The cold, hard feeling in his stomach worsened when Sergeant Deveney arrived in full uniform. For a heart-squeezing second Billy thought maybe Deveney was going to put a stop to the march. It crossed his mind that perhaps he needed a permit. Deveney merely nodded in greeting, though, and slinked over to Molloy. He and Molloy fell to mutters, both men looking from Billy’s shaved head and down to the song sheet. Billy pressed on, handing out more copies of the drill song and trying to ignore more skeptical and embarrassed looks from some.
Three more cars parked in the ditch. Billy’s chest contracted. Sarah, Michael’s ex, emerged from the middle car, wearing that same black coat covered in dog hairs. Again, he held back on his usual firm handshake, afraid to damage her, and because yet again she’d weakened him. Michael’s long, full life replayed in Billy’s head, with Sarah, or someone like her. More of Michael’s friends rose up from the three cars and joined Sarah. One of the drivers clapped Billy’s shoulder. Billy missed the man’s name, but caught that he was Michael’s guitar teacher, the one who had told the boy he was talented enough to pursue a professional music career. He thinks I could really be someone. Tears coated Billy’s eyes.
A car with Westmeath registration plates parked on the grass verge in front of the church. Two middle-aged couples got out, stone-faced. Billy hurried toward them, his hand held out. Both couples had lost children to suicide.
“Tell me about them,” Billy said.
One of the men, his left eye turned in, seemed to talk to the empty space next to Billy. “Our daughter, Rachel, was only fifteen.” His wife, short but with a strong stance, added, “We still can’t put into words how much we miss her.”
The second mother nodded. “The same. Finn was nineteen, our second of three. It’s been five years and I still can’t tell people we’ve only two children.” Her husband wrapped his thin arm around her shoulders.
“Rachel and Finn,” Billy said. “I’ll keep them in my thoughts tonight.”
Moments later, Kitty Moore appeared on her bicycle. Billy rushed toward her, overcome. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“If you can, then I sure as hell can.” Her cheeks colored. “I don’t mean physically, I mean … well, you know what I mean, I hope.”
“I do,” he said, filling with thanks and admiration.
With only five minutes to spare, Vera and a couple of other women from the factory arrived. Next, Bald Art pulled up in his maroon ?koda, along with four other lads from the factory. Billy shook their hands hard, repeating, “Fair play to you, thanks.” He stared out the road. Where were the others? He’d thought Tony might show, and Lucy for sure. Caroline and Thumbs Tom, too. Where, especially, were all the rest of the families and friends left behind after suicide the whole country over?
Denis appeared next to him. “It’s after seven. Did you want to wait another bit or should we get going?”
“Let’s give it a few more minutes,” Billy said. At a quick head count, they were a mere group of forty-plus. Over the next several minutes, two more cars appeared—one carrying a couple from Navan. Their son, Frank, had taken his own life at twenty-six, leaving behind two small children. The other car carried an elderly widow up from Dublin. Her husband, Diarmuid, had killed himself last year, at age sixty-seven. Billy thanked them over and over.
At seven-thirty, Billy accepted he could wait no longer. He powered on the battery-operated tea lights and, with leaden movements, passed the candles around. Still daylight, the almost invisible flames didn’t deliver nearly the effect he’d imagined.
Just as the group was headed out, Lisa’s BMW sped into view. She parked and hurried toward Billy. “Sorry, I had to stop on the way down and put oil in the car.” She smiled. “If Mam and Dad disown me, it’s on your conscience.” Her smile widened. “Look at you, you’ve lost even more weight!”
“Yeah, thanks, and thanks for being here, I needed that,” he said.
Her eyes turned damp, and then she took in his shaved head. “Whoa, I’m not sure about that new look, though.”
“Not now, sister.”
She grinned. “Whatever you say, William.”
Billy and Ronin moved to the front of the group and raised the banner high. Suicide Is Not the Answer! More tears pressed Billy’s eyes. It should be Tricia by his side. He blinked hard and nodded at Ronin. They walked in unison, leading the small group from the gates of the graveyard and out onto the road. Billy couldn’t stop trembling. This was the moment, the event, he would remember for the rest of his days.
He marched toward the village proper, struggling to keep himself together. The banner obstructed part of Ronin’s profile, and whenever Billy looked over, all he could see was Michael. He came over all loose, jangly bones and worried he’d drop the banner. It both helped and hurt to think of Michael marching by his side. He tightened his grip on the banner pole and tried to steel himself. He needed to make the most of tonight. This was his big stand against a merciless killer and the indifference of too many. With his free hand, he lifted the bullhorn to his mouth, about to begin his drill song. Only the banner dipped horribly to one side and looked broken. He adjusted his grip till the banner leveled and, satisfied, he raised the bullhorn again.
No more, no more, taking your life.