Page 24 of Coming Home to Hope Street

Livvy noticed her smile seemed a little too bright and breezy. She nodded and then watched as Hannah flicked the alarm off the truck that was in front of number thirty-five.

‘We’re going in this?’ Livvy queried.

‘Yes, what’s wrong with it?’

‘Nothing. I had you down as more of a Nissan Micra woman.’

‘Thanks for the vote of Miss Boring.’ She grinned. ‘Come on, get in.’

Despite her concerns, and the limited space on the road, Hannah handled the Hi-Lux with ease, and they were soon on their way to the cemetery. It was a twenty-minute walk, Hannah informed her, but it would take minutes in the car. Quite frankly, Livvy didn’t mind how long the journey was as she wasn’t looking forward to it at all.

Hannah drove along the busy high street and onto the outskirts of Somerley. As they passed through the large, wrought-iron gates of the cemetery, a sense of serenity dropped on Livvy and she gazed around. Hannah continued along a wide tarmac road, round to the side of the cemetery they needed.

As far as the eye could see there were rows of headstones laid out in straight lines. Some stones were old, covered in moss and the writing barely visible. Some were new, relatives recently passed, all shiny with lots of floral arrangements at their base. Livvy lost count of the rows as Hannah slowed the engine down to a crawl.

At the second mini roundabout, they turned right and a few moments later, Hannah parked up. She turned to Livvy and pointed ahead.

‘That’s Mum’s row, the third one. She’s in the seventh plot along. It’s a lovely spot if you remember. She’s buried with Dad.’

Livvy was immediately transported back to the day of his funeral. It had been raining, windy too. She and Hannah had been in the front car, their mum still in hospital, unable to be with them. It had been heartbreaking to see so many of his friends coming to pay their respects. The small church had been full to the rafters. It had been a good send off, even it had happened too early in his life.

She paused, taking it all in. ‘I don’t think I can do this. It’s too much at the moment.’

‘Stay here if you’re not ready.’ Hannah removed the keys from the ignition. ‘We can always come another day, or you can visit on your own, or with Pip. There’s plenty of time.’

Livvy watched as Hannah walked across the grass. She saw her touch her fingers to her lips and then press them on top of the headstone. Then she stooped down to take care of the flowers.

Livvy looked away, unable to bear the overwhelming feeling of sorrow that was taking over her. She hadn’t missed her mum much during the time she’d been away until she’d had Pip. Then as a mother, with undying love for her own, Livvy understood what it must have been like to have a child taken from you. She gulped away a sob.

All of a sudden, she was out of the car and racing towards Hannah.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she cried. ‘I never realised how horrible it must have been for you both when I left you.’

‘It’s gone now,’ Hannah replied. ‘I’ve moved on as best as I could and now you need to do the same.’

Livvy looked at the stone, the words Hannah had chosen for their mum’s send off. Surprised to see herself named as a loving daughter, she gasped for breath. She felt Hannah’s hand slip into her own.

‘I messed up, didn’t I?’ Livvy said quietly.

‘You were young.’

‘I was stupid.’

Hannah didn’t reply.

They stood in silence, the faint sounds from the road nearby the only noise. Ahead of them, a man tended to a grave. To their right, a couple with a toddler and a child in a pushchair walked along the path. The woman was carrying a large bunch of flowers. The little boy ran ahead and waited for them at a plot as he shouted hello to his nanna at the top of his voice.

‘Was she in pain when she died?’ Livvy asked, still enjoying the feel of their hands entwined.

‘I don’t think so. She’d had a second stroke and in the end she went peacefully. She was a tough old bird.’

Hannah handed Livvy a tissue and she accepted it gratefully. She hadn’t brought any with her, expecting to feel nothing but guilt. She certainly hadn’t been prepared for the tsunami of grief.

‘Since I got here, I’ve never cried so much,’ she admitted.

‘Thelma said it must have taken courage for you to come back,’ Hannah remarked. ‘You remember Thelma from next door?’

‘I do.’ Livvy turned to her and smiled. ‘I’ve waved at her through the kitchen window, but I haven’t spoken to her yet. She must be eleventy billion years old by now.’

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