𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝙳 || Original Story

thirty-eight | funeral

The end of October came quickly, giving way to a period of sadness. Mr Rogers's funeral was sombre and cold; the sky was dark and heavy with thick, grey storm clouds. Rain poured and poured from the sky, soaking the ground below.

I'd only seen Mr Rogers with his wife in the shop just a few days before he died and there was no such indication that there was anything wrong with him or his health. But, as it turned out, he'd had a heart attack and his body was far too frail to have done anything about it.

I would most certainly miss him. He was a lovely gentleman and things wouldn't be the same without him.

Edgar accompanied me to the funeral and stood by my side, one hand consolingly around my shoulder and the other holding a large umbrella above us to shelter us from the downpour. He wore a black coat and suit with a white shirt, which made him look particularly handsome, albeit very solemn.

I didn't even have to ask him for he asked me if I'd feel better having some moral support and I always felt better when he was with me.

The service itself was a wonderful celebration of Mr Rogers's life and so many lovely stories about him were shared both from family and neighbours alike. I'd even provided the flowers for the memorial and I made sure they were as bright and as cheerful as he was.

Not long after the service was over and when the rain had began to ease, two women approached Edgar and I- one was considerably older and far more frail. Her name was Gillian (Mr Rogers's wife) and the other was her daughter and carer, Bethany; both of who I hadn't seen in a long while. It just a shame we had the opportunity to catch up at such a devastating time.

Mrs Rogers was completely blind in one eye and had partial vision on the other and that meant that Bethany was a big part of her life, helping her with even the most basic of tasks.

"So, who's this, darling?" Mrs Rogers asked her daughter.

"It's Katelyn Mayhew, Mum," the younger replied, then frowning in confusion when she saw Edgar. "And...?"

"This is Edgar," I answered. "You know about Edgar, don't you, Mrs Rogers?"

"Yes. Indeed I do," she replied. "The young gentleman from London, if I remember correctly."

She then let go of Bethany to step forward and put on her glasses that were hung around her neck, only mere inches between her face and Edgar's. Mrs Rogers firmly believes that 'the eyes were the window to the soul' and she could tell a lot by gazing into somebody's eyes. But Edgar was taken aback and tried to step away before he realised what she was doing.

"I apologise, Mr Bailey," she then continued. "My eyesight isn't as sharp as it once was... My husband spoke highly of you. He said that you helped him on a number of occasions down at the shop."

"I d-did," Edgar uttered, becoming more relaxed but still watching her warily. "H-He had a good s-sense of humour."

"Hmm. It's nice to hear your voice. You sound like a lovely young man."

"I l-lack a voice, M-Mrs Rogers. I d-don't understand how you can t-tell."

She shook her head. "No, no, my dear. It's what's behind the stammer that counts. I don't mean to be philosophical, but it doesn't define who you are."

"I'd b-be a rich man if I had a p-pound for every time s-somebody said that to me," Edgar said with a wry laugh.

"Your face is time-worn, though. All those frown-lines... A young man like you should be happy. But you're struggling with what you've had to go through in the past."