Page 35 of The Art of Loving You

He nodded, relief on his face that I got it. That I got him.

‘It would be kind of hot if you could play though,’ I had said, grinning.

It was two weeks later and we were back at Jack’s flat. This time the electricity hadn’t cut out but the lights were low, candles lit. Wax dripping onto the windowsill. Flames casting dancing shadows against the walls. Jack handed me a glass of Malbec and said, ‘I’ve a surprise for you.’ I curled my feet under myself on the sofa, watching as he lifted his guitar from the wall. He began to play ‘Lay, Lady, Lay’, slowly at first, his voice thin, but growing stronger as his fingers strummed the strings. The song ended and his eyes found mine. There was a shyness about him.

‘You told me you couldn’t play!’ Had he been purposefully modest?

‘Some things are worth making the effort for.You’reworth making the effort for.’ He removed the strap from his neck and leaned the guitar against the wall. He crouched down before me.

‘I was right.’ I trailed my fingers down his neck.

‘About what?’

‘You playing the guitar. It was hot. Very hot.’ I pressed my lips against his, our kisses gentle and then frenzied. He carried me to his bed. His hands mapped out my body as I trembled under his touch, until he was moving inside me and nothing existed but him. I was lost and found and his completely. That was the first time we had made love.

‘Libby?’ Elaine asked me now. I realised I still had my eyes closed. Was still lost in the memory. Alice’s fingers entwined with mine, her gentle squeeze reassuring.

‘Sorry, I—’

‘Know a million things about Jack and don’t know how to share them with me,’ she said.

‘It all sounds nondescript. The guitar—’

‘The Gibson?’ Bryan said gruffly. ‘He bought that with the inheritance money from my father.’

‘He still has it,’ I said.

‘I guess it’s mine now,’ Bryan said. ‘Ours.’ His eyes met Rhonda’s and just like that I was reminded of my place again, my insignificance.

My hold on Alice tightened. I could feel the tension in her grip too.

‘Perhaps we could have two hymns,’ Elaine said. ‘And Libby could choose one of Jack’s favourite songs to play.’

‘Does it have to be religious?’ I asked.

‘As long as it’s not worshiping Satan it should be fine. What do you think?’ She swept a glance around the room.

‘I suppose that would be okay,’ Rhonda conceded.

‘Would any of you like to say something at the service?’

‘I couldn’t. Every time I think of my boy …’ Rhonda dissolved into tears.

‘I couldn’t either. Libby, you can if you want to?’ Bryan said.

Could I stand up in front of a church of mourners and share my memories? Even now, here, sadness had closed my throat.

‘Or is there anyone who might? Someone who knew Jack well?’ Elaine asked.

Bryan and Rhonda didn’t answer. They knew little of Jack’s adult life, his friends.

‘I … I’ll think about it.’

‘Okay. Now, let me run through what will happen on the day. The hearse will park outside the church and the pallbearers – have you chosen them?’

‘Some of Jack’s artists friends would like to be involved. They’d—’

‘We’re using the ones we met at the funeral director’s. We don’t want a bunch of strangers carrying our son.’

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