loved that.’
‘It was creepy. If I die, please bury me,’ Mae replies, shuddering.
We are driving home to Wexford. To say it’s been a rough few hours is an understatement, but somehow or other we’ve gotten through two services. The first one was the funeral mass in Wexford. It was a packed church of family and friends, who were all there to say goodbye to a good man, who lived a good life. Then the second service in the crematorium was for just us family. Exactly as Pops requested.
I watched Mae and the children go through so many emotions during those two different ceremonies. I saw sorrow, heartache, desolation, anger and loneliness. I recognised each of them because it is how I felt too. But now, in our car, driving home, the energy has changed. Now there is an air of frivolity amongst us. I recognise it for what it is. It’s often the way when things are this serious, giddiness sets in at some point because the mind cannot take any more. It happened at Mam’s funeral. Pops and I had said goodbye to the last well-wisher and then Pops farted. A loud, rasping, wet fart. I giggled. And then I felt horrendous. I expected to get a clout across my ear from him for that. But he giggled too. Soon the two of us were making wet, loud, fart noises under our arms, through our mouths, any way we could. We put on a good old comedy act for twenty minutes or so, till we cried with laughter.
I realise now that it would not take much to set us all off. We all need a few hours respite before we face going home to a house that doesn’t have our beloved Pops in it any more. So we begin bantering away about death as if we hadn’t a care in the world. We could have been discussing the weather, such is our ease.
‘If I die, you can burn me,’ Jamie states. ‘And I want a super-cool urn for my ashes.’
‘You know, the largest urn in the world is in Tustin, USA,’ Evie says.
‘How big?’ Jamie asks.
‘It’s sixteen feet tall,’ Evie tells him.
‘Cool. Was it for a giant? Or a troll? I bet it was a giant,’ Jamie says in wonder.
‘Oh, without doubt a giant,’ Mae says with a smile.
‘You can get urns made in the likeness of people’s heads you know,’ Evie adds.
‘What?’ Mae shrieks. ‘That’s macabre.’
‘It’s true, Mam. I saw one of Barack Obama once on Facebook,’ Evie says.
‘Who the hell would want their ashes stored in a president’s head?’ Mae responds, looking mystified.
‘There’s a lot of crazy in this world,’ I chip in.
‘When I die, can I have an urn made into a spaceship?’ Jamie asks. ‘Or maybe one like Darth Vader? Pops would love that, you know. He loves Star Wars.’
‘He was more of an Obi-Wan Kenobi fan than Darth Vader,’ I murmur. ‘But, yes, he loved Stars Wars.’
And for a moment I allow myself a daydream where Pops can come back and talk to me in spirit like Obi-Wan could in the movies.
‘That would be cool,’ I whisper.
‘Less of the talk of dying please,’ Mae remarks.
‘Okay, but Mam, I’m not joking here. I will die if we don’t get some food into my body. I’m starving,’ Jamie complains and then, with perfect timing, his stomach lets a loud grumble out.
I look in the rear-view mirror and seeing the children smile makes my throat tighten. It’s been a tough few days. Damn it, a tough few months. Smiles have been few and far between. I shake my head to stop further tears coming.
‘I could eat something too,’ Mae says. ‘What do you think, Olly? Can we stop or do you want to get home? It’s been a rough day, so don’t worry if you want to just keep going.’
I peek in the rear-view mirror and Jamie is pretending to faint. Evie throws her eyes up to heaven, but I can see a hint of a smile on her face. Then I spy the golden archway ahead and a decision is easily made for us. We are an unlikely looking bunch queuing for our fast-food fix. Mae in her black trouser suit, Evie and Jamie wearing a mixture of dull greys and black and me in my good suit, with a black mourning tie. I loosen the knot and pull it off, stuffing it into my inside jacket pocket.
‘That makes all the difference,’ Mae teases.
With our food piled high on red trays, we sit down. Evie and Mae with their McChicken Sandwich meals, me with my Big Mac and Jamie with his Happy Meal.
Jamie pulls open his cardboard box of happiness and rummages for the plastic bag, eager to find out what the toy is this time. Mid-slurp of my strawberry shake, I pause. I feel a hand on my knee and look down to see that Mae has clasped it.
Time freezes again when I look up and see that Jamie is holding up in his hand a figurine of Obi-Wan Kenobi.
‘That’s freaky,’ Evie says, her eyes wide with surprise. ‘We were just talking about him.’
‘It’s cool,’ Jamie replies. ‘Look what he can do.’ He demonstrates his nodding head.
‘Just a weird coincidence, that’s all,’ Mae says, but her voice is trembling.
Not ten minutes ago I likened Pops to Obi-Wan Kenobi, wishing he could come back and talk to me. And now Jamie is sitting here with his figurine held in front of my face.
I look around and, I swear to God, I expect Pops to be standing there wearing a long brown hooded robe. ‘Fooled you,’ he’d say and laugh. Oh, how we’d laugh.
I look at the Wi-Fi symbol flashing on my iPhone. That invisible thing that connects us all, no matter where we are. Was this Pops’ way of reminding me to have faith? He said he’d find a way to find me.
‘It’s just a coincidence,’ I tell my family, feeling stupid for even contemplating such nonsense. ‘Eat up, it’s getting late.’
I don’t feel hungry any more. I play with my food a bit and wait for the others to finish up, then we continue our journey home. The mood has changed in the car again and we are all back in our own grief-stricken worlds. The welcome reprieve from our desolation, forgotten with the appearance of a small plastic toy from McDonald’s.
As the distance to our home gets shorter, the greater my anxiety grows. So I slow down. I’m aware of the irony that an hour ago I thought I’d never get home so I could take my God-awful suit off. Now I am doing everything possible to delay that first entrance through our front door. I look down at my suit and make an impromptu decision about its fate.
‘I’m going to burn this tomorrow.’
Mae nods. ‘That’s one option. Or you could give it to charity.’
‘Maybe,’ I say, but really, I want to be extreme. I feel justified planning a dramatic end to it, a symbolic burning of the pain I’ve endured today. Or something like that.
‘I burned a suit once before,’ I say.
‘When?’ Mae asks.
‘When I was a kid. My communion suit.’
All at once I’m seven years old again and I see Mam’s face and remember watching her discuss at length with Pops about what my communion suit should look like. Pops would nod and tell her that she knew best. He’d then chance a conspiratorial wink with me and I’d wink back, delighted with myself.
‘Was it awful?’ Mae asks me.
‘A three-piece ensemble, kind of a biscuity pale brown in colour. But it had a contrasting chocolate-brown trim on the lapel and the pockets. Pops joked I looked like a chocolate hobnob. Mam didn’t like that one bit. She wanted me to look perfect and no slagging of the suit was allowed.’
‘Sounds lovely,’ Mae laughs.
‘I know it sounds brutal and, in truth, it was, but at the time I thought I was the dog’s bollocks in it.’ I glance in the rear-view mirror, checking the kids aren’t listening to my cursing. Unsurprisingly, both have their earphones on.
‘I can remember begging Mam to let me try it on at least once a day. But she would shake her head no and it remained in a plastic cover in her wardrobe,’ I say.
‘She wanted it to be in pristine condition for your special day. I get that. I was the same for Evie,’ Mae says.
A pain so acute it makes me start hits me under my ribs. ‘In the end, I got my wish and wore it before the communion.’
‘When?’ Mae asks, smiling.
‘Her funeral.’
‘Oh, Olly,’ Mae says, and her smile freezes. I look away. If I see sympathy or pity, I’ll start to cry again. I chance a joke.
‘I don’t mind telling you, I didn’t feel in the slightest bit like the dog’s bollocks then. Took the shine off wearing it on my communion, too.’
Neither of us laugh at my lame attempt to lighten the mood. She reaches over and places a hand lightly over mine for a moment. ‘I’ll help you burn it.’ Then we drive in silence once more.
‘If you go any slower we’ll be in reverse,’ Mae remarks after a while, but she’s smiling as she speaks, so I know she’s not having a go at me.
I look at her and wonder if she has guessed why I am so reluctant to go home. These past couple of days, we’ve been kinder to each other than we have been for the past six months. It’s disconcerting and welcome all at once.
‘I watched Mam and Pops both die from that house. There’s a lot of ghosts at home for me,’ I tell her.
‘There’s a lot of great memories there too. It will be okay, you wait and see,’ she murmurs. ‘And remember, alongside the ghosts, you have us too. We’re right beside you.’
I look at her again and smile, but wonder if she means that. I’m not so sure.
Finally, we turn the bend and our house is in view before me. The house of my childhood that is both the same and also unrecognisable now, with the addition of our modern extension and conservatory at the gable end.
‘Holy cow!’
‘What the …?’
‘Wow!’
The exclamations from my family come in fast unison as we all see it at the same time.
‘Olly?’ Mae says. ‘What on earth is that camper van doing parked outside our house?’
Chapter Three (#ulink_9221d5d9-2cf8-5daf-a944-c4d7a14e36c3)
OLLY
I pull into our driveway with caution. For the life of me, I can’t work out why a thirty-foot camper van is sitting right in the spot where I usually park. That irks me, it feels like an affront, especially today of all days.
I pull over to the side of the house and sit for a moment, taking in the spectacle.
‘That’s so cool,’ Jamie enthuses and already he has his seat belt off, eager to go explore. ‘It looks like a spaceship, Dad!’
It’s funny how one word can send your memories shooting back in time. At once, I’m sitting beside Pops eating popcorn and slurping Coke, as we watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I try to remember what age I was then. Mam was dead, so I reckon it was around 1983 or 1984. I had to sleep with Pops for two nights afterwards, such was my fear that little green men were going to pay me a visit.
I look up into the sky and half expect to see a spaceship hovering, ready to beam us all up. My imagination is on fire today. Between Obi-Wan and now this, I reckon I’m losing it. I start to hum the iconic five-note melody from that movie and Mae smiles as she recognises it and joins in.
It’s only a small thing but that small act of camaraderie gives me further hope that Mae and I might be okay, when all of this is over. We are still on the same wavelength, at least some of the time. That has to be a good sign. I turn to the kids and tell them, ‘Stay where you are, till I see who this is.’
The camper van looks quite modern, as they go. Not that I know much about the world of Winnebagos and motor homes. I once again rack my brains trying to work out who the hell I know owns one of these or would be most likely to drive one. But I come up blank.
It’s quite big and has a curved canopy over the driver’s cab, which I know is quite common in a lot of the models. I can remember years ago when I was a kid, before Mam died, a cousin of hers and his wife called in to see us driving a huge camper van. They slept in a kind of bunk bed over the driver’s cab. I can’t even remember this cousin’s name now and I’m pretty sure they must be dead, because they seemed ancient back then. God, the smell in that thing! Toiletry odours covered up by headache-inducing air fresheners, that made me want to gag. Surely it can’t be those two again?
I check out the van a little closer. It’s white in the main, but has blocks of silvery grey across the cabin. It also has a bright-red stripe splashed across both sides, in an attempt at frivolity almost.
For fuck’s sake! I’m not sure why I’m so put out by its presence, but I am. It feels like the straw that is about to break my back. As I walk towards the driver’s door, I shout out, ‘Hello?’ but nobody answers me. My heart rate speeds up as adrenalin begins to pump into my blood. I can hear my heart begin to drum in my ears, getting louder and louder as I approach the cab. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see sitting behind the driver’s wheel. But when I see it’s empty I’m both relieved and disappointed all at once.
Confused, I turn around to wave to Mae and the kids. I want to signal them that there seems to be no one here, but the side door to the camper van opens with a clang, making me jump back, almost tripping over my own feet. In a pathetic non-hero-like manner, I squeak out a hiss of surprise.
I’m grateful that Mae and the kids are not by my side to witness it. Not my finest moment. I stand up tall in an attempt at redemption and face a middle-aged man. He has neat mousy brown hair parted to the side, wearing a brown pullover and beige slacks. He doesn’t look in the slightest bit like an alien. Or dangerous.
‘Alright,’ his voice calls out to me. I can’t work out the accent, but it’s not Irish, that I know for sure. Scottish maybe? He steps down from the doorway and smiles at me brightly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be here.
I nod back at him and try to work out if I’ve ever met him before. Nope, I’m pretty certain this is the first time I’ve clapped eyes on him.
He holds his hand out and introduces himself, ‘Aled Davies.’ He then does this thing where he bows, almost Chinese-like. The lilting voice, singsong, along with the name, alerts me to where he’s from – he’s Welsh.
‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, lying. ‘I’m Olly Guinness. But you’ve got the advantage on me, Mr Davies, because I’m not sure why you are parked in my driveway.’
‘I’ll tell you for why,’ he replies with a smile. ‘I’ve come to deliver Nomad to you.’
‘Nomad?’ I repeat, feeling stupid, like I’m missing the obvious. ‘Who’s Nomad?’
