The funeral was an awkward affair. John expected no less. Dozens of well-to-do and influential individuals gathered to give the "grieving" family their condolences. Mother, at least, was doing an admirable job appearing distressed. His gut twisted with disgust at the display, and he frowned. Even here, at her own son's funeral, she would play for sympathy in hopes of making one more step up the social ladder? Being the mother of one of the victims of the Red Dwarf tragedy came with some notoriety, it seemed, and losing her husband a few short months before only added to her pitiable air. His mother was in her element. He turned away to hide his scowl as she clung to a particularly wealthy businessman's arm, sobbing crocodile tears.
He could almost envision Father standing silently off to the side, his military posture matched with his stoic expression. John shook the thought away, not wanting to imagine the stern disappointment that he would have found there. It wouldn't help.
He wondered if Arnold had gotten the letter about Father's failing health. Certainly, the note about his passing would not have made it in time, interstellar mail delivery times being what they were. If he had received the first note, had it affected his work in any way? Arnold was definitely the sort to try to do something big to prove himself, especially if time to do so was running out. John shook his head sadly, a pang of something excruciating wending its way through his lungs to his throat.
It hardly mattered now if Father's health had affected Arnold's career.
He frowned, tight and severe, as an unpleasant feeling clawed at his stomach and the air of the room pressed in on him. He resisted the urge to rub at his neck in an attempt to dislodge the phantom hand strangling him there.
He had been to far too many funerals lately.
He let out a disapproving sound at the back of his throat and looked around the room to distract himself.
Frank was clinging subtly to Janine's arm as she fussed over him, his eyes wide and empty. John knew the two brothers hadn't been close, but he suspected the death of one of their own shook something in him. Death wasn't supposed to come for ones as young as them, but their line of work was inherently dangerous. Perhaps he was facing his own mortality, pondering the potential for being unceremoniously torn from the arms of his gorgeous wife before his time. Perhaps, also, there was something inherently unsettling seeing a face staring back at him from a memorial picture that so nearly matched his own. Of the four of them, Frank and Arnold looked the most remarkably alike.
Howard, of course, was shamelessly flirting with the daughter of one of Io's up-and-coming diplomats. Were she paying attention, mother would likely have approved of his actions. Not only was she pretty, she was rich and connected. John found the whole thing revolting.
The blonde woman at his side rested a delicate hand on his arm, and he turned to her obligingly.
"Yes, my dear?"
"Did you want to say goodbye now, love?"
His eyes drifted over to the memorial table, a photograph of his youngest brother in his technician's uniform sitting at the center between two expensively ornate bouquets. As was the case for all of the victims of the tragedy, there would be no body to bury. He was certain that, secretly, his mother was pleased by that. It would be much less expensive that way. As it was, the flowers were probably the most expensive part of the funeral service.
John hated the display. He hated that they had no better picture of his brother than the JMC crewmember photo, and he hated that the only reason that his brother was granted such a lavish display was to pretend for the gathered guests that he had been a loved and valued member of the family. Everything about this event grated at him, but he nodded to his wife nonetheless. Regardless of the farce, his brother had still died. He deserved to have at least one person properly mourn him.
He walked slowly to the table and stood, staring at it, in silence for a while. The weight of all his memories and too many words left unsaid pressed down on him, and he found himself unable to speak. His wife gave his arm a comforting squeeze, and he looked down at her with a small, sad smile.
Hers was the only sympathy he accepted. It was the only sympathy that came from a place of knowing.
He looked back down at the photograph, trying to find something in the image that suggested that his brother had ever been happy or satisfied with his life. Instead, he found only the look he saw too often in the mirror and sighed.
"I'm sorry, Arnold," he said softly. "You deserved better than this."
Patting his wife's hand on his arm, he turned to walk away.
He had had enough of this show. Let mother chastise him later; he was going home.
There were still three days left to his bereavement leave, and he spent them sitting in his living room in their little house on Io. It was a more pleasant location than the quarters on his ship, at least. Elisa was a truly gifted decorator, and the room was filled with soft colors and lots of light.
She sat beside him on the cream-colored settee, tilting her head as she did when she was concerned. Soft, brown eyes traced his face, but he didn't have the energy to obscure his feelings from her. She frowned, caressing his cheek.
"Darling, I'm worried about you."
He pulled away gently. If it was anyone else, the motion would have been far more forceful.
"My brother died, and my whole family pretended to care. It was disgusting."
Her eyebrows drew together in knowing concern, and he felt his heart constrict in his chest. When he had met her, he had been much like his father. Her influence had softened him. She had saved him; he had no doubt about that. He hated causing her pain.
"I think, perhaps, it is more than that," she said, leaving the words hanging in the air.
He sighed. She was right, as always.
"I never got to apologize," he replied. "I was going to, the day I got the letter. Now I'll never get the chance."
Elisa took his hand in hers gently, her wedding ring sparkling in the light. He marveled at the delicate softness of her skin and how it so perfectly mirrored her personality.
"You still can," she said. "Maybe he won't get to hear it, but it might do you good to get it out."
He turned to her with a questioning look.
"Write him a letter," she said. "Or record one. Tell him all the things you were going to say, all the things you want to say now, and send it out into space. Maybe just saying it will help you, since the words will no longer be bottled up inside."
He placed his other hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, resting his forehead against hers.
"What would I do without you, darling?" he asked.
He felt her shift closer toward him and lean against his side.
"Hopefully, we'll never have to find out."
He drew her toward him in a tight hug, pressing his face to the top of her head and breathing in the floral scent of her shampoo.
"Yes," he said softly, "hopefully."
Author's Note:
I've been looking forward to publishing this one all week. There are several interesting concepts suggested here, and I'm curious what you all think of them. The interesting concepts:
Arnold's father must have died shortly before he did; otherwise, why bother sending a letter informing a dead man of his father's death? The Rimmer family was rocked by two deaths in a very short time. How would that have affected them?
They probably would have sent a letter letting Arnold know of his father's failing health. He is definitely the sort to try to make a last-ditch, major effort to try to impress his father while he still had the chance. Was it his father's illness that made Rimmer try to fix the drive plate on his own, thus leading to the accident? Did everyone on Red Dwarf die because Arnold Rimmer's father was dying?
In Timeslides, we learn that Frank and Arnold are extraordinarily alike, visually. Assuming Arnold is the only illegitimate child, that must mean Frank and Arnold heavily favor their mother's genes.
There were no bodies to bury from the accident, likely complicating many families' grief. (Not Arnold's, though.)