MAJOR SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 6!!! I won't warn you again!
I freely admit to welling up even before the opening credits rolled and to crying while I was writing this Friday night…I was also listening to Christina Aguilera's Hurt at the time which definitely contributed to the tears. The hymn was written by George Matheson.
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"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
The vicar's tone was supposed to be reassuring, and it might have been if Alex's life hadn't proved his words to be utter bollocks. She'd been mourning for more than twenty-five years and there was no comfort for her. Evan had slept with her mother, driving her father to commit murder-suicide, she hadn't seen her daughter in three years and her constant was almost a stranger to her. There was nothing for her to hold on to…she was adrift and there was a storm approaching.
"We're here to celebrate the life of Viv James, father, husband and sergeant in the Metropolitan Police Force…" The bland voice of the no doubt sincere enough clergyman didn't hold her attention. If you'd been to one funeral you'd been to them all...and she'd been to far more than one. Despite the Catholic private schools she'd been to, the psalms and resurrection story didn't lessen the pain of losing a friend no more than they had lessened the pain of losing both parents.
Between one breath and the next, Alex was eight years old again, appearing numb but being silently crushed under the weight of her loneliness. There was no Evan to hold her hand, only a stoic Gene on one side of her and the centre aisle on the other. One of Viv's relatives stood up and went to give the eulogy. A vision of Evan followed him. Alex heard a description of a West Ham match inter-cut with political activism and unflagging promotion of equal rights, loving wife and children, beloved only daughter, two senseless crimes cutting lives all to short, taking parents from children, creating a widow and orphan…flames extinguished leaving the world a darker, colder place.
The vicar spoke again and Alex forced the memories away so she could function well enough to get through the next few minutes.
"The family wanted somebody from Fenchurch East to a say a few words…DI Alex Drake."
As the newest member of the team she wasn't all that sure why Gene had picked her to give the reading when everybody else knew Viv better than she did, but she was determined to do right by her late colleague. The walk to the front of the congregation was short but it seemed to stretch as all eyes went to her. Her eyes went to the coffin with Viv's helmet taking pride of place on top next to a photo of him. Her eyes filled when she saw his prized signed West Ham football there too.
She turned and surveyed her audience, family and friends on one side, the entire staff of Fenchurch East on the other, from top brass down to cleaners and canteen workers. Everybody had liked Viv. Alex took a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it, the noise loud in the quiet church. She gave it a quick glance, just to be sure she hadn't forgotten the first line. She looked again. It had felt like the right choice before but now it didn't, it didn't seem right. Alex put the paper away and just spoke from her heart, taking care to only look at the sorrowful faces of people she didn't know. It was easier to see strangers upset than friends.
"I'd prepared something to say, a poem…but to be honest I don't know why, I'm talking to a Church more than half filled with serving and retired coppers…hard men. Not only am I a bird but I'm a posh southerner, that makes me softer than some of you can stand already." Her gaze went to her pew for a second and found Ray sat on the other side of Gene. She gave him a tiny quirk of her lips, not enough to be called a smile and didn't linger on his red eyes. He gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement. "I shouldn't really be making things worse by quoting pretty words, so I won't." Alex picked a point on the floor near the exit and directed her voice at it.
"As police officers, as human beings, every person's death diminishes us…and losing Viv…it diminishes us greatly. I, for one, am only just realising how much we gained from having him in our lives…not just professionally but personally too. He wasn't just a brilliant desk sergeant, he was a friend to those lucky enough to know him well, a brother even…compassionate, loyal, funny…and the best in the station when it came to solving puzzles. I know that doesn't say much for CID but is the god's honest truth." There were a couple of almost smiles in her peripheral vision.
"People say time's a healer…it's a cliché that gets trotted out every time somebody is hurting and there are no more words to say. In my experience it's only partly true. The wounds we all now have will stop hurting eventually but they'll never completely heal…and they shouldn't. We'll recover, get back to some sort of normal…we'll move on…but we'll never forget, never stop talking about him, saying his name. We'll keep Viv with us. We owe him that much at least." That hadn't been the way she'd dealt with her parents' death, or losing contact with Molly. She hadn't talked about her losses with anybody and they'd been steadily consuming her. Alex looked to the front pew where Viv's closest family sat, his wife and their children and said what she wished somebody had said to her, something to make them feel maybe a little less alone in their grief.
"We all respected, admired and loved your husband, your dad…even though some of us might have trouble saying the words. He was a good man, one of the best…and we'll miss him too. Very much."
There was a neatly folded white cotton handkerchief sat in her place on the first CID pew. Not trusting her voice enough to say thank you, she just picked it up, sat down, and wiped a couple of tears from her face, thankful that she'd made the decision to wear less make-up. Waterproof mascara really didn't live up to its name and she knew how little it took to make her cry when she was at a funeral of somebody she had never met, never mind somebody she'd seen almost every day for three years, who'd been murdered. She kept the hankie in her left hand, knowing she'd be needing it again soon.
"If you'll all stand please, we'll sing our first hymn, O Love that Will Not Let Me Go." The sound of shuffling feet and rustling paper echoed in the church as the organist played the introduction and the hymn books were turned to the right page.
O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
People who didn't know the hymn took a little time to find the tune, as a former Catholic school girl Alex knew it already and sang the words without thinking the way she used to recite times tables, the way Molly…her vision blurred. She closed her eyes, bowing her head and feeling a tear run down each cheek.
O light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine's blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.
With her eyes still closed Alex's other senses seemed heightened. The voices of those nearby became more distinct, Chris' was irredeemably flat, Shaz's was still delicate but thickened with tears and she wasn't able to finish a line without missing the next one. Ray's voice was better than she'd given him credit for, not that she could compliment him on it today…Gene was barely singing at all, just a low rumble that she could hear almost more clearly than the tremble in her own voice. She breathed in deeply and got a whiff of eau d'Genie; cigarettes, some suitably macho aftershave and damp wool where his black Crombie coat had got wet in the rain. Beneath all that was the indescribable something that she had come to associate with safety, a familiar and unique Gene-ness that assured her she wasn't alone. Well that wasn't really true anymore was it? Alex opened her eyes to gaze at the stone floor and decided to concentrate on the hymn.
O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.
Oh God what a verse to have paid attention to. Feeling a devastatingly inappropriate laugh bubbling up she bit her lip. If tomorrow morning was tearless it would be a miracle indeed. There hadn't been a day this year when she'd woken up and not felt like crying, like everything was falling apart. Going home to Molly had been a dream within a dream. Gene had shut her out and Keats was out to get him, perhaps justifiably. They'd all nearly been burned alive, Chris and Ray had nearly been electrocuted…and Viv had been shot, murdered. She was desperate to return to her daughter but it was looking like the only way that would happen would be to find evidence that Gene had murdered Sam Tyler and she was almost equally desperate for that not to be the case. With her emotions so close to the surface she could admit discovering that her constant murdered his best friend would break her heart even if it sent her home. There was no joy to be found anywhere, the tears weren't going to stop. She took in a deep shuddering breath past the lump in her throat and knew she was about to start sobbing unrestrainedly.
Gene abruptly took her hand in his, sliding his fingers between her own and squeezing sharply. It was more than enough of a shock to stifle her sobs, whether that was his only motive or not she didn't care. She had a hand to hold, if only for a little while, and she wasn't letting go voluntarily. She returned his squeeze with a weaker one of her own. He started rubbing her thumb with his.
O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life's glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.