(Twenty Five)

My hand aches from holding the piece of paper. It's no longer the crisp sheet it started as. I am crumpled in the same way. I've found a small room where, ironically, the wine is stored, somewhere I can get a second's peace. The chilled air helps me to breathe easier and the serving staff know better than to bother me as they come in to top up their trays.

I know Alice will be looking for me, panicking. My mother will be pleased to be able to berate my predictability to all her friends, those who've come to support her in her grief. A good eighty percent who probably didn't give a shit about my father.

I used to count myself in that percentage. I used to. But I'm trying. That's why I'm here in this flower-clogged hell with huge pictures of my father that make him look like some kind of morbid waxwork.

I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the footsteps going back and forth. It helps to dull the anger that climbs my spine whenever I open the door my mother's reasoning hides behind.

I sense someone hovering. A young girl with a tray full of bubbling champagne, her cheeks pink. "Excuse me, Sir." She clears her throat and looks away from me, eyes darting to every other wall. "The ceremony is starting."

I scrub my hands across my face. My mouth is dry and the words scrape to get out. "Thank you." But she's already disappeared out of sight. My reputation precedes me. Or my mother's version, at least.

I make my way to my seat feeling 100 pairs of eyes on me. 100 too many. I don't meet any of them. My pulse is deafening. A speaker from my mother's church takes to the stand as Alice glares at me while I straighten my tie. She's mouthing something, but I can only make out the word hell. Seems apt.

I can't focus on anything the speakers are saying. The words on the page tucked into my suit jacket race around my mind, becoming nonsense. Alice is crying beside me. I don't have a tissue to offer. Jasper is better prepared, handing her one as he wraps his arm around her, which brings a fresh round of tears.

Since the baby's almost here, I've tried my best to make amends with Alice and Jasper. Snail's pace, but at least I'm out of the gutter for now. She asked me to do this for her, so I will try.

I've switched off too much and don't realise it's my turn to stand up. My mother clears her throat as if she's swallowed something unsavory. Alice elbows me and offers a watery smile.

I stand and make my way to the lectern, surrounded on all sides by pungent flowers already on their way to rotting. Whispers have already started in the monochrome crowd. The black sheep takes to the stage.

I unfold the sheet of paper and smooth it out to delay for another second. My mouth is so damn dry. My heart too loud. I clear my throat, once, twice, but I'm stuck on the first word. Chairs creak as people become impatient. I take a sip of the water left for me, wishing not for the first time it was something more. I find Alice in the crowd, and she tips her head in encouragement, shredding a tissue in her hands. I scan across a few other faces, recognising no one. No one offers a smile. They're waiting for me to fail as I'm sure my mother has hedged.

My palms have smudged the ink. I try to remember the words, but they've fallen through the widening cracks. "Thank you … thank you for coming today." More chairs creak, the temperature rises. "Alice and I would like to say a few words about our … Dad."

It's that word that does it. A word I haven't said out loud for years. One that brings a torrent of memories that send me spinning. I straighten my tie again and my hand shakes. "Sorry," I say. "I … This is harder than I thought."

No one laughs, but I hear a chair scrape back across the floor. I almost laughed myself. People are already leaving. My attention is drawn to the noise to see which sycophant it is, but instead I see a familiar dark-haired woman making her way across to me. She is an oasis in a desert of sinking sand. One I haven't laid eyes on for months.

Bella reaches the podium. I'm aware of everything in technicolour as she takes my hand and squeezes. Hers is cool and calm, a dip in the ocean. She smiles, but I don't have time to ask her what the hell she's doing here. I glance at Alice, who doesn't look surprised.

"Let me help," she whispers. I don't resist as she takes the page from me.

She doesn't give any introduction or explain who she is or why she's here before she begins reading my speech. I wonder if I should feel ashamed, embarrassed that my emotions are too much to say what I came here to say. Judging by my mother's face, that's exactly what I should be feeling. Scorn is reflected in her pinched lips and narrowed eyes.

I listen to the words I wrote and take them in for the first time. The burn behind my eyes grows, but I focus on Bella. Her voice is confident and clear, she smells a hell of a lot better than the fake garden around us. I breathe, and when she pauses, I reach over and—covering her hand—take the paper. I won't give my mother the satisfaction. "I'll be OK from here."

She doesn't leave my side until the end. Until I finish what I couldn't say. And then for the first time in a long while, with her by my side, I let myself grieve.

I find Bella outside in the garden, an empty champagne glass clutched in her hand. She's drawing more attention than the heavily manicured flowerbeds.

She looks up as I approach, and we are both lost for words. My fingers itch for a cigarette, but I ignore the urge. "Thank you," I say.

"It's okay." She shrugs and there's still some ice there. I would be stupid to think it would have thawed.

I'm stumbling around for words like a teenager. "Did Alice invite you?"

"Not exactly." She reaches into her handbag and hands over my speech. "I knew how much this meant to you and how much you didn't want to do it." Her eyes are downcast as she toes a stone with the tip of her heels. "I thought it might help to see a friendly face."

"It did." I hesitate over her use of friendly. I'm not sure that's in our vocabulary anymore. "Are you okay?"

"I am. Are you?"

"I'm better," I say, offering the truth, "but I miss you."

She reaches out and picks some lint off my jacket, brushes it onto the gravel and turns her attention elsewhere. Anywhere but me. When she does look at me, hell if it doesn't make my knees weak. Nothing compares to her. Still even after all this time. Her lips part and I want to lean down and kiss them, fuck anyone watching ready to run back to my mother, ready to judge. But I don't because her face closes down and the moment has passed. "I'd better go, Edward."

I grab her hand. "Wait, please stay for a while. We can grab a drink and something to eat."

She doesn't pull away, but the distance is growing. "Maybe another day."

Then she surprises me by stepping in and pressing a kiss to my cheek, her voice dropping to evade those around us eavesdropping. "You keep doing what you're doing. Look after yourself, love yourself. Until you do that, there isn't room for me."

Her breath is warm on my face. I lean into it, but she steps back and says, "I will see you around."

I don't know what to say, so I nod and let her go. She's right. I know this now. I hold onto the inflection in her use of 'will'. I don't take it as a promise but it's something I can take a step toward. Like everything else I add to my list of how not to fuck things up. Family. Friends. Work. She is there in bold, underlined. Somebody I have to earn.

I watch her walk away for the second time, but this time I have hope I can find her again.