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The funeral parlour in Newton Haven was small and unused. Inside the carefully lined brick walls, the pews accumulated in the room slowly began filling with familiar bodies. Andrew Knightley took in his surroundings carefully and quietly.
It had been years since he stepped foot in this God forsakened village. Unsurprisingly it had been as boring as ever. But Andy had no room to complain today. In fact, the familiarity and nostalgia provided his mind with a warm ease, like that of a hug given by someone close.
He stood there, taking in the miscellaneous flowers lining the walls. The bouquets of white lilies and mums arranged oh so carefully combatted the musty and old smell that permeated in the room. Smooth black curtains, contrasting the white walls, accompanied the flowers and complemented the intricate stained glass windows, which contained no particular designs.
Andrew was standing near the back of the room, watching as old acquaintances mingled and spoke solemnly. He watched the uptick of their mouths as they droned on and on about old stories. He watched as many approached the bereaved mother a few feet away from the entrance. He watched everything and anything, all except for the front stand where he laid in rest, or more accurately, where the ashes sat, confined to a porcelain prison.
There was still a good 15 minutes until the service when Andrew’s ears perked up to the voice of his old friends. Shuffling in through the entrance together, Steven, Oliver, and Peter made their way over to the mourning mother upfront, hugging her one by one and offering their condolences. Andrew saw her smiling, making his own mouth slightly quirk upwards. He stood patiently waiting for his friends to see him and walk over, shuffling to a welcoming stance as the three men made their way to him.
“Andy, it’s been a bit, eh?” Steven began, placing a warm hand on Andrew’s shoulder.
“Yeah, it has,” Andrew replied with a tone of bittersweetness seeping through. If he was being honest with himself, Andrew had been avoiding nearly all three of his friends. Well, not so much avoiding, as it was trying to let go of the past. It was mutual on all ends though. Oliver spoke up next, almost cautiously
“How are you holding up?”
Andrew’s breath hitched despite having known that this question would come up. Why wouldn’t it? He sighed, letting out the air in his lungs in a long stream. He had an answer of course. Andrew had been obsessively mulling things over in his head when he first heard of the funeral a little over a week ago.
On one hand, Andy was reeling from the effects of the news, of course. He was already in poor spirits after his wife left him, but that was all exacerbated on the fateful day he received the call. Despair and regret rested heavily on his chest constantly, strangling his every living thought. His former best friend was dead, and worst of all, he had done himself in. Andy constantly wondered if he was alone on the street when it happened. Did he use a razor or a regular kitchen knife? Was it quick? Slow? Deep? Did the blood pool and drip and-
Needless to say he was spiraling.
However, he was also mad. Mad at Gary King for well… Everything. He hated to think this way, to blame Gary for his death, but was Andrew really surprised? He had always considered himself to be truthful. Blunt. If asked he would fully admit that Gary dead in a ditch had crossed his mind before, especially after they all went to college, and it was clear they all started to grow without him. He had always refused to get better. And Andy saw it; The way Gary would always have a small white baggie, the way he jittered wildly, the way his pupils were always somewhat dilated, the smell of booze and fags persisting on his old clothing. Even before the accident, Andrew was disillusioned with the incongruent image of Gary, the king, and Gary King.
So when asked how he was holding up, Andrew answered truthfully, as he always did.
“I suppose.. ’m doing well, all things considered. But…” He hesitated. He stared intently at the patient men in front of him, second guessing his words. He continued anyway, allowing his voice to become a low drone, no louder than a mouse. “I’m not surprised.”
He had expected offended gasps or furrowed brows, but instead he watched as one by one, Steve, Oliver, and Pete nodded solemnly.
“He- He made his choice,” Peter stated, voice wrought with despondency.
“He never ended up growing past his King Gary act, did he?” Steven chimed in.
Andrew’s body shivered as a sudden bout of anger peeked his way through his demeanor of malaise. He clenched his fists, knuckles slowly lightening until they turned white. “No he didn’t,” he muttered. “Fuck.”
Steven picked up on the demeanor shift. “We don’t have to talk about this now-”
“Andrew?”
Gary’s mum approached the group, interrupting Steven. Andy’s heart dropped into his stomach, dread pooling. Had she heard what they were saying? He cooled down quickly, taking a few steps forward to meet the frail old woman, black mesh obscuring the upper half of her face. She started to speak before any more words could spill out of the man.
“We’re beginning the service soon enough… and- and well dear, I wanted to ask you something,” She sighed quietly, stammering to get her words together. “I… know that you and Gary had a falling out years ago… but I was wondering if you wanted to speak during the service. Tell some o’ the stories when you two lads were younger.”
Gary’s mum seemed so small compared to Andrew. So innocent. Andy’s throat clogged with emotion, his mind spinning.
“You don’t have to of course..”
She stepped forward, and suddenly wrapped her arms around Andy.
“I’m just glad you’re ‘ere, love. Gary would’ve been happy to see it.”
Tears welled and began threatening to spill over Andy’s eyelids. They didn’t, but the exhaustion had finally boiled over. He embraced the frail woman in front of him. The woman who had always been like a second mother. The woman who treated all the injuries Gary caused while playing. The woman who would always buy an extra christmas present for him, claiming Andrew was one of her own just like Gary had been. The hug was warm, unexpectedly and overwhelmingly so. After a moment, he steps back and clears his throat. “I…” he stops, mulling over what he wanted to say. “I will do it. The speech that is.”
Gary's mum smiled softly. “I’ll call you up when it’s time. Thank you, love.”
Andy nods, and as the minutes pass, is eventually seated alongside Steven, Peter, and Oliver in the pew behind Gary’s family.
The ceremony was typical. A pastor came up talking about the usual, talking about heaven and all, though it all felt.. Empty. Gary wasn’t a religious man, even in childhood. He would giggle and open his eyes during prayer. Besides, this pastor, he didn’t know Gary. Not in the way everyone who mattered did.
It was only when Gary’s mum came up that it became personal. She spoke about her sweet little boy, so bright and full of energy. Told a few stories involving Gary at school. All the pranks he would put on, making all the other kids laugh and the teachers turn red from frustration. Andy and the others chuckled along, forgetting for one sweet moment, how Gary truly was.
It was all so.. wistful.
Some more minutes passed as Gary’s mum finished her last story.
“Gary, my boy…” The dam had finally broken and Gary’s mum broke into sobs, shivers wracking her body as he kissed her fingers and brought them to the ceramic containing the ashes. Walking down the stairs and being greeted by multiple comforting bodies, she calmed down, and smiled up at Andy, nodding. His stomach turned, hands growing clammy. Taking a deep breath he walked up to the podium next to the urn. Clearing his throat, he began.
“I was 7 years old when I met Gary King. Being the rambunctious kid that I was, I was picking a fight with some kids who were calling round and such. I was just about to punch one of them when Gary, god the kid that he was, beat me to it. From that point onward, we were the best of friends… brothers even,” He lingered on that note, thinking back to all the nights spent alone together.. The drunken kisses they shared.
“It’s no secret why we stopped being close, years ago.” The air felt thick. Should he really have brought that up? His hands fiddled with each other, slipping from the growing amount of sweat. He continued on, taking another deep breath. “Gary… Gary wasn’t well. He loved to party, and would do plenty of unsavory acts. I- I used to think I hated him for it, considering I would always pick up after his messes. That night, the accident, was just the tipping point. I knew then that I was done with it all.
…Turns out I was wrong. When I got the call about his death.. I- I didn’t know what to do with myself,” Andy’s voice tremored, all sorts of emotions finally pooling out. “After the accident, I was content with knowing I will never speak to Gary King again. But now? Fuck it all, all I want is to talk to him. To have him apologize to me. For me to apologize to him- To- To help him.” Andy scoured the faces around the room, ending his gaze on Gary’s mum and all his old friends. They were all crying. Steven stared back at him, nodding encouragingly.
“Gary, I’m so sorry you never got better. I… I miss you. More than you could ever know.”
Finally, after everything, Andy allowed himself to cry alongside everyone else. It wasn’t loud, nor ugly, but his face ended up drenched, and his nose ran. Stepping down from the podium, he looked back to face the urn, really face it. It was a nice black color with green engravings. His ‘Sisters of Mercy’ pendant wrapped around the lid like twine. Andy thought it rather fitting. He smiled, poignantly. He never muttered anything out loud, but then and there he said goodbye.
As he sat back down, Steve pulled him into a half hug. Andy could’ve sworn he heard him calling him a cunt, making him chuckle softly. Pete wore his red rimmed eyes like an old glove, looking like the wimpy high school kid he was. Ollie wasn’t too dissimilar.
The service finished after the pastor came up again. The moment things wrapped up, Gary’s mum approached Andy and smiled. “You were always so honest. It’s why I wanted you up there.”
Andy nodded in agreement, embracing her for the second and final time that day. “I had good role models growing up,” he muttered as the woman’s veil tickled his drying face.
As the day went on, Andy’s mood fluctuated by the hour. Despite being a bit more at peace after his speech, his emotions still clashed. And honestly, he was starting to be okay with it. It was decided that he was allowed to be sad and angry all in the same. That he could mourn while still not being surprised. Feel equally warm and sick by the nostalgia the day brought. He laughed and cried alongside his friends, chatting on and on about the endless stories they all had together.
All in all, Andy never thought he would come back to Newton Haven. But really, he was glad he did, just this one day. It wouldn’t be fitting to mourn anywhere else, especially not in an empty house. Close to his heart the memory of Gary King lay.
Andrew Knightley just hoped he was sleeping easy now.