This Is England » Freddie Highmore

95.

IT'S BEEN a week, and Freddie has become a quiet man. He doesn't talk much, and when he does, he simply communicates that he needs to be alone. However, because my pelvis is expanding due to the baby, he tries to talk to me and the baby as much as possible. Even though he doesn't tell me, I can see a sense of sadness in his eyes.

I am donning on a black coat with a black fedora, painting on my lips a shade of crimson red lipstick.  Freddie is beside me now, draping his suit jacket over his shoulders. He is wearing a tie, and if we weren't going to his mother's funeral today, he looked like a married man. The thought of having him as my husband put a mental smile on my face. Looking at Freddie through the mirror, I can truly see how much this hurts him: His eyes are full of black bags beneath then, he seems restless, and he appears to be paler than usual.

"We'll get through this together, yeah?" He asks me, wrapping his arms around me as we both look at ourselves in the mirror.

"Yes, my love," I reply. "we will."

He plants a kiss to my forehead. "We better get going now," he says. "funeral starts in an hour."

He walks out of the room with his shoes trekking down the hallway.

I closed my eyes, and prayed for God to comfort Freddie in this difficult time. As much as I don't like my mother, I couldn't imagine life without her.

The wake was anything but happy. Several family members gathered around Ms. Highmore's casket, grieving, waiting for the preacher to start preaching. When he arrived, he took out his Bible, and began to read a book of Psalm. Unlike most funeral services, he didn't read Psalm 23. He read a verse regarding how God is close to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

I listened intently to his words, and as I did so, I looked over at Freddie, who was lost in thought. He seemed like he wasn't all there, like he was somewhere else, anywhere but here.

Once the preacher was done, he allowed every family member to say their goodbyes to Ms. Highmore. They shared stories, and I was amazed at the kind of person Freddie's mother was. When it was Freddie's turn, he slowly got up from his seat and walked to the podium, looked at everyone, and bit down on his lower lip.

"My mother..." He gulped, blinking back his tears. "... My mother was a kind woman. She was always there for me when my father was not. She wasn't always sick, to tell you all the truth, but most of you knew her that way. Despite her being ill physically, she still had a wonderful spirit, and welcomed anyone into her home -- including me, the no-good, deadbeat, gangbanger son of hers.

"I don't blame God for her death. I knew how severe her condition was, and I knew that one day she would go home to the One who heals all brokeness, all illness. I thank God for the time I had with her, even if it had been years, and I know my mother had a lot of hardship while raising us, but she still had hope for a brighter tomorrow. She spent the last few years being more joyful, and I think that's what I'm going to try harder to be in.

"I appreciate all of you for coming here today, and I know that my mother is in a better place. We will all miss her, but we know she is up there, watching over me, Bertie, and my girlfriend, Amelia." He looks to me and gives me a sad smile. He nods, gulping again. "Thank you."

,,

"Those were very kind words, Freddie," I say after everyone parts ways. "you should be a speaker one day once you leave LFOUR."

"What do you mean?" Freddie knits his eyebrows together, opening the door for me.

I slip inside the car, and wait for him to get on the driver's side. "Well, we are going to have a child soon," I reason. "don't you think it's -- FREDDIE, LOOK OUT!"

Going at eighty-five miles an hour on the street, was a large van. Like a tidal wave, the car collides with ours and within seconds, the windows disintegrate into microscopic pieces of shattered glass; the blow causing us to hit the dashboard headfirst and whip us back onto the seat.

"You fucking asshole!" Freddie growls. He gets out of the car, takes a picture of the license plate of the vehicle, and opens my car door, crouching to my level.

"Are you okay, baby?" Freddie asks me frantically.

"Not really," I grimace. "and I don't think the baby is, either."

...