After Forever Ends - Ramone Melodie - Страница 122

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“Ah, Mum!” Oliver sniffed, “God bless you! I was missing you, but here you are now! Thank you, Mum!”

“Yes, thank you, Mum,” Alexander smiled, savouring his slice of bread. He squeezed Oliver‘s shoulder, “Thank you for page twenty-seven!”

I must have made that bread a hundred times after that night. They never told me more of what memories it brought back, but it made them both extremely happy every time. It was the taste that made them remember how much their mother loved them. It was an honour for me to carry on the tradition of baking it for Ana. She had been the only mum I had ever known as well.

Edmond lived quietly for another year and then he crossed the veil himself. It was odd how he left us. He complained of chest discomfort and the twins took him into hospital where he was admitted for observation.

“I love my children,” He told his sons as they left, “And I love my grandchildren. All the work I did in my life was to preserve history and all along my greatest contribution to it was my family. I am so proud of all of you, but especially of my two boys.” Oliver said he gave them both a long embrace and kissed them on their heads before he crawled into his bed and sat there smiling. “Everyone will be just fine,” He told them, “Don’t you worry about that.”

They both got phone calls at about five the next morning telling them that he had passed away in his sleep. There was no clear medical reason they could find right away, he’d just gone. We all knew in our hearts he was happy to move on. He had loved his wife and living without her had been a long and lonely struggle. Ed left his estate to his sons and a portion of money to all the grandchildren and great grandchildren, but bequeathed his grand piano and all of his musical collections to his grandson, Warren.

“Blimey,” Warren sighed as he stood in the front room of his grandparent’s home with Alexander, Oliver and me. He ran his hand through his thick brownish red hair, “I’m sure glad you guys are letting me move into this house now that I’ve come home. I’d hate to have to move this piano to a fifth floor flat in Newtown.”

“No shite!” Alexander whistled.

By the age Oliver and I were, it came as no surprise that our children should be getting married and our parents should be leaving us, but we still considered ourselves young. We were fit and active and ready to take on the world more than ever. We had our same energy and with it we had wisdom as well. We thought it was time to start masterminding a plan to conquer the universe, but we were too busy laughing at each other to focus.

Taking this into consideration, it was no great surprise that we got the wind knocked right out of our sails when a year later we got word from Merlyn that Lance had died quietly at his home after a long illness.

“What?” Oliver’s face went crimson. He turned with the phone in his hand and stared at me with a look that sent a sickening bolt of electricity straight through me, “When did this happen? Wait a minute! I just spoke to him! Did you know? Why didn’t he tell anybody? Oh, sweet Jesus. Poor Lance…I can’t bloody believe it. Did you call Alexander?”

When he hung up the phone, he turned to me. “Silvia, Lance has died,” He told me softly, “Pancreatic cancer, Merlyn tells me,” He shook his head, “Come here, I need you.”

I held him tight for what seemed an hour.

“I need to call Alexander,” Oliver mumbled, moving away from me. He looked at me for a moment, “It’s OK if you cry now, Love.”

I took his permission. I sat on the floor in the front room and I sobbed.

Oliver called Alex. I only heard the tail end of the conversation, “No, I guess he’d been sick a good while. Alex, are you telling me he had cancer before? I never knew that. He didn’t tell me. Well, certainly cancer can reoccur. Why are you asking me? I don’t give a fuck if I’m a doctor! He never told me anything about being ill! I don’t know the details! He told Merlyn a few weeks ago! Fucking phone Merlyn up then! Maybe he knows!” He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry. This is just so wrong. Yeah, well, I want to puke. Ok, Brawd. Ring me then. Oy, Alexander? I love you.”

He hung up the phone and wandered out into the garden. I watched him walk around mumbling at the trees and then he sat on the edge of the hill and hung his head in his hands.

I went out after a while and put my arms around him. “When you’re ready, Sweetheart.”

He patted my hand and stared up at the sky. “Do you need me?”

“No, Sweetie. I’m all right.”

He nodded.

Oliver did nothing for hours. I let him be. Sometimes it was best to just let Oliver alone when he was upset and allow him come to me when he was ready to talk.

He came in for dinner, but he wasn’t eating. Neither of us were. “I just spoke with Lance two weeks ago,” He said softly. “He never told me he was ill. His funeral’s the day after tomorrow. Alex and Lucy’ll ride with us to Caernarfon to pay our respects.”

“Of course.”

It didn’t seem real to me at all that one of us could have died. Not one of us Bennington kids. It didn’t sink in that any of it was actually true and not some horrible dream until we got to the church where Lance’s memorial service was being held.

It was very hard to take. There were dozens of people wandering about that none of us knew. They looked at us oddly. It seemed like they should be the ones out of place, not us. I caught myself looking for Lance in the crowd, as if I would see the top of his head cutting a path around the shoulders of everyone else and hear him call, “Silvia! How are you, Dear?” It was at that moment I caught sight of the coffin and him in it.

He looked so tiny lying there, like a child’s body with an old man’s face. Even with the work they’d done on him it was easy to see he’d suffered. His dirty blond hair had fallen out and the patches that were left had turned dark grey. He had deep set circles under his eyes. His once pudgy face was drawn, painted the wrong shade of peach and his teeth looked too large beneath his lips. He didn’t look like the Lance I’d known in life.

“Oh, my,” Lucy whispered what I was thinking, “Is that him?”

“It is,” Alexander’s voice was barely audible. He walked to his old mate and covered his frozen hands with his own. “Ah, Christ! Lance!”

“I can’t stand this,” Oliver looked away from the casket.

I took his hand. “I know, Sweetheart. None of us can. I can’t either.” My eyes stung with tears. I looked away and across the room, but I could not stop them from falling.

“I can’t look at him,” Oliver swallowed, “He looks so…so small.”

“He wasn’t very big, Oliver.”

My husband looked at me. His beautiful brown eyes glowed with tears, “He wasn’t small to me, Sil. To me he was always very big. He was always very, very big.”

Alexander embraced his brother, “This is rough, Boyo.”

“He looks so tiny. As if he was helpless all his life. Lance was not helpless. He was strong. He was…” My husband trailed off. He clutched his brother’s shoulders. His eyes were wide, almost wild, “This is Lancelot, Alexander! This is Lance Crosby! Lance Crosby can’t be dead! It isn’t right!”

Alex held tight to his brother, “But he is,” He whispered, a single teardrop fell from his eye. It clung to the dimple in his chin, “I wish he wasn’t, but he is. And, no, it isn’t right. There isn’t anything right about it. I hate this!” He hissed, “I fucking hate this!”

It was then that Lucy spotted Merlyn Pierce, who was standing against a far wall. We were all grateful to have a reason to walk away.

“How are you?” Merlyn hugged each of us in turn. We answered in generic terms, “You OK, Mate?” He directed the question to Oliver, who shrugged and looked at his feet.

“Just trying desperately not to snivel,” He didn’t look up. He tightened his face into a frown and closed his eyes, pinching back his tears.

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