“And tea. Oh my gosh, she loved tea. She had a tea for every occasion. Spiced chai for thinking deep thoughts, peppermint for tummy aches, jasmine for reading romance, Earl Grey for gossiping. Whenever I was in my room and she brought in a teapot of Earl Grey with a little dish of almond biscuits, I knew I’d be staying up past my bedtime. One time, through our sleuthing, we figured out that our gardener was having a love affair with one of the guys who worked at The Little Thatch back in the early days.
“She knew I was gay. Told me she’d known since I was a boy, and when I told her I thought I might be ace or aceflux—though I didn’t know the real words back then—she just shrugged and told me she would love me more every day so long as I was always true to myself.”
“She sounds amazing. I’m sorry she was taken from you.”
He swallows and sniffs again. “Urgh. I have a headache from crying so much. Thank you for letting me chat about her.”
“I have a headache too,” I admit. “If ever you want to tell me more, I’ll be ready.”
Quietness stretches between us. A stillness. Like when you drop a pebble into a pond and it ripples outwards, disturbing everything for a while, but eventually if you wait long enough, peace returns.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says.
I have to hold my breath to stop another onslaught of tears. “Does Daisy ever visit with you?”
There’s no point in asking about his father. I already know the answer to that one.
“She used to, but she’s got more important things on her mind these days.”
I can’t think of anything more important than being there for your best friend when he needs you the most, but I don’t say anything. It’s not my place to judge their friendship.
“We can stay here as long as you need to,” I say, moving my body so that our sides are now touching. I guide his head down to my shoulder, and sling my arm over his.
“Don’t you need to go to your grandfather’s wake?”
“Nah, fuck that old prick. I’d much rather be here with you.”
For you.
He wipes his face once again. “You have no idea what that means to me.”
We sit there silently for hours. The sun begins its descent, my legs go to sleep, my stomach grumbles, and my bladder is painfully full, but I don’t disturb him.
“I’m ready to go home,” he says a long while later.
We get to our feet. A couple of his curls have become glued to his temple with tears. I unstick them and tuck them behind his ear.
“Do you know what’s really annoying about all of this?” I say.
“What?”
“You’re not even an ugly crier. When I cry, it looks like someone’s drawn two tiny little red circles on a tomato, but you just look like a fucking catwalk model with artistic makeup.”
Lando laughs. “I love you,” he says, and pulls me into a one-armed hug, guiding us towards the path.
My heart explodes. He obviously meant it in a friend-like way. Like,“love you, man.”That’s what he says to all his friends, no doubt. I expect Daisy hears it all the time.
He doesn’t mean it any other way.
Sure. It’s just a friend thing.
“Where’s your car?” he asks when we arrive at the cemetery’s car park and find it empty besides Lando’s sporty grey Audi.
“I got a lift from my mum and dad.”
“Do you want me to drop you at the wake, or will it be finished by now?”
I shake my head. I doubt very much the Ellises will have finished celebrating the “life” of my great-grandfather until the early hours of the morning. Really, any old excuse for a knees-up will do, but I don’t want to be with them right now. And Lando needs me more.
