Page 41 of The Art of Loving You

But no. Taking a closer look, I could see it was the kids that took Jack’s classes. The ones he had been setting up the centre for. I watched as Liam ushered them all into place. In military formation they lined the entrance in two rows but instead of raising sabres to form an arch they each held a paintbrush aloft.

My lip trembled.

As I walked slowly, reluctantly, into the church my eyes met Liam’s and I saw my own anguish reflected. I nodded once, slowly,thank you, and he nodded back,you’re welcome. Jack had touched so many lives in so many ways. Did he know how loved he was? Not just by me but by the crowd that had wedged themselves inside the church. Each pew crammed, people squeezed together at the back.

By the time we were halfway to the front row I was drawing in breath in short, sharp bursts. Lungs full of the smell of roses and polish. I had dreamed of walking down the aisle towards Jack, the organist playing ‘Here Comes The Bride’ but instead I walked unsteadily towards his coffin, The Beatles singing ‘In My Life’.

I love you more.

I took my seat.

Elaine took her place and began to speak, a sombre expression on her face as she said, ‘We are here today to celebrate the life of Jack Gilbert which was tragically …’

Celebrate.

That word again. It was too cheerful for the occasion. Too cheerful for the darkened church. It was as though all of my grief had been poured into the angry black cloud outside which blocked out the sun that would normally stream through the stained glass windows.

I realised she had stopped speaking. Sid was making his way to the lectern, one hand gripping his walking stick which thwacked against the stone flooring.

He turned to face us. Took a moment to gather his breath, likely to gather his thoughts too.

‘People often believe that we are here to make an impact, leave a mark on the world, the bigger the better. I don’t believe this is always the case. Those bigger acts are often at someone else’s expense, another person’s, the planet’s. The smaller things – the caring for others in your community,a kindness towards a stranger – are the things that leave an indelible trace. Make a difference without causing damage. Those things that are done out of a genuine concern for others, not to feed an ego or for something to boast about. Jack …’ Sid began to cough, bowed his head, fumbled in his pocket. I held my breath wondering if he could go on but he stuffed a Polo into his mouth and swept his gaze around the mourners. ‘Jack,’ he said simply, ‘is someone we all knew in different ways. For Libby, a life partner. For his parents here today, a son. For the young ’uns at the back with their paintbrushes, a mentor. To me, a friend. To all of us, an inspiration.’ He wobbled on his feet, his weathered hands tightly clutching the wood in front of him.

‘The first time I met Jack was when I went to ask about his art classes. He was just locking up the studio to go home when I got there. “Is it too late for a dinosaur like me to learn?” I asked him. “It’s never too late to learn,” he said. “What sort of life would we be living if we stopped being curious, stopped trying new things? Come in and have a go.”’

Sid nodded. ‘He was leaving but he stayed to help an old man. We didn’t have creative classes and all that whatnot at school when I was a lad and me mum couldn’t afford canvases and brushes and the like, so that day I painted me first picture. “It’s good,” Jack said. “It ain’t,” I told him, “but I’m eighty today and this has been one of the best birthdays I’ve had in years. I ain’t ever going to be Picasso but that’s okay. I haven’t achieved much in my life—”

‘“Have you loved?” Jack interrupted. “Been loved?” The question took me by surprise. “Yes,” I told him. “Then what greater achievement could there be?”’

Sid put another mint in his mouth, took his time before he spoke again. ‘Jack … Jack was loved. You only have to look at the amount of people here to see that. Bet you ain’t had it so packed in years?’ Sid looked at Elaine. ‘But he also loved. He loved his art. His community – he had great plans. First and foremost, he loved Libby.’ Sid nodded as he looked directly at me. ‘He never stopped talking about you, girl. So although you wouldn’t find Jack in a church I think he very much lived by “do unto others as you would have them do unto you”, so let’s all be kinder to each other. Let’s all be more Jack.’

Sid climbed down and Mum took his elbow, bringing him back to sit with us. The church filled with the sound of The Mamas & the Papas singing ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’ and although I’d vowed to hold it together I couldn’t.

My heart shattered. I could almost feel fragments of it leave my body in a bid to reach Jack. Noisy tears escaped me. An arm slipped around my shaking shoulders; I didn’t know whose it was and it brought me no comfort. Sid pressed a handkerchief into my hand and I balled it against my mouth, trying to be quiet as Elaine stood and talked of love and forgiveness and hope. The rest of the service passed in a haze until the pallbearers lifted the coffin as though it contained nothing but air, and for a single, ridiculous moment my heart soared as I allowed the transient notion that perhaps Jack wasn’t in it to form. I scanned the church hoping I might find him standing there, watching me in that way of his, smiling that smile.

You didn’t really think I’d leave you, did you?

Alice gave me a gentle push. ‘Come on. It’s nearly over.’ But it wasn’t nearly over. The searing pain born from the overwhelming thought of living a life without Jack was only just beginning.

Later, at the wake, Sid offered me a pint glass of something dark and frothy. ‘Get it down you, girl,’ he said. It was warm and bitter. I drained my glass, ran the back of my hand across my upper lip. ‘Remember’ – he patted my shoulder – ‘you can do anything you set your mind to, Libby.’

I shook my head, catching sight of Liam and the other kids huddled by the buffet tables, cramming Scotch eggs into pockets, shovelling quiche into their mouths. I didn’t want to be responsible for them. I barely felt responsible for myself. It was claustrophobic. I couldn’t breathe. Telling Sid I’d be back in a minute I headed towards the beer garden, sinking heavily onto a bench, staring longingly at the overflowing ashtrays – for the first time I wished I smoked.

‘Fag?’ A packet was waved in front of my face. I hadn’t heard Liam join me. The table creaked as he sat on it, pulling his hood over his head.

‘No thanks.’

We sat in silence. I breathed in the smoke that curled from the butt in Liam’s fingers. After a few minutes he pushed the dog-end into an empty bottle of Budweiser. It sizzled as it went out.

Liam jumped down, his trainers sending up a puff of dust where he landed heavily on the ground. He waited until I looked at him, the desolation on his face. I couldn’t offer him any comfort, I was just as broken.

‘Libby?’ There was a beat. He pushed his hood down, and without shadows his face looked so young, freckles dotting his nose. ‘I’m gonna do what Sid said. I’m gonna be more Jack. Kinder.’ He stopped speaking. I didn’t know what to say but when he made no move to go back inside I offered a ‘great’.

‘Do you think … Will you still do it? The centre?’

‘Liam … I don’t know. It was Jack’s dream.’

‘Not just Jack’s dream,’ he said firmly. ‘All them times at yours when you cooked me dinner. You were both excited about it. You were.’ His mouth turned down at the corners, a toddler about to cry.

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