Chapter Twenty

Tuesday 11th June

'I've searched and I've searched, But I couldn't find, No way on earth, To gain peace of mind.'

He'd tried everything he could think of, but there was no way he could make it back in time for Leo's funeral. The only day available that the undertakers and the different venues could do was a Tuesday. He'd wondered about taking the red-eye Monday night, making it just in time for the service and going straight back to the airport but he would be cutting it fine and if he stopped to talk to anyone he was likely to miss his extortionately priced flight back. That wasn't paying your respects. He'd be better off not there at all. Harry hated the decision but there was nothing he could do. Leo probably would have appreciated the money spent on development projects in Afghanistan rather than futile and expensive trips across that Atlantic. His mother had volunteered to go. He'd thanked her and advised her to keep out of Nikki's way if it were possible.

He'd written Nikki an email and a text and left her a message. She hadn't replied to any of them. He would have to talk to her soon. She was one of the beneficiaries of Leo's will and it was up to him to sort it all out. He'd booked a flight back to England on the first date after the semester finished and he was finally free of NYU commitments.

The funeral was set for 11am. Francis had been kind enough to discuss the order of service with him even after Harry realised he wouldn't be able to attend. Leo had even left an outline, the songs he wanted played, a poem he liked. Harry was pleased to note it wasn't 'Always look on the bright side of life.' He wasn't sure why it was such a popular tune for funerals; it could work for some Harry thought but not Leo. He'd chosen some cello music it seemed a far more appropriate instrument. Harry remembered laughing at Leo's taste in music but he couldn't fault the cello piece, it said everything that couldn't be said perfectly.

He'd woken up early the day of the funeral. He'd not been sleeping properly since he'd got the news about Leo, no that wasn't true. He hadn't been sleeping properly since he found out they were going on some fool's mission to Afghanistan and if he were really being truthful with himself he would know he hadn't slept properly since Nikki had been to visit. It was as if his body had already reverted to GMT. He paced up and down in his flat for a while until Mrs Finkelstein's little dog started to yip. He threw on his clothes and set off for work despite it being only just after five. He could take a detour, walk through the park. Six am wasn't such an early start for American office workers.

He walked two blocks further north than he would usually, thinking he could walk two blocks further in every direction and he'd eventually end up back where he started or in a position to walk to NYU. The sun was bright, it would be scorching by lunch time but this early there was still a slight chill in the air. There were more people on the street than he was expecting and many heading into a store. He couldn't quite make out what it was selling when he saw a small wooden cross in the window. He crossed the street and peered in.

It looked like a coffee shop. There were chairs, tables and a counter serving coffee. He found himself stood in the queue before even realising his feet had moved.

"How much?" he asked looking round for the price list as he held the cup of steaming coffee.

The woman behind the counter smiled at him, "It's free," she laughed.

"It's alright," the woman laughed in response to Harry's bewildered face, "we're a church, not a freaky cult, it's a free coffee. You'll live."

Harry relaxed and smiled back at her, "I've lived here nearly a year and I never even knew this place existed."

"You wanna doughnut too?" she asked, picking up a doughnut with some tongs.

"No, I'm good thanks."

"You work at the University, Hospital or United Nations?"

"What makes you think I work at any of them?"

"Cos, you not from the 'hood are you?" she laughed.

"The University," he admitted.

"Well that's good then, you just in time for class professor."

"What?"

"Tuesday is art class."

"I thought you said this was a church."

"There's a lot more to the week than an hour on Sunday morning!" she laughed. "God work for six days an' then take a day off; we try an' do the same."

"But an art class?"

"It's art therapy, we have kids come on their way to school, some who've been doin' drugs, in gangs, some are refugees, most seen more in their short lives than you could ever imagine. We take anyone messed up, sure is plenty o' them in this town. It's not just kids, there are adults too. Tara is trained to help them."

"That doesn't sound like church."

"You see anyone else out there helping those kids for free? Gettin' 'em back on their feet 'n outta trouble?" she asked. "Soundin' 'xactly like what church should be to me."

Harry couldn't disagree, so he took his coffee and moved further into the room and found a quiet place to sit. The chairs were just scattered about, nothing was formal here. If he couldn't be at Leo's actual funeral, sitting in a church at the same time was about as close as he was going to get. However unconventional it seemed. It didn't look much like a church, no stained glass windows, or gold lecterns. It was all plain and simple but there was a feeling of peace and stillness that he hadn't felt for a while.

"Would you like some paper?" Tara asked offering him a drawing board and a variety of pencils.

"I'm not here for the class, I just wanted…" he trailed off. There was no point in lying or making up a story it wasn't the place. He checked his watch.

"In London in five minutes time the funeral of one of my most respected and closest friends is about to begin and I can't be there." He took a sip from his boiling coffee to control the pricking feeling in his eyes. "I'd have really liked to have been there, for him, for my friends and what's left of his family."

"Stay as long as you like," Tara said kindly. "I'll leave the paper though; you might feel like drawing something."

"I'm not an artist," Harry admitted.

"We're not here to manufacture masterpieces. We're here to give people an outlet to talk about their experiences and then to give them hope, the strength to start over and the power to make a change."

"But what if the thing you want to change can't possibly be changed?"

"I'm not saying we can bring your friend back to life," Tara said hastily.

"I know," Harry smiled. "I wasn't meaning that,"

"Everything can change, that's the difference between being alive and being dead. If you're still alive you can still change. There would be no point in us being here, doing what we do if we didn't believe that."

"You mean anything is possible?"

"No, not everything," she said calmly. "We don't pretend life is a fairy tale here, but if you want something hard enough and are prepared to make the changes and put the effort in it needs, then some things become possible that before were impossible. She put down the drawing board on the chair next to Harry. "Maybe you just want to draw something to remember your friend," she suggested and walked on to the next place.

Harry looked around the room, the girl at the coffee counter was now chatting easily to a man who was obviously homeless, there were a number of teenage boys sitting together drawing and talking, they all looked like they belonged in the school where the chairs were bolted down and everyone was being respected and respectful. It didn't make Harry feel any more disposed to believe in any kind of supreme-being, but there was certainly evidence of the very best of humanity on show.

He sat quietly with his eyes shut, it was rare for him to sit like this, he hated himself for not being with her, with Nikki not being able to say goodbye to Leo and at the same time he was overwhelmed by the thought that Leo was actually gone. Three thousand miles away it was easy to imagine that nothing had changed. But it had. He squeezed his eyes tight, silent contemplation had its place but not Harry thought for him today. He wiped a hand over his face and picked up the drawing board Tara had left him.

He stared at the blank paper and thought about what he could draw that would be a reminder of Leo. He thought about the Matisse that hung in his office: 'The Joy of Life.' He couldn't recreate that with a couple of HB pencils. And that was only something Leo had, something he liked; it wasn't who he was.

What was it that was Leo? He was a friend, a boss, a mentor, an example, and excellent pathologist. They were all true but none of them summed up what it was to be Leo. There were also the parts of his character that Harry found harder to understand, his love of popular classical music, his involvements with a number of women he worked with, his insistence that there might be more to life than what could be tested with science. But that didn't encapsulate Leo either.

After a few more minutes he picked up his pencil and began to scribble in a circle, round and round the lines getting darker and darker and darker.

##

Tara sat next to him without saying anything.

"I told you I wasn't an artist," Harry said when he could stand her silence no longer.

"He saved all those people. You're friend, he died saving those people." She indicated the faceless crowd of stickmen that Harry had drawn at the back of his picture.

Harry nodded.

"And it's his funeral, right now?"

Harry nodded again. He hadn't been there of course but he'd heard Nikki describe what happened that night that they had sat together over the remains of Leo's body. He was smart enough to fill in the rest of the blanks and picture the scene.

"And this woman here," Tara pointed to the foreground. "She is very important to you."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked.

"She has more detail than anyone else, although I have to say your attention to detail on the viscera and body parts is quiet impressive." Tara added pointing to the foreground on the other side where a mass of scribbled pencil indicated the explosion.

"Sorry" Harry said quietly. "I'm a doctor, I know body parts."

"So who is she?" Tara asked. "This important woman in your life?"

Harry looked at his picture. Tara was right. Everything else was just stick people, and although he hadn't drawn Nikki as she was, she was bigger and had more detail than any of the others. Even Jack was just a faceless figure with his stick arm as a barricade keeping Nikki away from the explosion.

"She's Nikki, she was my friend but I moved here and now I've ruined everything."

"She's still alive?" Tara asked.

Harry nodded. "Thanks to him,"

"And you're still alive?" Tara continued.

Harry nodded again.

"So it can't be too late." Tara put her hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm very sorry for your loss. I hope you find the way to make the change you need to. We're here every Tuesday. Feel free to come back any time. There's no commitment, we won't call you or hassle you or make you sign up to stuff. We'll be here and of course we do have Sunday services."

"Thanks," said Harry. He put out his hand to shake Tara's.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you."

"Harry," explained Harry, realising that he'd never actually introduced himself.

"I've enjoyed talking with you Harry, and I am very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Harry answered reassured that this stranger really did mean the words that he had so often said as part of his work. He stuffed his drawing into his pocket, waved at the coffee girl and set off for NYU feeling lighter than he had for months.


Crying in the Chapel: Artie Glen (Elvis Presley)