Beneath an Irish Sky (Choc Lit) (13 page)

So why was he the one who felt so guilty?

Luke stood at the bedroom window, staring out at the hearse. The coffin was covered with sprays of flowers and wreaths. All show. Annie had lived and died unappreciated by the Stewarts. It still didn’t seem right she was to be buried here, in their world. He took a deep breath. It hurt, the pain in his ribs made worse by what felt like a tight band around his chest. Fear? Or was this what was meant by heartache?

It was finally here, the day he’d dreaded. Burying his mother would mean burying part of himself. He’d stayed awake all night, keeping his own silent vigil – remembering her and wishing he could wake up in his own home, in his own bed, with her calling him for breakfast. If he closed his eyes and prayed hard enough, the past two weeks might just have been the worst kind of nightmare. Maybe he was still unconscious in Limerick’s A&E after the beating, and the fatal trip to Dublin was all in his head.

He looked at the mirrored wardrobe and a stranger looked back. A stranger wearing a black suit from Next, which Matt and his aunt Claire had taken him to buy on Monday. It had cost four times as much as his suit back home. It hurt that his mam would never see him in it. She’d loved seeing him dressed smart for special occasions.

There was a knock at the door and Matt walked in. He too was wearing a dark suit, and he looked tense. He’d cut himself shaving. Sometimes Luke forgot that Annie had been Matt’s mother too. The only one he’d ever known.

‘Ready?’

Luke would never be ready, but he had no choice.

On the journey to Baronswood, Luke kept his eyes fixed on the back of the hearse moving slowly in front of them. The coffin was now draped with the Irish tricolour, which he’d bought from a backstreet sports shop in Manchester. His mother was being buried on foreign soil, but this gave her some identity.

Jack was in the front of the car, Matt sitting next to Luke. He might as well have been alone, though. He felt alone. He wished the journey could last forever so he wouldn’t have to watch Annie being lowered into the ground, but all too soon the car reached the church.

Father Quinn was standing in the doorway, hands clasped in front of him. Maggie was there too, holding down her black hat against gusts of wind. Matt helped Luke out before moving to the back of the hearse to take up his position as one of the pallbearers. Jack was another, along with his friend Dave and the guy Annie had worked for. Luke was gutted he couldn’t share the responsibility. Not wanting to see the coffin unloaded or the flag removed for the entry into the church, he turned away and moved towards the church door. A single bell was tolling, the lonely sound deepening his misery.

‘God give you strength, Luke,’ he heard Father Quinn say, but he was too numb to respond. With Maggie at his side, he entered the church to the smell of incense and sandalwood, and the ominous sound of the organ’s slow, dramatic chords. From habit, he stopped by the holy water stoup and crossed himself. Genuflection was impossible, but who cared? Certainly not the sad-faced statue of the Virgin Mary, hands outstretched, as if to try and ease his pain. She knew all about grief and loss. How had she found a way through it?

The walk up the centre aisle seemed endless. The statue of Christ on the cross behind the altar never seemed to get any closer. It had been the right decision not to walk behind the coffin. Limping on crutches, he’d just have been a pitiful reminder of the accident. It was his mother who deserved the sympathy today, not him.

Finally, he and Maggie reached the front. She helped him sit down, resting his crutches close by, then slipped into the pew behind. ‘I’m right here,’ she whispered, putting her hand on his shoulder. She was already crying and he wished the tears would come for him too, his grief walled up uncomfortably inside, demanding release.

He turned round to thank Maggie and noticed with sadness the small number of mourners. By rights, the church should have been overflowing for such a special person. His fists clenched with a desire to punch the world until he saw the woman a few rows back, across the aisle, elegantly dressed in a black suit and grey scarf, red hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

Emer’s shoes were too tight. She’d bought them during a lunch hour, grabbing the first black pair she could find, not bothering to try them on. Now she was paying the price, and church wasn’t exactly an appropriate place to slip them off.

Luke had just spotted her and his genuine smile showed he was pleased she’d made it. He’d phoned her on Sunday evening for advice about the eulogy and to ask if she would come to the funeral. She hadn’t wanted him to feel alone on such a day, so she’d arranged cover at work, booked a flight, and here she was. Jack had wanted her to come to the house and leave for the church with them, but her flight landed too late to allow that.

It had been the right decision to come. Luke, sitting at the front of the church, head bowed, needed all the support he could get. Emer’s heart went out to him. The woman who had been the rock at the centre of his world was gone, and he was faced with building a new life – a daunting prospect.

Emer had been through it herself, with Michael. Her grief, confusion, despair and fear of the future were still more than just a memory. She wished she could spare Luke that, but death was part of life, one of the hardest lessons to learn. At least she could be here for him today, to show her support, her friendship, and to listen if he needed to talk.

The organist stopped, and a man went to the microphone at the side of the altar. There was movement at the back of the church and glancing round, Emer saw the priest ready to lead the cortège. Luke had stood up, holding on to the back of the pew for support, his eyes fixed on the coffin. He looked resolute and dignified, head held high, but he was pale and had dark circles under his eyes. He seemed slighter than she remembered, but he looked smart in his suit. Annie would surely have been proud.

The rich baritone of a male soloist singing ‘You Raise me Up’ suddenly filled the church and, as the singer ended the first verse, Emer watched Annie’s coffin borne down the aisle to the sound of uilleann pipes. The haunting sound, so unmistakeably Irish, made her think of the rolling green of her homeland and of a young woman with a dark-haired, blue-eyed toddler, battling against the odds. Emer was glad the music brought Luke’s world into this small English church.

As the coffin neared, she made the sign of the cross and saw Jack was one of the pallbearers. Staring straight ahead, his face was strained. The young man sharing the load on the other side could only be his son, Matt. Same-shaped face, same eyes. He looked tearful, and Emer remembered that at just four years of age, he’d lost two mothers.

As the sound of the pipes built to a crescendo, the soloist and the choir resumed the poignant vocals of the modern hymn. Although she hadn’t known Annie, Emer was feeling her loss and Luke’s pain. He was more than just a patient to her now, and Jack was more than just a relative. The longer she spent with them, the harder it would be to pull back. And truth was, she didn’t really want to.

The coffin was set down in front of the altar, the wreaths of beautiful white lilies and yellow roses placed nearby. As the music stopped, Jack and Matt moved to the front pew next to Luke, and the priest sprinkled holy water, intoning solemnly, ‘The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.’

Because of the sparse gathering, Emer was relieved there was a choir, and following their beautiful rendition of the
Ave Maria
, the priest moved on to the prayer. Although an order of service sheet had been provided, most of the congregation was clearly not Catholic because the responses were few and fumbled.

Jack’s jaw was set, his focus on the coffin, his feelings probably a confusing mix, part love, part anger. Luke sat rigid in the pew, maybe waiting for the sign from the priest, which eventually came when the sermon was over, in the form of a nod and a reassuring smile.

Emer clenched her hands, nails digging into the palms as Luke, unsteady on his crutches, went to the lectern, clutching a piece of paper, which he placed in front of him. He took a deep breath and lifted his head. Proudly. She could read his feelings as easily as if they were written down in front of her. It was all there – love, anger, defiance and stubborn resolve. Every emotion needed to survive this ordeal. She was glad to be here for this remarkable young man who was rising above his grief to pay tribute to his mother. Tears pricked her eyes. She hadn’t felt able to give a eulogy for Michael, yet here was Luke, younger and comparatively uneducated, standing there bravely in front of strangers.

‘I could read before I was five,’ Luke began, his voice quiet and wavering slightly. ‘My mother taught me because she wanted me to share her love of books and she wanted me to be educated so’s I could make a decent future. She was a realist, my mam, and she knew bein’ at school wasn’t always easy for Travellers.’

Emer was mentally willing him on and his confidence appeared to be increasing, his voice growing stronger as he continued. ‘She didn’t own much. Books from car boot sales, second-hand clothes and music from an old radio I found in a skip. There was nothin’ wrong with the radio. Easy come, easy go for some folk. But my mam was rich in other ways – in the things that matter. People loved her because she cared.

‘She’d help anyone. Would share whatever she had, even if it wasn’t much. She encouraged Traveller kids to learn as much as they could. She cared for my grand-da when he got sick. She’d sit up all night, puttin’ cool cloths on his head or readin’ to him, but she still found time to take whatever jobs she could to help us live. She cleaned offices, delivered leaflets, picked fruit. Society doesn’t give many options to Travellers, but she never complained, just made the best of it. When she felt down, she’d sing. She loved to sing.

‘She always wanted me to have the best things in life, but to her, those were things money couldn’t buy. If I felt sorry for myself because I didn’t have a PlayStation or decent football boots, she’d tell me we were rich compared to people who had nothin’ and were starvin’. She’d say a lot of people had a better deal than us – but even more had a worse one.’

At this point, Luke turned slightly to look at Jack. ‘She didn’t have a privileged life, but she had more principles than most. Things weren’t easy, but
she
made me feel loved and wanted – the most important thing for any kid.’

Luke’s eyes had remained on his father, and Jack would surely have registered the emphasis on the word
she
, for it seemed a deliberate slight.

‘Bein’ rich doesn’t mean someone’s honest and bein’ poor doesn’t mean they’re dishonest,’ Luke continued, before pausing once more, and turning to look at Annie’s coffin. ‘When life got difficult, she gave me strength. I hope I did the same for her. I’m not ashamed of what I am because the finest person I’m ever likely to know was a Traveller. They say no one’s perfect, but my mam came close, and anyone should have been proud to know her.’

He folded up the paper and put it into his pocket, then moved slowly away from the lectern and back to his seat for the rest of the service. When it was over, he made his way to the coffin. As he placed his hand on it, the closest he could get to touching his mother for the last time, Emer heard him say, ‘Go well, Mam. I love you.’ Then the pall-bearers took up their positions to carry Annie Kiernan to her final resting place.

Emer’s vision blurred and her throat constricted painfully as she tried not to cry. Luke had succeeded in painting a vivid picture of a woman who’d struggled against the odds but never given up on life, or on her son, and it was patently obvious how much he’d loved her. Whether her tears were for Annie or for Luke, or maybe just the whole sadness of the occasion, Emer wasn’t sure. What she did know was that Luke had arranged this funeral with the intention of squeezing as much emotion as possible from those who attended. He’d admitted that on Sunday night when he’d said bitterly, ‘They’ll remember my mother’s death, even if they didn’t remember her life.’

His eyes downcast, Luke followed the coffin out of the church. There were no tears, but he must surely be feeling more than he was showing. Emer was humbled by the way this young man had honoured his mother with a dignified, untutored eloquence. If that didn’t soften Jack’s heart, nothing would.

Kate tried to stop her teeth chattering as she stood at the graveside. The freezing wind was cutting right through. Father Quinn was still going strong after ten minutes, raising his voice at times to compete with the noisy rooks. Every time Kate thought he was about to close, the priest just took a breath and kept going. How many more saints could there be left to name?

Kate distracted herself by discreetly looking around at the mourners. Not many for a woman’s lifetime. She wondered who the pretty redhead was. A woman standing alone, at some distance, as though she felt she didn’t belong. Maybe one of those serial funeral attenders Kate had read about.

Matt’s godparents, Dave and Evie Mitchell, had come. Dave was Baronsmere’s policeman – as a young teen, Kate had been on the receiving end of more than one fatherly warning for silly things, like that incident with the vodka … The joy of living in a small, rural community – even the police were your friends. Would Luke have been a tearaway if he’d grown up here? Would he have become almost a brother to her, as Matt had … or would they have been childhood sweethearts? Yes, she had definite plans for him and they weren’t sisterly ones.

Tony and Barbara Hayes were there, too – before she married Jack, Annie had worked in their pub, the Fox and Feathers, which Sarah disparagingly called ‘the plebs’ local. Tony looked gutted. So did Claire, Jack’s sister. She was unaccompanied – no one else from the Stewarts had shown up. Claire’s husband, Richard, had dropped her off and quickly disappeared. He was a vile human being. Claire was lovely, and Kate could only assume Richard had changed drastically after he married her, because by all accounts, he was a lousy husband. Matt said he and Luke had met up with Claire on Monday, and she’d bonded instantly with Luke. That wouldn’t have gone down well with Richard.