Penny chattered on, hanging on to the past for dear life because she had no clue how to cope with the present or the future.

“He lived in a fantasy world at times—‘always looking for excitement,’ I used to say. More exciting things than we could give him. No surprise to me that he became a policeman.” She managed a laugh. “He could be a little fibber, though. For the first two weeks he was with you, he told us he’d got shift work in a local pub.” Penny could see that Maggie had taken this the wrong way. “Oh—he was never ashamed of you! He wanted to keep you all to himself, Maggie. That’s what it was . . . Look at him now. My beautiful boy walking beside my beautiful man one last time.”

Music began to play from inside the chapel and Penny’s grip on Maggie’s arm tightened. The five burly men and Ridley stepped up to the back doors of the hearse and formed two lines of three, opposite each other. The funeral director pulled the coffin far enough out for everyone to take up position on either side. Maneuvering the weighty box up onto everyone’s shoulders was a jittery affair, but they all soon settled. The funeral director then led the way inside. Jack walked directly behind his dad. It took twenty minutes for everyone to file into the crematorium and find their seats. The walls were lined with standing friends, two deep. It was a wonderful sight.

The only person in the room who had no clue who Charlie Warr was was the Humanist celebrant. He started to read the prepared words dictated by Penny and redrafted by Maggie into something that at least sounded spontaneous.

Maggie glanced at Jack. He had his good arm tightly around Penny’s shoulder and he was listening, but there was a distance in his eyes. Maggie gripped his hand and brought him back to them.

“Be with Charlie,” she whispered in his ear. “You can never do today again, so be here.”

As she spoke, she stroked the back of Jack’s hand to lessen the impact of her words.

And he knew, that although she loved him with all her heart, she wasn’t going to stand for any of his nonsense. Not today.

August 12, 2019

Jack laid a fresh bunch of flowers on Dolly’s grave. The card, written in Jack’s handwriting, read, LOVE FROM ANGELA X. He then poured two glasses of whisky from his hip flask and placed one glass on top of the small stone wedge of the grave next to Dolly. Jack downed his whisky.

“Here’s to your first grandkid, Dad.”

Back at the car, Maggie leaned against the bonnet, waiting. As Jack got close with the second glass of whisky in his hand, she grabbed his wrist and inhaled the deep peaty vapors. She closed her eyes and imagined the taste.

“Four months and counting,” she sighed.

Jack moved his hand across her stomach and leaned in to kiss her cold mouth.