I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,126
man who had inspired his words: their beloved Charlie Glaser.
* * *
En masse they belted out ‘We’ll Meet Again’ along with Vera Lynn, swaying like a human field of wheat rippled by a strong breeze as a sequence of photos was projected onto a wall. Photos of Charlie as a smiling boy; photos of him as a smiling man, that smile a common denominator in every image. Photos of Charlie with film stars, in tuxedos and dinner jackets, in gold budgie-smugglers on a sugar beach. Photos of him with his arms around family and friends, cuddling a dolphin, hugging his new husband in a blitz of confetti and finally the last photo of him ever taken, in the middle of the Figgy Hollow Six, his face golden from the kiss of firelight, holding up his hot chocolate Charlie-style: Black Forest with cherries.
The vicar took the stand again to deliver a poem that Robin had written: a short, funny but fond one. There was no mention of not standing at his grave and weeping in it. And at the end of the service, on behalf of the family, he invited everyone back to Tuckwitt Manor hotel to talk, reminisce, drink champagne and eat mince pies because Charlie had insisted they had plenty of those. Charlie was taken from the church to an awaiting car bound for the crematorium to the accompaniment of Karl Jenkins’ imposing ‘Palladio’, his most famous piece of Diamond Music. Robin followed the pall-bearers out, his face wet with tears, eyes straight ahead. Today would all be a blur for him, thought Mary, and she hoped he had friends who would tell him later that he was a bastion of dignity and had done Charlie proud, as people had told her after her dad’s funeral.
* * *
There was a bottleneck at the church door so Bridge and Mary sat and waited for the crowd to thin. Luke cut across the line of leavers, bounced towards them. The last, and only, time Bridge had ever seen him in a suit was at their wedding. This ensemble was very different: black, tailored, waistcoast, silk tie, a snow-white shirt with a gold collar pin, polished patent leather shoes.
‘Hello ladies,’ he said, enfolding Bridge in a hug, before turning to Mary, a double-take before he embraced her. Was this preened and elegant creature before him really the same one who had been launching snowballs at him only a month ago? Her hair was shorter, shaped; a hint of warm caramel lowlights made her blue-green eyes pop.
‘So how are you both?’ he asked.
‘Good, really good,’ said Bridge. ‘How’s Carmen? Everything okay there?’
‘Yep, we are all three fit and well.’
‘Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?’
‘No, and we don’t want to. We’ll wait.’
‘I hope you’ll let me know. I’d like to send the baby something,’ said Bridge. Her brain recorded a freeze-frame of this second: talking with the ex she had waged war with for so long about his soon-to-be wife and baby. He had shifted to a different part of her heart now though, one reserved for cherished history.
Luke picked up her ringless left hand.
‘Oh, Bridge, tell me everything’s okay.’ He sounded genuinely upset for her.
‘Ah, it didn’t work out. We both had doubts. It’s fine though, I’m getting better at ending things amicably.’
Luke smiled. ‘You take your time, Bridge. Find someone who deserves you. I mean it.’
The look on his face backed up his words.
‘I will.’
‘In saying that, you should check out Charlie’s nephew Reuben,’ he went on. ‘He was sitting on the front row. Talk about a Norse god, you—’
‘I think I’ll pass for now, thank you,’ said Bridge.
‘Let’s get to the hotel then,’ said Luke. ‘You two okay for a lift? Any sign of Jack?’
‘Just about to ask you the same thing,’ said Bridge. ‘And thanks, but I’ve got the car.’
‘I don’t think he’s come,’ said Mary, giving a shrug. ‘We would have seen him.’
‘He said he’d be here,’ said Luke. They’d spoken on the phone only days ago, arranged to meet up and talk vegan scones in early February. Jack had said he would be there at the funeral of course.
Mary hoped Jack had bothered to turn up. He must have known how important it was to Robin that he was there. If he hadn’t, then Mary really would shut her heart on Jack Butterly for being disrespectful and lock him out forever. I thought you had already, said a voice inside her head.