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CHAPTER FOURTEEN: WOUNDED WOMAN
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THE FIRST FACE HELEN recognised in the sea of black was Tommy’s. He was standing beside Grace, haloed by the cloudy sky, one hand on his wife's hip and the other tucked in his coat pocket. Grace held Charlie in her arms, smiling down at the giggling boy, though her eyes were sombre and red-rimmed from crying. The rest of her family had surrounded the couple, and Helen spotted the Shelbys at the very back. Helen herself was alone -- well, almost. She had James’ gloved hand tucked into hers, from where he’d insisted on standing beside her, just inches from where the coffin was laid.
Helen was beginning to wonder if it was a good idea to bring him. Patrick's own mother wasn't present; heartbroken, Patrick's siblings feared she'd end up just like her son. A week had passed and she'd made no attempt to leave her bed. If the Grim Reaper knocked on her door then and there, Helen had no doubt she would answer him. A mother wasn't supposed to outlive her son. Not like this.
“And now Mrs Godfrey, Patrick’s wife, would like to say a few words.”
When Helen didn’t move, James tugged on her hand, green eyes bright and sad. Slowly, Son led Mother to the front where the priest waited. He only let her go once she squeezed his hand, turning to Father’s grave where he didn’t look away. James was too young to understand what death meant. He just knew his dad was never coming back.
“Patrick was a good man,” she murmured, a whisper lost in the wind.
The words sounded empty even to her. She didn’t want them to, but Helen hadn’t felt anything since she found him on the floor, one cold hand still clutching his chest, face screwed up in an everlasting expression of agony. She wanted to cry, to sing his praises, but her heart and her mind both fell miserably short.
All she could think of was that last fight.
Surely you love me, too. Surely, I can make you happy enough that seeing them together won't break you.
It's not about you.
His disappointment was indescribable, even then.
“He was a good father and an even better husband…” Finally, her voice cracked, but her face remained cold, numb almost. She caught sight of Tommy again. He was looking at her with that same empty stare, like her words were going through one ear and out the other. “We were… we are expecting another child. I can only hope they are as kind and as loving as their Da.” At last, she turned to look at Patrick’s coffin. “Your children will miss you, Patrick. I'll miss you.”
