Time to Say Goodbye: a heart-rending novel about a father’s love for his daughter. S.D. Robertson
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darling,’ I whispered to my daughter. She was staring stoically at the front of the church, where my sister was climbing the steps of the pulpit, a crumpled piece of paper in one hand.
‘I wanted to say a few words about my little brother,’ she said, her voice faltering. ‘I loved him very much. I hope he knew that. I still can’t take in the idea that he’s gone. It seems so cruel. So unfair.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Will was the best brother anyone could ever ask for. He was a wonderful son to our parents and an incredible father to his beautiful daughter. He did such an amazing job of bringing Ella up as a single father, even while he was consumed by grief over the loss of his beloved wife, Alice. He gave up a high-flying job in London to focus on raising Ella and he never looked back. He loved every second he spent with her. She was his life; she brought him so much joy. It’s that little girl who needs us all right now. As Will’s family and friends, we owe it to him – each and every one of us – to give her as much of our love and care as we can.’
All eyes were on Ella, who was staring at the ground, ashen-faced. One of her hands was tightly wrapped around Mum’s left thumb; the other was clenched into a tiny white fist. Listening to the eulogy made me feel uncomfortable. I desperately wanted to leave, but seeing my little girl struggling to cope, I knew that wasn’t possible. ‘Come on, Ella,’ I whispered into her ear. ‘You’re doing great.’
I looked over at Arthur but couldn’t catch his eye, as he was staring intently at the pulpit from which my sister was still speaking.
‘As awful as it is that my brother is dead, I think it’s important that we all take a moment today to reflect on the happy memories we have of him. That’s what he’d want us to remember; not the terrible way that he was taken from us. We need to celebrate his life as well as mourn his death. I’d like to share one of my own memories with you and then we’ll have a minute’s silence for you each to think back to some of your own.’
Lauren cleared her throat and took another deep breath before continuing. ‘A lot of my favourite memories of Will are from our childhood. When I was considering which one to mention here, there were so many it was hard to choose. But one story kept coming to mind. My first thought was that it was too silly to repeat at a funeral, but – well – I decided Will would have liked it. It always made him giggle.
‘We were away on holiday with Mum and Dad one summer. I think I was twelve, which would have made Will ten. We were staying in a caravan in France and we’d both just been to the campsite shop to spend our pocket money. I’d bought some French magazine I’d never be able to read and he’d got some sweets. Back at the caravan, where Mum and Dad had unwisely left us alone for half an hour, I was trying to persuade him to give me a couple of his orange Tic Tacs. He said I could have one if I closed my eyes and opened my mouth. Foolishly I did, upon which he promptly stuck one up each of my nostrils.’
She smiled as there was a rumble of laughter from the pews. ‘Charming, I know. That was the kind of prank my mischievous brother used to love playing on me. I, of course, went mad, panicking when I couldn’t dislodge the sweets and threatening all sorts in retaliation. The two of us spent ages extracting them from my nose with a hand mirror and pair of tweezers. You’d be surprised what a good fit those Tic Tacs were. One was particularly wedged in, but eventually we got it out. I agreed not to tell Mum and Dad; the cost of my silence was the rest of his sweets and a quarter of his holiday pocket money. For years afterwards, if Will and I ever fell out about something, he’d always buy me a pack of orange Tic Tacs to make things up between us. It never failed to work.’
She reached inside a pocket and pulled out a pack of the tiny sweets, shaking it into the microphone. ‘Now it’s my turn. Will, I’m sorry. Sorry I’ve not been around much for the last few years. Sorry I’ve not been a better sister. I love you so much, now and forever.’
‘I love you too, sis,’ I said in a shaky voice.
Lauren wiped away a tear. ‘Now let’s have that minute’s silence for you all to dwell on your own fond memories of Will.’
My sister remained in the pulpit while the sixty seconds ticked away and everyone sat still in quiet reflection. Then she said a simple ‘thank you’ before returning to sit next to Xander as the vicar took back the reins. For the rest of the service I kept my attention focused on Ella, whispering regular words of encouragement into her ear, hoping they might subconsciously help her get through the day.
Afterwards, it was on to the crematorium, a ten-minute drive away, although Arthur whisked us both there in an instant.
‘That’s some trick,’ I said as we appeared on the front lawn. ‘I could have done with that earlier when I missed my lift and had to get the bus. How does it work?’
He chuckled. ‘That would be telling. It does come in handy, though. How are you holding up?’
‘I’m okay. I felt awkward in the church, like I was eavesdropping, but I was glad to be there for Ella, even though she didn’t know it.’
‘Good. One final hurdle.’ He nodded towards the chimney. I’d chosen to be cremated, like Alice had been, as it had felt like a better option than leaving my corpse to rot underground. Now I wasn’t so sure. As I imagined my body – the last physical link to my old life – ablaze in a furnace, I felt distressed. It was tough to accept that I’d never need it again.
‘It’s just skin and bone,’ Arthur said, as if he could read my mind. ‘An empty shell. There’s no part of you in there any more.’
‘I know. It feels weird, that’s all.’
‘I didn’t say it would be easy. Just to warn you, the crematorium service is often the hardest bit for your loved ones. It’s when people usually say their goodbyes.’
I decided to change the subject while we waited for everyone to arrive. ‘Earlier, when we met outside the church, you asked if I was looking for other spirits.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, I wasn’t. Not until you said it. But it’s got me thinking. There weren’t any apart from us. Not that I could see. How come? Isn’t a graveyard the sort of place you would expect spirits to hang out?’
‘Hmm, maybe in films. In reality, it’s the last place most spirits want to be after their funeral. Who needs a constant reminder of their death?’
‘Why were you there, then?’
Arthur smiled. ‘I like to keep an eye on the place; the school too. I was responsible for them both when I was alive. I suppose I’ve never let go.’
‘How did you know it was my funeral today?’
‘A little bird told me.’
‘Who?’
‘Someone who cares about you and was concerned you might not cope alone.’
‘Lizzie? Did she ask you to come?’
‘You shouldn’t be so hard on her. She only wants to help.’
‘To help me move on. I’ve told her I want to stay here, but she’s not interested. She won’t answer any of my questions.’
‘No? I’m sure she’s doing all she can.’
Before I had a chance to reply, the hearse containing my coffin pulled into the car park followed by Dad’s BMW. Arthur grabbed my hand and I found myself on the front pew of the crematorium chapel, staring straight at the curtain through which my coffin would soon make its final journey.
I don’t want to talk much about what happened in the crematorium, other than to say it was horrible. Arthur had been right to warn me about how my family might react. I’d not realized how much everyone had been bottling up their feelings so far – particularly Mum and Dad – until they came flooding