This is a Love Story (48 page)

knowledge that they had been there. Properly.

It’s always difficult when someone dies. Things are left unfinished, regrets gape wide open like a wound with no one there to

stitch it all together and make everything all right again.

Sienna had lost a worrying amount of weight over the past two weeks, but she still looked beautiful. She was wearing a jet-black

dress with small frill details around the sleeves and a square neckline which revealed her collarbone. It was tight around her waist,

flaring out to a skirt that stopped just above the knee. She was wearing the dress with a dark pair of tights and some heels, and on top

of her long, glossy hair was a small, grey, angled hat with a large feather curling away from it. She looked like something from a

magazine, her blue eyes contrasting against her skin. Her cheeks were so rosy it was as if she was the epitome of life and all that was

beautiful about it.

If her father could see her now, and I was sure he could, I knew he’d have looked at her and not wanted to have changed a thing

about his life as long as she’d still been a part of it. He adored her. He loved her more than the air that filled his lungs. And so did I.

I’d been holding her warm hand tight all morning, her fingers interlaced with mine, trying in some small way to make the day

easier for her.

It was hard to let her go as I watched her walk up to the front of the small crowd. The air filled with the smells of incense and

mahogany. She turned to face us and smiled, running her hands down the front of her dress as she looked ahead nervously. My

stomach was in knots and I felt nauseous. I swallowed. Hard.

She cleared her throat. ‘My dad,’ she started, before taking such a deep breath in through her nostrils that everyone automatically

copied her without even realising it. She composed herself and continued. ‘My dad, George, liked to sleep,’ she said, starting to

giggle quietly and looking down at her hands, which she gripped together in front of her waist. Her dimples were showing and it

made me smile in spite of the sadness of it all. Her voice echoed across the room and as she laughed, the feather on her hat bobbed

gently. Friends and family members started to laugh with her. Quietly. Timidly. Thankfully.

I smiled as I remembered all the times George had collapsed. Backwards. Forwards. On cushions, books and plates full of pasta,

he wasn’t choosy. And it had been such a shit situation that you had to see the funny side. He certainly did.

‘Yes. As you all probably know, he was a pretty tired man, and our lives were far from being normal . . .’ She paused again,

clearing the hurt that was caught in her throat.

I glanced back to see Elouise leaning forward from the bench behind me; she looked at me, tears filling her eyes. I took hold of

her hand and smiled at her reassuringly before turning back to Sienna.

‘But despite all his tiredness, his exhaustion, he was full of life to me,’ she declared, a look of total joy spreading across her

features.

Tissues were blotted against faces. Sobs were drawn close to the chest, muscles taut. No one wanted to make a sound, so we were

all silently choking on the memories. I gritted my teeth to stop myself unravelling right there and then. All I wanted to do was run up

to her and hold her hand while she spoke. Look after her. It was hard to sit back and watch her like this, but I had to.

‘I was so blessed to know my dad for the time I had with him, and I wouldn’t change a thing. He loved me whatever I did, good

or bad. It was unconditional,’ she said, biting her lip vulnerably as she stood so strong. ‘Not so many people can say they have truly

been loved unconditionally.’ She made eye contact with me for a moment before carrying on.

‘Things were really hard for us, but I would do it all again for him. Every single thing. Even though I’m hurting because he’s

gone, I can’t help but feel like a very lucky young woman.’

As she said this, I noticed the glittering sunshine through the stained-glass window. It plunged her into a glorious spotlight. Just

her. No one else.

She looked up at the ceiling as if he was there, talking to her. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she said.

Elouise ducked behind the back of a pew to hide her grief, her fingers slipping away from mine.

‘My dad had not been outside into the real world for years, not properly, yet he learned about more of it than any of us.’ She

gestured towards his coffin, which was adorned with flowers. ‘This man, right here, wrote about outer space, running marathons,

African tribes, crop circles, you name it . . . He learned by studying other people’s experiences and beliefs, then describing those

experiences as he’d have liked to live them. And I can’t help but wonder how many of us struggle to look further than our office

windows every day.’

She started to walk slowly towards his coffin. ‘My dad was a hero to me. Not because he ran marathons and not because he

travelled the world, but because he was able to imagine it all. He never grew bitter, or jealous, or selfish. He wasn’t afraid to learn

about a life he would never truly be able to explore.’ She put her hand on his coffin now, running it over the smooth, varnished

wood.

‘He always listened to me. Even when he was sleeping. Somehow we got through it, Dad and I. I will miss him for the rest of my

days, but I’ll forever be thankful that I knew him, and loved him. I will always love him . . . Always.’

A tear dropped from her face and landed on the wooden surface. She ran her fist across her cheek and wiped it gently as more

followed.

‘So if you ask me if I’m sad, I’ll say yes, I’m sadder than I’ve ever been in my life. And if you ask me if I’m angry, I’ll say

definitely, because I feel like he’s been stolen from me. But most importantly, I’m happy. Happy that I was lucky enough to call him

my dad and my friend. So happy that it was worth all the struggle, and the fear and the pain, because without all of that, you can

never truly say you experienced the best bits.’

I felt emotion rise in my throat. I was so overcome I didn’t know what to do with myself apart from start to fiddle with a tissue,

quietly tearing strips from the middle and rolling them into balls between my fingers. My stomach muscles started to pull in sharply

as I desperately tried to keep it together.

Sienna turned to face George’s coffin now, both her hands on top of it. ‘I love you, Dad . . .’ She had held it together for so long,

but now the tears came. They flowed from her eyes and into a tissue, which she pressed against her soft skin. I ached inside because

I needed to be with her, but I had to stay here and let her do this alone.

There was complete silence again, broken only by sobs and sniffles as she turned her back to us. She said goodbye with two

hands on his coffin, her frame shaking hard as she silently wept. I could see the sides of her stomach trembling. She started to

whisper to him now – final goodbyes that were not for our ears. They belonged to her and George.

The light brightened even more, creeping in through the clear panes of glass. I like to think that light was George, telling her in

some way that he loved her, and would be with her forever in whatever ways he could.

Eventually she leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on top of her father’s coffin, before turning away from it and slowly

walking towards me. I studied her face and saw not desperate sorrow, but some kind of joy because she had experienced such

powerful love. I could read all this just by looking at her face, because I knew her so well now.

Sienna was magical. A hero to me. She could see the best in all situations, and somehow get through anything. Her strength

scared me, but conjured such inspiration in my soul at the same time. It was as if she was walking in slow motion, her eyes locked

into mine. I had never felt so proud of anyone – I was totally in awe of her. I wanted to run away with her somewhere where there

were no people, no cars and no buildings, and just tell her how much I loved her, and how amazing she was to me.

Eventually she was sitting next to me, her warm body against mine. I held her hand tight, tucking all of her fingers between my

own. The coffin slowly started to fall out of view, and as that happened she squeezed my hand so hard I feared her heart was

breaking right then and there.

I put my mouth to her ear as she watched George disappear. ‘You’re incredible, Sienna Walker. Stay strong, for me. Your father

was very proud of you, more than you’ll ever know,’ I whispered softly.

Another giant tear rolled from her crystal-blue eyes and I reached my index finger out and wiped it away. As soon as the coffin

had gone, I pulled her face close to mine and looked into her glassy eyes until her breath was calm and the church was empty.

Sienna

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own tonight?’ asked Elouise, who was standing in my kitchen, nibbling on a biscuit.

The flat seemed so empty now, but I needed to be alone for the first time. It was something I had to do. I finally felt ready. Well, I

thought so, anyway.

‘Yes, I’ll be fine, sweetheart,’ I said, faking positivity. I pulled my sleeves over my arms and wished I could climb inside my

cardigan and hide for a while until things felt normal again. It had been a blisteringly hot day, the kind of oppressive heat that gives

you a headache. Now it was melting into a stunning, salmon-pink evening with rich streaks of purple tearing through it as the sun

went to sleep. I could see the splendour of it all from the windows, which were wide open to let in the fresh air. I traced my bare foot

over the floor and felt the cool tiles on my skin. I caught a flash of myself in the mirror. I looked like I hadn’t slept for days, my skin

tinged with grey.

Elouise tilted her head to one side and smiled, popping the last chunk of shortbread into her mouth. ‘Really? Because I can’t help

but feel it might be too soon . . .’ she said dubiously, her thick, blonde hair sweeping over her right shoulder. A look of concern

spread across her pretty face.

‘Yes, really. I promise,’ I responded.

‘Well if you start feeling horrible, just call me. I’ll be round like a shot. Do you promise you’ll ring if you’re struggling?’ she

asked, almost begging.

‘Of course I will. But you know what, I think I’ll be fine,’ I said, really hoping I would be. I’d had this exact same conversation

with Nick a couple of hours before. It had been almost impossible to get him out of the flat. I’d eventually had to push him out of the

door, tickling his sides because he can’t defend himself when I do that.

‘Look, El. I promise everything will be OK. I’m feeling so much better now.’ I really meant that, I thought, as I looked around me

at the place we used to share. My dad and I. I had to learn to be alone. I was going to have to spend evenings in solitude without

talking to myself, or racking up huge phone bills by calling horoscope hotlines. Cats weren’t an option either. I was far too young to

have a flat full of them, weeing all over the place. I felt just about ready to take on my new life now. Acceptance had come rushing

in, and it was doing me the world of good.

‘I’ll have my phone on loud. All night,’ Elouise told me, leaning up on her tiptoes and kissing my forehead. It made me grin. She

and Nick had seen me through this whole thing. It would be hard to truly feel alone ever again.

As she walked past me, she left a trail of her perfume in the air and I breathed it in deeply, holding the memory of it close for the

dead of night when I might need her. I wasn’t going to call her, or Nick, or anyone. Not even Mystic Margaret from south Ealing

with her premium-rate phone line.

‘Love you, Si,’ she said, turning towards me as she stood by the door, her small frame almost swallowed whole by a trendy T-

shirt.

‘You too, pretty one,’ I said, standing by the counter.

The door closed slowly and quietly. I looked around me and took a few deep breaths.

That night I was hungry for the first time in ages, so I made my favourite dinner, medium rare sirloin steak with mashed potato

and Mediterranean vegetables. Nick had brought all the ingredients round for me. I think he was worried I was going to end up

looking like a bag of bones if I didn’t put some weight on soon. He had a point, I thought, looking down at my trousers, which were

gaping at the waist.

I spent at least an hour preparing it all as the last dregs of the day slipped behind dark clouds. I put the radio on and sang along to

every song. Great songs. Shit songs. It didn’t matter what it was because it was a way of expelling all the tension, even if it did

involve screaming Aerosmith at the top of my voice and using a courgette as a microphone. I could sing as loud as I wanted and I

knew no one would disturb me. This night was all mine.

I chopped up onions, sliced mushrooms in half and divided juicy tomatoes into quadrants. I put a steak in the pan and listened as it

sizzled satisfyingly, the smell wafting up my nose and making me even more hungry. I had a bottle of wine and a small chocolate

pudding in the fridge. I was going to treat myself. Relax, and bathe in the happy memories. Because they were happy, and they

would never be stolen from me like my father had been.

After dinner I curled up on the sofa, put on Breakfast at Tiffany’s and sipped a huge glass of cold wine. I was content for once. I

didn’t feel scared, I felt safe and happy. Wasn’t I supposed to be crying like a lunatic still? Was I in denial? I looked over at the chair