Absolution(17)

He sighed, closing the fridge door and pouring himself a drink of water. As he leant back against the kitchen counter, his attention was once again drawn to the note that Father David had left for him on the dining room table. It included details of the funeral arrangements that had been made, and he was grateful – it wasn’t something he thought he was capable of organising himself. What concerned him was the eulogy that the priest had assumed he would deliver.

Delivering a eulogy was an honour, and one he felt he didn’t deserve. Moreover, the thought of standing up in front of his father’s friends, colleagues and neighbours – not to mention Ally and Callum – made his blood run cold.

He took a sip of water, his gaze wandering around the kitchen.

He could see his father sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. He saw him standing inside the back door, taking his boots off and hanging up his coat. He could hear the match strike and smell the cigar smoke as his father relaxed in his armchair after work in the evening. He saw his mother standing at the kitchen counter, her hands white with flour, wearing an apron with tiny blue and green flowers on it.

His father had told him once that he had only kept a few of his mother’s things. He wondered absently if that apron was one of those things. He missed her. He knew his Dad had missed her, too. He seemed to be just a shadow of himself in the years after she died. Jack shivered involuntarily.

At the age of thirty-one, he was an orphan. Worse than that, he was alone. He had felt lonely and adrift over the past few years, but never alone, not with his father on the other end of the phone.

Memories tumbled over one another as he padded through to the living room and sank into the couch. He looked over at his father’s armchair, and he could see him sitting there, TV remote in one hand, cigar in the other. He glanced at the table beside the chair and noticed for the first time the book his father had been reading, a worn leather bookmark poking out from between the pages, reading glasses perched casually on top. It was as if he wasn’t really gone – merely not here at this moment. He could come back at any time and pick up where he had left off.

Jack leaned forward and bent his arms over his knees. The heartache poured out of him, an unforgiving combination of grief and remorse. Callum’s words swam around inside his head until he felt physically ill. Rocking backwards and forwards, he sobbed until his throat was raw and his body numb.

Finally, he sat up, sniffing and running his hands down his face. As his vision cleared, he found himself staring at the framed photographs perched on top of the mantle, just as they had always been. Sniffing again, he dragged himself up out of the couch and made his way over for a closer look. Standing in front of the mantle, his gaze roamed over the photos, one by one.

He shook his head in amazement. Was it loyalty or pure stubbornness that made his father keep these here? Their world had been turned upside down, yet his father had obviously refused to concede defeat.

Faces smiled out at him, oblivious.

His parents on their wedding day; his mother holding him as a toddler; he and Callum, their arms around each other, grinning; a group photo of himself, Ally, Callum, Maggie and Jane; his graduation, and he and Ally.

He picked up the frame and ran his fingers over her face. They were both smiling, carefree, glowing with happiness. It was a snapshot from another life.

He recalled his conversation with Maggie earlier, the empty hallway behind her and the wooden ramp leading up to Ally’s front door.

Things were perfect one minute, and then suddenly they weren’t. In a split second, their world had come crashing down.



Ally yawned blearily at her third cup of coffee. The pain in her back had gone, thankfully, and the medication had left her more or less clear-headed, which was both a blessing and a curse.

The doorbell woke her out of her reverie. At this time of the morning, it could only be Callum. She sighed, withdrawing from the table and making her way slowly to the front door.

Reaching up to open the door, Callum’s tired face greeted her and she made an attempt at a smile.

“Morning,” he said, leaning down to give her a quick hug. He stood up and headed for the kitchen. “Wasn’t sure you’d be up. I can smell coffee.”

She closed the door and turned to follow him. “Come in. Help yourself.”

He poured himself a cup in silence and she resumed her place at the table.

“Refill?” he offered, holding the jug aloft.

She nodded, pushing her cup towards him and watching as the steaming liquid filled it.