Small Heath's Angel

Chapter 7 - Wake

Word Count:
2003

The funeral was a blur of tears yet still rather beautiful; a well built caravan that represented Martha's spirit was filled with her belongings and letters set alight in an open field, one of her favourite spots.

Most of the attendees were a mess of tears and snot by the end of it. John's speech was beautiful. He expressed so much love and gratitude for his late wife, bringing almost everyone to tears.

A few minutes had passed since the caravan was set alight. Many had already left for the Garrison, already wanting to drink away their feelings, but Florence waited a bit longer.

John stood alone in front of the burning caravan, staring at the flames and allowing the heat to warm his body.

Florence slowly approached him, wiping her tear stained face and taking a breath. She lightly placed a hand on his shoulder, careful not to startle him. He turned to face her; his eyes bloodshot, puffy and with bags under them, cheeks red, and skin pale.

"Are you okay?" She asked gently.

He sniffed, wiping his eyes and nose before nodding once. "Yeah, I will be," he muttered, his eyes darted between the ground, the caravan, and her. "I just feel.." he trailed off, his eyes focused on the fire that ripped through the caravan.

Florence understood; she felt the same.

"It's not your fault. It got aggressive overnight. There was nothing anyone could have done to stop it after that." She had told herself the same thing every hour since she received the news. Her mind had been racing from that moment. John looked at her, tears running down his face. "Martha fought 'til her last day, and she was happy knowing you'd be well looked after."

His lip trembled as he brought her into a hug. The two gripped one another tightly, neither wanting to pull back. John allowed himself to cry into her shoulder. Florence did nothing but hold him, running her hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she whispered continuously, not even loud enough for him to hear it over his weeps.

John eventually pulled back, his hands slacked at his sides.

"I'll give you some time alone," she said, lightly squeezing his hand before she walked away slowly. She took one last look at the burning caravan, closing her eyes for a moment and just listened to the cracks of the fire before she finally turned around and made the walk to the Garrison.

.

Walking into the Garrison sluggishly, Florence took a seat in the back corner of the bar, nodding to those who greeted her.

Harry immediately walked over to her, checking in before he served her a glass of vodka. Her eyes were fixed to the counter, staring blankly. The burn of the vodka as it ran down her throat and into her stomach was one of the few things she could feel.

She quickly finished her drink, Harry immediately moved to top it up. She nodded a thank you, noticing John walk through the doors and immediately greeted by Polly's hugs, and moved her gaze to the wall ahead, little emotion showed in her face.

"You seem upset."

She shook her head, bringing herself out of her thoughts. "We are at a wake Thomas," She replied, downing her drink again and waved Harry over for another.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." She looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot and puffy and her eyelids feeling heavy. "You're mad at yourself."

She scoffed and turned away. "I'm not—"