To my grave, p.1
To My Grave, page 1
BY
BEN ANDREWS
First published in the UK 2022
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Edited by Jeanette Taylor Ford
Chapters
Chapter 1.
Chapter 2.
Chapter 3.
Chapter 4.
Chapter 5.
Chapter 6.
Chapter 7.
Chapter 8.
Chapter 9.
Chapter 10.
Chapter 11.
Chapter 12.
Chapter 13.
Chapter 14.
Chapter 15.
Chapter 16.
Chapter 17.
Chapter 18.
Chapter 19.
Chapter 20.
Chapter 21.
Chapter 22.
Chapter 23.
Chapter 24.
Chapter 25.
Chapter 26.
Chapter 27.
Chapter 1.
There seems to be only two occasions nowadays where families have a reason to get together, those are weddings and funerals.
Thankfully, this event is a funeral and I say thankfully because, well, this is actually my funeral, the funeral of Neil Monroe. Beloved Uncle, treasured friend, and tragically taken from this earth too soon.
I lay here with all my adoring fans staring back at me. They can finally put me to rest. Unfortunately, I get put to rest with a secret that none of my family knew I carried.
As my family stand around and tell stories, bits of my life flash before me. My first kiss from a boy when I was just sixteen. My first break up when I found him cheating on me in our bed. The day I started my business and found genuine success. Yes, there’s lots to think about when looking back on my life, but my first loss has haunted my dreams since I was a child.
One day, when I arrived home early from school, I came across my mother in the kitchen but there was no grand meal baking in the oven, instead I walked into the kitchen to find her head in the oven instead of my favourite meal. I've never been a fan of home-cooked meals since.
My darling mother, a quiet, sensible, charming woman, had killed herself and left it for her youngest son to find. Since that day, I could only blame myself. I was only a young boy, after all. If only I knew the reasons. Hell, if I did, I might have just jumped right into that oven and joined her.
The one upside to dying so young is seeing who turns up to your funeral. My beloved brother and sister sit in front of me, one on each side of the church. The rain pats onto the stained glass windows, adding the exact amount of drama I’d have wanted for my big day.
My brother, Eric, the man who seemed to have it all. No matter what he did his whole life, he seemed to always land on his feet. He had no grades or intelligence, just luck. He should have been home before me that day when I found our mother. It was his burden to take, but it lays upon my shoulders now.
Eric met his wife Lucy and he abandoned the family to be with her, the one you can see dabbing away a fake tear, making sure her make-up looks just smudged enough for the sad occasion. I don’t know if Eric was in love with Lucy or her rich, powerful and popular father who was everything Eric aimed for but failed to be.
My sister Sarah. She is sitting on the other side of the church, the forever forgotten middle child and by looking at her you would think she was the oldest but that's not her fault. A mix of long nights and an ungrateful family can do that to you. She met David, her husband at the pub one night. One of the few times a man has ever paid her any interest, and she settled for him there and then. Job done as far as she's concerned.
Sarah's husband Dave was... how do I say this? A quiet man. The only way he'd ever known how to show love or affection to his family was to help you out. Nothing was ever too much trouble for Dave, unless, of course, you are trying to get a conversation out of him. He was there with me, right up to my last breath, no one ever wants to see a man die but Dave, he'd do anything to help you out, and even better if you can't talk back.
~
My wake took place at the local pub, ‘The Duck and Tail’, the pub my older brother had recently purchased with his wife, Lucy. They held the free event in my honour. I saw tables full of elegant sandwiches and bowls of mixed crisps that my sister had brought along. Lucy quickly sidelined them to the back of the table. There were printouts of all my most popular artwork and some awful photos of me hanging around the pub under some tacky fairy lights.
As Sarah was clearing away the paper plates and half-empty glasses left on the tables, she looked up and saw a photo under the wooden beams; the photo was of her mother and her brothers hanging by two pegs under the twinkling fairy lights that she had chosen. She remembered that day so well; it was the last Christmas she had with her mother and everything felt so simple back then. Sarah thought about herself on that day, never knowing it would be the last Christmas they would all spend together, the last Christmas where she would have no pain in her heart. She took the photo down and looked at it closer; she tried to look into her mother’s eyes, to see if there were any signs she was unhappy, any hints why she left us, but there were none. All Sarah saw looking back at her was a loving mother who had nothing but joy in her eyes, she cried and wiped away a stray tear.
“It’s a lovely photo, isn't it Sarah?” Eric put his hand on her shoulder.
“I saw it and thought that had to be up there. Neil loved that photo.”
Sarah turned around to see her brother, still looking perfect in his designer suit and freshly cut hair. She looked down at her own outfit, a dowdy dress from Quality Seconds and fraying on the edges. The colour had lost all pigment after being washed just once.
“It's strange. I’ve never really taken notice of it before, but you're right, it is lovely.” Sarah paused for a second.
“Oh Eric, can you believe we are here, just me and you. God, it's depressing. There's nothing like attending the funeral of your own brother to make mortality stare you in the face.” Sarah shook her head and continued to tidy up around her. Lucy was busy pouring herself a glass of wine from behind the bar.
“Sarah, put that down, Greg can do it, it's what we bloody pay him all that money for, at least that's what Eric tells me.” Lucy raised the glass towards her husband.
“Oh, come on, Lucy, he can't be earning that much managing this place. It has had the same punters since we were kids sneaking in here all those years ago.” Sarah sat down to join Lucy for a glass of wine. Lucy looked at Eric for an answer.
“Oh believe me, Sarah, Greg must have some kind of dirt on Eric. When I saw his first pay-packet, I nearly keeled over and joined Neil in his coffin there and then. So what is it, darling? Does Greg have a copy of your little black book or sumthin’?” They both laughed.
“Lucy cut it out. Neil was buried an hour ago. This isn't the time or the place for jokes,” Eric said.
“Oh please, Neil loved nothing more than a good old gossip, Eric, grab a glass and be quiet, let's have one last toast, to Neil, the best younger brother I ever had!” They all raised their arms and clinked the cheap glasses together with the cheap wine Lucy had picked out.
So that was it, my ending, my goodbye from this world. It all came down to three people cheering my name, two of which never truly loved me. I got sent six feet under to be eaten by maggots and recycled back into the earth. A life that had once lived, reduced to some memories on a photograph. My thoughts and feelings lost to the universe and my secrets taken to my grave.
That terrible secret. I held on to it for so many years, never to be shared and as they slowly covered my coffin with dirt, as I lay in my final resting place, I am still filled with regrets that I never had time to tell this story. This family secret buried with me forever.
Well, that is what I thought anyway, until the next family funeral, that is.
Chapter 2.
As the days and weeks passed, my family's lives slowly returned to normal, and my death became an afterthought in their minds. My sister’s first thought when waking up in the mornings was no longer about me, but about what chores she had to do around the house instead. My niece no longer thought about me when she passed by the fridge and saw my photo hanging on by a magnet. She thought about how much she was going to miss her freedom now she's starting back at university. Jake, my nephew, didn't think of me when he put on my baseball cap to hide his unwashed hair on his way to the local corner shop. It's amazing to me how quickly things can go back to normal, the mundane and the boring reality of life.
It was eight in the morning, and Sarah was busy clearing away last night's takeaway boxes. Her family always had a takeaway on a Tuesday because it was the one day of the week it guaranteed them to have a discount code and that meant it was the only day her husband Dave would agree to ordering one in. She collected last night's plates from around the house. Dave had left his plate on the arm of the sofa. He'd already gone to work before anyone else was awake; another day with no kiss goodbye. He had left some chips in the box that already looked stale. It made Sarah wonder what this food does to her body if it looks this bad after only a few hours. She went upstairs past the photos on the wall of her family to her daughter Jane's bedroom and, to her surprise; she found the bed already made and there was only one glass leftover in her room. Jane had gone away early today for her first day at university. She had just finished a gap year that turned into two and now wanted to start a career in journ alism. Sarah didn't know where Jane got her brains from, her father was practically smart but had no academic skill to him and she herself had no drive to do anything with her life, she’d always thought of ambition as pointless, was there really any need for it? All people end up in the same place and are they really any happier when they get there?
She was happy for her daughter, though. If this goes well, it could mean she’d get out of Foxden, escape the tiny village life and open her horizons; the main reason she pushed her daughter so much to go traveling. She dreamt of her daughter returning from a year of travels to have exotic tattoos on her feet and wrists, a braid in her hair, a new nose ring or piercing, to have picked up parts of a new language and with a beautiful Italian man on her arm who she met whilst backtracking through Europe. But sadly, none of Sarah’s dreams came true for her daughter. She returned with a fresh look on life, but apart from a few stories that always started or ended with being drunk and a great suntan, she’d remained the same girl that left.
Sarah shut her daughter's bedroom door after opening a window and continued her way over to her son Jake’s room, this time she remembered to knock, not before putting her ear up against the door to hear if there were any signs of life. She’d learned her lesson in the past about barging into a teenager’s bedroom. She used to do it every day, open the door and have a chat with her son about his day, he would open up to her about his favourite teacher at school, how he read a whole book in class, or how Theo Truman was bullying him at break-time. But those days of her sweet, innocent child had long left. Now, she was lucky to get a grunt.
The lesson she learnt one day when she opened his bedroom door to catch him and his now friend Theo masturbating was enough to wake any parent up to the fact they now had a teenage son.
Sarah had a sheltered childhood, she never knew much about sex until the day she lost her virginity to her now husband Dave and to be honest, she still doesn’t know much about it, she lays down and within five long minutes it’s over and done with for another week. The things teenagers can get hold of nowadays boggled her mind, especially with teenage boys. It was still an image that had burned into her brain. Since that fateful day, she had always remembered to knock first and still wait a good five seconds before entering Jake’s room.
When she entered, it welcomed her to a smell of deodorant, staleness, and that smell of a boys’ bedroom that is impossible to explain. She looked around his room; the curtains were still drawn, blocking any natural light coming in. She noticed he had all his lamps facing away towards the walls and strips of LED lights glued around the rim of the ceiling. He was still in bed with his computer on his lap and not a spare bit of flooring clear from clothes, cups, plates, and bowls. The only part of his room that was in any order was his collection of cameras and lenses.
“Jake, I know I said I wouldn't keep on at you, but please.” Sarah slowly waved her hand across the war zone that was Jake's bedroom floor.
“I mean, for god sakes, it's just us in the house now, Jane’s at uni, your Dad’s back to full-time hours, and even Jacob has a better social life than you. Please, just try.” Jake looked up at his mum, bags under his eyes as black as her morning coffee, his skin as pale as milk.
“Okay Mum, I said I would, so I will. Just give me a second. I'm in the middle of filling out a job application if you must know.” Jake huffed and went back to looking at his screen.
“Oh Jake, that's excellent news. You finish that up and I’ll just grab a few things from the floor.” Sarah bent over, surprised that her back was already aching this early in the morning, and got a few things off the floor.
“Mum, please don't, I didn't even want to tell you I was applying for a job, I didn't want to jinx it and now you’ve made me.” Sarah stopped collecting and straightened.
“No, you're right. I shouldn't have pushed you. You weren't ready to tell me and look at what I did. I’m sorry, Jakey. I’m heading downstairs now. Just shout if you want me to bring you anything.” Jake didn't answer and Sarah shut the door.
Jake opened up his laptop and carried on scrolling through twitter. He rushed towards the area where his mum had cleaned up. Moved a black hoodie out of the way and picked up eighty pounds’ worth of notes and put them in his drawer next to three half used bottles of poppers.
Sarah went into the kitchen and switched the kettle on. This was her first day off, and she hoped to enjoy it. She put a big heap of flavoured coffee into her special mug, one that Jake had made her years ago, and added two spoons of sugar. Her phone pinged, and she had two messages, one from Jake asking for her to make him some toast and one from her best friend Michelle, telling her to pop the kettle on and she will be round in ten.
My sister and Michelle’s friendship goes as far back as a friendship can. They met each other when they were in school. Two girls who weren't good at making friends turned out to be a genuine match. Even if they don't really have much in common, being lonely trumps that every time. They stayed best friends. Now and then they would attempt to introduce a third into the mix, but it never worked. Even when they liked boys, they never argued. They agreed. A man will never stand between them and they’ll stick to it for life.
When Sarah met Dave she worried for Michelle, that their lives would finally start drifting in different directions and they did for a while, but the thing about true friendships, no matter when you meet up again, no matter how much time has passed, you can pick up right where you left off. She comes over most nights for a catch up and feels like family. Although I must admit, it did not impress me with how fast she left my wake.
The back door to the kitchen knocked and in walked Michelle. She never waited to be invited in, not after all this time.
“Oi Oi, how's you doin’ then, got an empty house, how does it feel?” Michelle sat herself down at the kitchen table grabbing her coffee as she went.
“I wish it was like that, Well, he's still up there, still in bed. Lazy sod.” Sarah joined Michelle with a plate of donuts.
“Didn’t barge in there again, did you? Honestly, these boys and their tommy tanks. I refuse to even go near my Peter's room.” Michelle helped herself to a donut mid sentence. Sarah laughed.
“Shell, Peter moved out months ago,”
“I know he did, but he hasn't cleared his room yet and blow it if I'm going in there, I attempted it you know luv, I found a rock hard sock and did not know what was going on, do you know what it was?” Michelle asked.
“What? A gym sock probably.”
Michelle scoffed
“No, it's known as a wank sock Sarah, a bloody wank sock. The girl down from the cafe told me. Honestly, these boys are bloody filthy.” Before Sarah had any real time to process what a wank sock was, Jake came walking into the kitchen. Michelle turned around, making her back click.
“Ello Jake, luv, finally left your pit, did you? Nice life for some if you can get it, eh.” Jake nodded and grunted ‘yeah’ before reaching over and putting two slices of bread in the toaster.
“Here, Jake, you'll know. Tell your mum what a wan-” Sarah interrupted Michelle before she could finish.
“Michelle!” they both cackled like witches around a cauldron. Jake's face lit up as red as an Egyptian sunset. The toast thankfully sprung out of the toaster to break the ice and he began buttering it, avoiding any eye contact, until he left the room.
“I’m sorry, Sarah, but you gotta laugh. If you heard the way some of these young lads speak when they think we ain't listening, you wouldn't be half as embarrassed as talking the same way back. When I ear’ my Peter talking to his friends I learn so much, honestly is brilliant, it keeps me young.” Michelle reached over for another donut.
