Until Harry(33)

I stepped back when the handle of the door wiggled until it pressed down fully, and my door opened. My grandmother stood in my doorway, wearing a stylish black trouser suit. She had crumpled up a tissue in her hands, and her eyes were red-raw and bloodshot from crying.

“Baby,” she sniffled, “ye can do this.”

My eyes welled with tears. “I’m not ready.”

She smiled at me, tears falling onto her lined cheeks. “We’ll never be ready, sweetie, but death waits for no one.”

I nodded and sniffled as tears fell from my eyes and splashed on my cheeks and dress. I looked down at my black dress, momentarily admiring the black lace sleeves. My mother had gone out and got me the dress, tights and shoes I wore because I had nothing in my suitcase that was appropriate attire for a funeral.

When I’d read Lochlan’s note, I’d just thrown in my suitcase the first items of clothing I thought of from my apartment back in New York. Something to wear for the funeral never entered my mind. At the time it didn’t feel real. I was trying to wrap my head around the fact; I was trying to come to terms with it. It still didn’t feel real, and I didn’t think it ever would.

I would always be expecting the usual phone call, Skype call and daily email from him, and I was sure my heart would break each time I realised they would never come.

“You’re the last person ta say goodbye to ’im, baby,” my nanny whispered, pulling me from my thoughts and back to my haunting reality. “The hearse will be here soon ta close the coffin and take ’im ta the church for the funeral mass. I want ye ta have some time with ’im first.”

I nodded once more, my heart thumping inside my chest as my stomach churned.

My nanny led me out of my room and down the stairs. I heard numerous voices as I descended the stairs. Then I saw a crowd of people inside the house and another crowd outside in the garden through the open front door. Everyone quietened down when I reached the bottom stair, but I avoided looking at anyone’s face. I didn’t want to speak to anybody. I just wanted to be with my uncle, and my nanny sensed that. She ushered me into the parlour; gave me a long, warm hug; glanced at the coffin one final time; and then turned and left the room.

When the door to the parlour closed behind me, and I was left alone with my uncle, the silence in the room was deafening. On trembling legs, I walked up to the side of my uncle’s coffin, and I lifted my gaze. Through blurred eyes, I scanned over every inch of his handsome face, making sure I would never forget it. I placed my shaky hands on top of my uncle’s cold ones.

“This really is the worst day of my life,” I said to him, remembering what I’d said to him last night. “I thought the day I left here was soul-crushing, but putting you to rest is killing me.”

I didn’t know why, but like before I was expecting my uncle to reply to me and assure me that everything would be okay, but when silence answered me, it made his death feel more real. How stupid was that? I was standing right next to his deceased body, and only when he didn’t answer me back did it make him being dead feel real.

“I’m not . . . I’m not ready to let you go,” I whispered.

I broke down into audible sobs when I heard a car pull up outside our house. I glanced at the window, and through the netted curtain I saw the hearse. It would take my uncle from my parents’ house and bring him to the church for the funeral mass, then on to his final resting place in the cemetery.

I began to panic. I was out of time.

“I love you with all of my heart. You have b-been the best uncle and fr-friend any girl could have ever asked for. I want you to kn-know that I’ve always adored you, and I’m so sorry f-for leaving you. I’m sorry, Uncle Harry. Please forgive me.”

I leaned over the coffin and placed my head on his hard, cold chest as sobs racked through my body. I hated that my cries rose to a point where it caused my mother, grandmother and family friends to break down outside of the parlour. I didn’t mean to upset them any more than they already were, but I couldn’t control the emotion that surged through me. I didn’t know how long I cried on my uncle’s chest, but when I felt hands on my hips, I lost it altogether.

“No!” I cried, and I stood upright over my uncle. “I n-need a few more m-minutes.”

I felt a forehead press against the back of my head, and the hands on my arms gripped me tightly.

“Come on, Laney Baby.”

Kale.

“I can’t, Kale,” I whimpered. “I can’t leave him. I c-can’t do it.”

I couldn’t even let my mind settle on the fact that Kale was touching me; I was too distraught over saying my final goodbye to my dear uncle. I looked to the parlour door when it opened, and men dressed in black suits entered.

The footmen.

“Kale, please,” I wailed, and turned in his arms. “Don’t let them t-take him, please.”

I looked up at Kale, and through blurred eyes I saw his bloodshot whisky-coloured eyes staring down at me. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Please,” I wailed. “I can’t be w-without him. Pl-please.”

Kale squeezed his eyes shut, the anguish he felt written all over his face.

“Who will be present for the final closing?” a male voice murmured.

“I will,” my father’s voice replied.