This is a Love Story (45 page)

‘Nick got hold of me – he contacted the charity and found me.’

‘Nick? But you two have never met . . .’

Pete stumbled over his words as he mumbled something almost unintelligible about plucking up the courage to go back to Balham and ask people at work where I was.

‘How does Nick know about the charity? I never told him – and I thought you hated the idea of them interfering and didn’t want anything to do with it?’ I asked, suddenly very puzzled.

‘Oh, er . . . I don’t know. Listen, Si. That day you and Laura came to the park, and I stormed off like a selfish kid . . . Well, you see, I came back. I turned round after a couple of minutes and saw it was just Laura there. You’d gone, and we got talking, and . . . well, they helped me.’

I felt a sudden wave of happiness wash over me. I’d had no idea he’d gone back.

‘Gosh. That’s incredible, Pete. I’m so pleased.’ I felt like everything suddenly made sense now. But then I remembered what had happened with my dad and felt that sadness immediately take over again.

‘I wanted to contact you and tell you, but I was worried you’d never have time for me again after the way I behaved. Then I heard about this and I just had to find you . . .’

I didn’t know what to say. I was just so glad he was here now. ‘Pete, this feeling, does it ever go away?’ I asked, looking at the TV, which was on mute. My stomach was empty, but not for lack of food. There was some awful game show on; I’d been watching it with the sound off before he arrived.

‘Yes and no. You know, I had a very hard time, but I’m not like you. I’m not as strong . . .’ He trailed off, looking ashamed of himself.

I didn’t know what he meant. He was a man, several years my senior, who’d spent the past few years sleeping on the cold, hard ground. He was stronger than I would ever be.

‘But you. There’s something very special about you, Sienna, and I just know you’ll take this and turn it into something good.’ He locked his gaze into mine. I’d forgotten how cold those eyes of his were. How blue.

‘Thanks,’ I said, unsure of what he meant.

‘It never really goes. You’ll think about this for the rest of your life. But I promise, it will get easier. Your feelings will twist and change, but he’ll never stop bringing you joy because it’s all up here, all those memories.’ He tapped his finger against his temple.

His words were of great comfort to me. But I couldn’t stop the fear from gripping my throat and chest.

‘What’s going on with you, Pete? Are you in a hostel now or something?’ I asked, hoping to concentrate on something more positive.

He smiled. There was a look on his face I hadn’t seen before. Positivity, I think.

I leaned forward and held his hands.

‘Yes I am, and it’s brilliant, Sienna. I’ve met some really nice people, and I went for a job interview today.’

‘You what?’ I almost jumped off the sofa in sheer delight.

‘Well, yes – they sorted me out an interview with a small private firm in Camden. It’s just an admin role, I don’t think I’ll get it, but it’s a good start, isn’t it?’

I really hoped he would get it. It would be the start for him; one day he’d be able to live in some kind of comfort again. ‘I’m so proud of you, Pete. Well done. How do you think it went?’

‘I was stupidly nervous, Si,’ he said, leaning even closer to me and exposing the gaps where his bottom teeth had been.

I giggled for what seemed like the first time in ages. ‘What, as in wee yourself nervous?’ I asked, laughing a bit more.

‘Ha! Not quite, but I was in a right state. I got on the wrong bus and everything because I couldn’t see straight from the fear.’ He held his hands together now, his fingers intertwined. ‘I just wanted to thank you, Sienna,’ he continued, looking much more serious now.

‘Oh, don’t thank me. It’s no biggie, Pete. Really. It was all you – it was you who made those choices, it was you who walked back and talked to Laura. You’re not weak, Pete. You’re something else . . .’

I was so proud of him at that moment. I really meant what I said. Achievement is relative. Whether he got the job or not, he’d earned more respect from me for climbing out of the gutter than some of the executive high-fliers I’d come across. His accomplishments so far were his and his alone. No one could ever take that away from him.

‘No, really. I’m not sure I’d be alive if it wasn’t for you.’ He looked really serious now and his eyes had started to water ever so slightly. ‘To me, Sienna, you’re an angel.’

I felt emotion pulling at my chest again but I tried so hard to hold it in. I looked at the TV once more; it was an ad break, and some woman was holding a bottle of bleach up to the screen and pointing at it as if it was the answer to all the world’s ills.

I was no angel. If I was an angel I would have saved my father. That’s what angels do.

I changed the subject. ‘Please let me know when you hear about the job. Please?’ I begged him, desperate to know how it went.

‘Of course I will. I also wanted to ask you though . . . When’s the funeral?’

Oh yes. The funeral. It had been a nightmare to organise, and to be honest I was absolutely dreading it because I knew that would be my final goodbye.

‘It’s on Monday, Pete,’ I said, unable to hold the tears back any more.

Sixteen

Totally in awe of her.

Nick

The church was big and we were small. A modest group of people were scattered across the wooden pews, united by loss, but divided by fear. There was an ample gap between each and every bottom, family members embarrassed because they had never been around enough, friends ashamed of their neglect. Crimson cheeks hiding behind their crumpled white tissues. And amongst those people was a small handful of human beings who had never let Sienna down. They could hold their heads high, safe in the knowledge that they had been there. Properly.

It’s always difficult when someone dies. Things are left unfinished, regrets gape wide open like a wound with no one there to stitch it all together and make everything all right again.

Sienna had lost a worrying amount of weight over the past two weeks, but she still looked beautiful. She was wearing a jet-black dress with small frill details around the sleeves and a square neckline which revealed her collarbone. It was tight around her waist, flaring out to a skirt that stopped just above the knee. She was wearing the dress with a dark pair of tights and some heels, and on top of her long, glossy hair was a small, grey, angled hat with a large feather curling away from it. She looked like something from a magazine, her blue eyes contrasting against her skin. Her cheeks were so rosy it was as if she was the epitome of life and all that was beautiful about it.

If her father could see her now, and I was sure he could, I knew he’d have looked at her and not wanted to have changed a thing about his life as long as she’d still been a part of it. He adored her. He loved her more than the air that filled his lungs. And so did I.

I’d been holding her warm hand tight all morning, her fingers interlaced with mine, trying in some small way to make the day easier for her.

It was hard to let her go as I watched her walk up to the front of the small crowd. The air filled with the smells of incense and mahogany. She turned to face us and smiled, running her hands down the front of her dress as she looked ahead nervously. My stomach was in knots and I felt nauseous. I swallowed. Hard.

She cleared her throat. ‘My dad,’ she started, before taking such a deep breath in through her nostrils that everyone automatically copied her without even realising it. She composed herself and continued. ‘My dad, George, liked to sleep,’ she said, starting to giggle quietly and looking down at her hands, which she gripped together in front of her waist. Her dimples were showing and it made me smile in spite of the sadness of it all. Her voice echoed across the room and as she laughed, the feather on her hat bobbed gently. Friends and family members started to laugh with her. Quietly. Timidly. Thankfully.

I smiled as I remembered all the times George had collapsed. Backwards. Forwards. On cushions, books and plates full of pasta, he wasn’t choosy. And it had been such a shit situation that you had to see the funny side. He certainly did.

‘Yes. As you all probably know, he was a pretty tired man, and our lives were far from being normal . . .’ She paused again, clearing the hurt that was caught in her throat.

I glanced back to see Elouise leaning forward from the bench behind me; she looked at me, tears filling her eyes. I took hold of her hand and smiled at her reassuringly before turning back to Sienna.

‘But despite all his tiredness, his exhaustion, he was full of life to me,’ she declared, a look of total joy spreading across her features.

Tissues were blotted against faces. Sobs were drawn close to the chest, muscles taut. No one wanted to make a sound, so we were all silently choking on the memories. I gritted my teeth to stop myself unravelling right there and then. All I wanted to do was run up to her and hold her hand while she spoke. Look after her. It was hard to sit back and watch her like this, but I had to.

‘I was so blessed to know my dad for the time I had with him, and I wouldn’t change a thing. He loved me whatever I did, good or bad. It was unconditional,’ she said, biting her lip vulnerably as she stood so strong. ‘Not so many people can say they have truly been loved unconditionally.’ She made eye contact with me for a moment before carrying on.

‘Things were really hard for us, but I would do it all again for him. Every single thing. Even though I’m hurting because he’s gone, I can’t help but feel like a very lucky young woman.’

As she said this, I noticed the glittering sunshine through the stained-glass window. It plunged her into a glorious spotlight. Just her. No one else.

She looked up at the ceiling as if he was there, talking to her. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she said.

Elouise ducked behind the back of a pew to hide her grief, her fingers slipping away from mine.

‘My dad had not been outside into the real world for years, not properly, yet he learned about more of it than any of us.’ She gestured towards his coffin, which was adorned with flowers. ‘This man, right here, wrote about outer space, running marathons, African tribes, crop circles, you name it . . . He learned by studying other people’s experiences and beliefs, then describing those experiences as he’d have liked to live them. And I can’t help but wonder how many of us struggle to look further than our office windows every day.’

She started to walk slowly towards his coffin. ‘My dad was a hero to me. Not because he ran marathons and not because he travelled the world, but because he was able to imagine it all. He never grew bitter, or jealous, or selfish. He wasn’t afraid to learn about a life he would never truly be able to explore.’ She put her hand on his coffin now, running it over the smooth, varnished wood.

‘He always listened to me. Even when he was sleeping. Somehow we got through it, Dad and I. I will miss him for the rest of my days, but I’ll forever be thankful that I knew him, and loved him. I will always love him . . . Always.’

A tear dropped from her face and landed on the wooden surface. She ran her fist across her cheek and wiped it gently as more followed.

‘So if you ask me if I’m sad, I’ll say yes, I’m sadder than I’ve ever been in my life. And if you ask me if I’m angry, I’ll say definitely, because I feel like he’s been stolen from me. But most importantly, I’m happy. Happy that I was lucky enough to call him my dad and my friend. So happy that it was worth all the struggle, and the fear and the pain, because without all of that, you can never truly say you experienced the best bits.’

I felt emotion rise in my throat. I was so overcome I didn’t know what to do with myself apart from start to fiddle with a tissue, quietly tearing strips from the middle and rolling them into balls between my fingers. My stomach muscles started to pull in sharply as I desperately tried to keep it together.

Sienna turned to face George’s coffin now, both her hands on top of it. ‘I love you, Dad . . .’ She had held it together for so long, but now the tears came. They flowed from her eyes and into a tissue, which she pressed against her soft skin. I ached inside because I needed to be with her, but I had to stay here and let her do this alone.

There was complete silence again, broken only by sobs and sniffles as she turned her back to us. She said goodbye with two hands on his coffin, her frame shaking hard as she silently wept. I could see the sides of her stomach trembling. She started to whisper to him now – final goodbyes that were not for our ears. They belonged to her and George.

The light brightened even more, creeping in through the clear panes of glass. I like to think that light was George, telling her in some way that he loved her, and would be with her forever in whatever ways he could.

Eventually she leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on top of her father’s coffin, before turning away from it and slowly walking towards me. I studied her face and saw not desperate sorrow, but some kind of joy because she had experienced such powerful love. I could read all this just by looking at her face, because I knew her so well now.

Sienna was magical. A hero to me. She could see the best in all situations, and somehow get through anything. Her strength scared me, but conjured such inspiration in my soul at the same time. It was as if she was walking in slow motion, her eyes locked into mine. I had never felt so proud of anyone – I was totally in awe of her. I wanted to run away with her somewhere where there were no people, no cars and no buildings, and just tell her how much I loved her, and how amazing she was to me.

Eventually she was sitting next to me, her warm body against mine. I held her hand tight, tucking all of her fingers between my own. The coffin slowly started to fall out of view, and as that happened she squeezed my hand so hard I feared her heart was breaking right then and there.

I put my mouth to her ear as she watched George disappear. ‘You’re incredible, Sienna Walker. Stay strong, for me. Your father was very proud of you, more than you’ll ever know,’ I whispered softly.