“You. This is your fault. If he wasn’t so bloody obsessed with you, he’d never have been there. He’d never have fallen. He wouldn’t be dead.” She spat out the words with such venom I started to shake. Mum gripped my hand.
“Don’t. Not here. Think of Jake.” I wasn’t sure whether Mum was talking to me or Jake’s mum, but we both stayed silent and the moment passed. But I couldn’t stop the thought turning, twisting, spiralling inside my head. Was it my fault? The void I’d been skirting around became the room I was in, the air I breathed, the body I was struggling to keep control of.
As the rest of the congregation cried through You Raise Me Up, I willed the shaking to stop, but even with Mum and Cass anchoring me in the storm, I was still unable to calm myself. Would he be alive if I hadn’t kissed him back on New Year’s Eve? Or if I hadn’t backed down and got in touch with him, desperate to be completed by him once more?
Deep down, the rational part of me knew the questions were pointless. We can’t live our lives based on what-ifs. However, in the emotional crucible of the crematorium, with Jake’s coffin in front of me and the hate-filled words of his mum still ringing in my ears, the rational part of me lost.
My chest heaving with panicky breaths, I tugged on Mum’s hand and pleaded with my eyes for her to save me from myself. She pulled me under her arm and took my hand, pulling my forefinger into a pointing position. In the same way she taught me to write my name when I was little, she guided my finger through writing an invisible message on my jeans-clad thigh: You made Jake happier than I’ve ever known him to be. Don’t regret making him happy. Smile and wish him well. We all love you.
I stopped fighting the tears and let them flow. Huddled into Mum, I survived the rest of the service, even when the curtains closed around Jake’s coffin, taking him from me yet one more time.
As we made our way outside, Dad steered us away from Jake’s family, keeping me safe from another outburst, and we started to make our way back to the car.
“Neve, stop!” I turned, expecting to see Jake’s mum making her way toward me for round two, but instead found myself toe to toe with Grace. I braced myself for another tirade of abuse so was shocked when she leant in and hugged me.
“I can’t believe Mum said that. I’m so sorry. Jake loved you so much. I’m glad he got to know what love was and you gave him that. Please, don’t think badly of her; she’s upset. We all are.”
“Thank you, Grace… I don’t know what else to say.” There were no words which could make either of us feel better.
“I just didn’t want you to go thinking we hated you or something. We don’t. Well, I don’t,” she added with a wry tone. “Are you coming to the wake?” I looked at Mum and Flynn before replying.
“No, I don’t think that would be right. I don’t want to upset your mum any further. But some of us are meeting at the park tonight to have our own mini-wake. Do you and Josh want to come?”
“Yeah, that’s a great idea. We’re going there for about eight,” Flynn told her.
“I’ll see what Josh says. And what state Mum’s in. Take care.” With a final hug, Grace made her way back to her family, with more dignity than I could have managed in her position.
“Thanks for agreeing to that, Flynn. I feel so sorry for them.”
“I know. Poor kids. They’ll need a break from the house and that lot tonight. Come on.” We got into the car and pulled away. I didn’t look back; there was nothing I wanted to remember about it.
Although it was chilly, the evening air was dry as we threw down the picnic blankets Mum had packed for us. Several of Flynn’s and Jake’s mates had arrived at our house, carrying six-packs of beer, only for Mum to decide to make the whole affair a bit more classy. She had put some plastic tumblers, the picnic blankets and a few tea-lights into a bag, along with some snacks. Flynn had said nothing but given her a huge kiss, which got his mates whooping and cheering. That tone had been maintained as we walked to the park, laughing and joking, mainly at each other’s expense.
Bryn, one of the lads I could name, plugged his phone into a portable speaker and Arctic Monkeys provided a soundtrack to the conversations taking place. Cass and I lay together on one of the rugs, chatting about the day and imagining how the wake, which had been held at a local bikers’ pub, would have gone. As it got darker, Flynn lit the tea-lights and placed them around us, bathing us all in a softly-glowing circle before standing in its centre.