Page 40 of The Art of Loving You

From downstairs came the sound of the front door knocker. Mum and Alice were due soon but I knew they’d let themselves in with the spare key they had taken.

The knocking came again. I had no intention of answering it – I didn’t want to speak to anyone today until I absolutely had to. Besides, it was likely the postman with another batch of sympathy cards to add to the unopened pile on the telephone table. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them or throw them away. It was as though once I read them I’d be accepting that Jack was never coming back and I still wished for the impossible.

The tap-tap-tapping came once more, sharp and insistent.

I flung open the door with more force than necessary. ‘What do you want?’

In front of me was a man of around my age, bleached blond hair, red plaid shirt tucked into black jeans.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you but—’

‘We’ve put a hold on getting quotes right now so—’

‘I’m sorry but—’

‘My … Jack … he …’ I was going to have to say the words out loud some time but they were stuck to the roof of my mouth. ‘He’s not here.’ I slumped against the door frame, my fingers clutching at the wood. If I let go I feared I’d fall.

The man took a step forward, hands outstretched, flustered. ‘Can I … Are you okay?’

‘No. No I’m not.’ I didn’t know what made me answer so honestly, but I couldn’t allow the British ‘I’m fine’ to leave my mouth, it was so far from the truth.

I stared at him, this stranger who looked uncomfortable but didn’t leave. There was a kindness in his hazel eyes. ‘I don’t know how to deal with everything,’ I whispered.

‘Can I help?’ There was compassion in his face; he knew I was talking about more than the house.

‘There’s a funeral, today.’ I almost buckled under the weight of that one sentence, the magnitude of my loss sweeping over me.

His gaze dipped to his shoes before meeting mine once more. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said sincerely.

I nodded once, before gently, and wordlessly, closing the door on him and sinking down onto the bottom stair.

Please.I silently pleaded.Send Jack back to me and I’ll do anything. Give anything. Please.I linked my fingers together in a prayer.If I get through today please send him back.

When Mum and Alice arrived I was still sitting on the stairs.

Lips still moving in silent prayer.

Please.

Please.

Please.

‘Come on, Libby, it’s time to go.’ Mum gently touched my shoulder.

But I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

Chapter Fourteen

There was a straggle of mourners from the previous funeral heading back into the car park, tissues dabbing eyes. The downpour was now a drizzle. The hearse already here. I hadn’t wanted to follow Jack’s parents in the funeral car, like an afterthought. I kept my eyes fixed on the horizon as we trudged towards the church, me in the middle, Mum and Alice flanking me, arms linked through mine.

‘Look, Libby,’ Alice said softly.

At first I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. A throng of people wearing hoodies. Was the church being robbed? My stomach spasmed; the memory of that alley, Kenny’s photo taped to the lamp-post, the wilting flowers from his family.

RIP.

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