The strains of the organ started and a shoal of Costellos shot up the aisle to their seats at the front. I tried to get a better look at the woman who’d been holding Luke’s hand, but her head was bowed, so there was just an impression of shoulder-length blonde hair and a delicately boned face.
Here came Mr Costello, his wheelchair being pushed by Luke’s sister, Vanessa. As he came level with our pew, our gaze met. His dark, button eyes flared with surprise and – maybe? – warmth.
Now came the coffin. Luke was on ‘my’ side and as he passed by, his face rigid, my heart pounded so loudly that I thought he’d hear. He delivered the coffin to the stand near the altar then stepped into a pew near the front, ‘excuse-me’-ing his way along, till he was next to his girl. From behind, I watched as she took his hand in hers and they sat down together, their bodies close.
With throat-clearing and shuffling, the mass began and reality began to settle. Luke was over there, on the other side of the aisle. With another woman.
In the months, even years, before today, I’d been fine. The way we’d ended would probably always hurt, but I’d been okay about it. At peace, really.
But now, in this church, the time-jump was making me light-headed – one minute Luke and I were each other’s most important person in the world, the next it was more than half a decade later and we’d been long since consigned to each other’s pasts. It was insane.
It was then that I noticed something terrible going on below my knees – a throbbing sensation, as if my lower legs were going to burst their way out of my leather knee boots, like the Incredible Hulk splitting his T-shirt.
The problem was my calves. Overall, I was an average size, but my lower legs seemed to be abnormally girthy. It was almost impossible to find boots which zipped up to my knees. This pair had made the cut because if I lay on the floor and got Kate to use a metal coat-hanger, they almost closed to the top. But I shouldn’t have wasted my money. And I certainly shouldn’t have worn them today. Foolishly, I’d hoped that their black leather sleekness in conjunction with my black coat would impress people.
Well, let’s see how impressed they’d be if my legs exploded.
Next thing, bumping me from my worries about detonating shins, the priest announced that Luke would do a reading.
In his dark suit, he climbed the steps to the altar and settled himself at the pulpit, his face as blazingly pale as his white shirt, his demeanour so austere it was impossible to believe that there had been a time when his chat-up line had been a twinkly ‘I suppose a ride is out of the question?’
Fixing his gaze downwards, he swallowed, then started, his voice low and husky, ‘“Remember me when I am gone away …”’
Oh God, not this poem. Instantly, tears filled my eyes and began to pour down my face.
Luke paused. It was a second or two before he continued: ‘“Gone far away into the silent land.”’
Another break. ‘When you can no more hold me by the hand –”’
His voice cracked on the last two words but he pushed on. ‘“Nor I half turn to go … yet turning stay.”’ This time the pause went on too long. His brother Mattie was already on the way up to rescue him.
As Luke stepped down, white-faced and bowed, he suddenly looked up, sweeping his gaze over the congregation. In the sea of appalled faces, he saw me. Our eyes locked and his blazed with sudden recognition.
I tried to read something – anything – from his expression, but his eyes went blank and then, dismissively, he looked away, leaving me trembling in every part of my body.
I was utterly mortified. Only then could I admit that I’d been carrying a nugget of hope, an absurd fantasy of Luke falling to his knees, declaring that he’d never stopped loving me.
I felt humiliated. Stupid. Absolutely devastated.
The rest of the service passed in a haze, ending with the coffin being wheeled down the aisle, the family trooping mournfully after it. As Luke passed our pew, his head remained bowed.
The family would be waiting at the front of the church, where people could personally pay their respects, so I said to Kate, ‘We’ll go out the side door.’
‘You don’t want to meet him?’
Jesus Christ, no. I needed to get as far away as possible. There was no hope of us being friendly. His flat-eyed glance had left me in no doubt.
The reality was that a long time had passed, he’d met someone else and so had I. The situation was as fixed as it was ever going to be.
‘We’d better sign the book,’ Kate said.