Starting with the funeral.
By the time Cass returned, I had pulled my hair into a side braid, hoping to beat the damp air. I kept my makeup simple and made sure my mascara was waterproof, just in case. Zipping my knee high boots, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and gasped. I stood and appraised myself. Although I looked like me, I also didn’t. My skin was paler than usual, making my heart-mark more prominent. There were faint hollows under my cheekbones and my usually skin-tight jeans felt comfortably loose. No wonder Mum had been so worried.
I looked myself in the eye and promised I would pull myself together. This was not what Jake would have wanted. This was not what I wanted.
“Come on, let’s make him proud,” I said to Cass as we left my room, braced for the challenge of the next few hours.
The rain had passed by the time Cass, Flynn and I stood outside the crematorium doors, Mum and Dad behind us. The crowd of people awaiting the arrival of the hearse was a diverse group which represented the person Jake was. There were several clusters of young people, some of whom Flynn knew and had chatted briefly with, along with a couple of girls I knew Jake had gone out with in the past. There were a few teachers from school, two of whom had spoken words to me I’d barely been able to register. I also recognised Bill Edwards, Jake’s boss, who smiled weakly across at me. I wondered how many were expecting me to break down, making me even more resolved to stay strong.
That resolve wavered when the hearse pulled up the drive, the oak coffin a stark reminder of why we were there. What really pissed me off, though, was the JAKE made of yellow chrysanthemums which filled the side window. Cut flowers? Really? How much did Jake’s family not know him?
“Don’t say anything. They’re just doing what people do. The same as everyone else in this situation.” Flynn’s whispered words calmed my anger at how completely inappropriate the flowers were. Almost as inappropriate as the white jeans Jake’s mum had poured herself into for the occasion. But nowhere near as inappropriate as the fact that her boyfriend, who hated Jake, was there, arm draped over her shoulder. I felt a wave of sympathy for Grace and Josh, desperately trying to look grown-up, but their despairing faces making them look like children who couldn’t fathom that the world could be this cruel. My heart almost broke when Josh took a tissue from his pocket and wiped the tears from Grace’s face, all too aware that he would now feel the burden of being the man of the family. The tell-tale burning at the back of my eyes made me look away and grasp Cass’s hand.
We all stood still as the undertakers carefully pulled the coffin from the hearse and placed it on a chrome trolley. Jake’s family lined up behind it, Josh and Grace now holding hands. As the procession made its way into the crematorium, Dad led us to the second pew, placing me directly behind Grace. Sandwiched between Cass and Mum, I was protected. Or so I thought.
The room itself was beautifully sparse. Three of the walls were whitewashed, but the wall in front of us was made of glass and overlooked hills and fields. That was appropriate. I focussed on the view instead of looking at the coffin, now placed on a stand in front of the congregation. I wasn’t even really aware of the words being spoken by the minister, words which had been cobbled together from bits of information given to him by people who had actually known Jake. I was aware of a pause, followed by the hiss of a music system ready to play.
Angels by Robbie Williams? The anger I had felt at the flowers surfaced again. I didn’t have an issue with the song as such, just not for Jake’s funeral. How did it represent him? He hated that type of poppy crap. Flynn leaned across Cass and squeezed my knee, sensing my discomfort, yet again stopping his sister losing it at his best friend’s funeral.
Any relief I felt when the song ended was short-lived as the minister then invited Jake’s mum up to the lectern. She was already crying and shaking but, stood next to her son’s coffin, any strength she may have had deserted her and she collapsed into a sobbing mess.
“He was my baby. My baby! He’d got his whole life in front of him.” Her hand reached out to touch the wooden box which separated them. Josh moved out of the pew, followed by Grace, and they tried to get her to stand. But she was desperately clinging to Jake. The minister helped them to raise her up and escort her back to the pew. Before she sat down, she looked directly at me.