‘Oh, he’s home,’ he said, coming into the dining room and then spotting our plates. ‘Yous are after having a feed, did you save some for me?’
Mum and me looked at each other and smiled. Her teeth were filled with black poppy seeds and as I went to point at her mouth she lifted her hand to point at mine.
‘You’ve poppy seeds in your teeth,’ we both said at exactly the same time and then burst out laughing. We stopped, breathed, sighed out together and then burst into another peal of laughter. Dad watched us and then came and sat down at the table as our laughter faded out. We sat together for a moment, not speaking, staring down at the scattered crumbs and seeds onour plates and then down to our hands; Dad’s were in a tight horizontal prayer position on top of the table. Mum’s were underneath but her arms had a twisting motion as if her hands were being wrung. I looked down to my own, resting on each thigh, not tight, not tense, but trembling.
49
It was the fourth day of my summer.
It was the day of Ronan’s funeral.
I was standing in front of the cupboard mirror in my bedroom when Mum’s voice came along the landing.
‘Brendan, we’re nearly ready to leave … Goodness,’ she said, stopping in the doorway. ‘Brendan, you look … you really do … Where’d you get that suit?’
‘Mr Feeney took me to McMillan’s yesterday, I was going to wear the suit I wore for Granny’s funeral but … well, since I’m going to be more involved Mr Feeney thought I should look the part.’
‘More involved?’
‘It’s something I’ve sorted with Mr Feeney, Mum, between him and me.’
‘Alright,’ she said with a tilt of her head, ‘we’re ready downstairs when you are.’
Alone again, I gave myself a head-to-toe scan. Everything looked as right as it could, so I closed the cupboard door.
I walked to my desk and picked up the framed photo thatJennifer had given me at Christmas; the black-and-white image of Ronan ‘the champion’ held up high by a swarm of students from our year, with me off to the side looking up at him, smiling. I took it with me.
We pulled up outside Feeney’s Funeral Home. Other cars were there and small groups of people were standing around. I had spoken to Mr and Mrs McCoy on the phone the night before; they’d said the gathering at the funeral home would be small, only close family. I didn’t recognise anyone. The McCoys said I could see Ronan if I wanted to but understood if it felt too much on the day. I got out of the back of the car and straightened out the creases in my trousers and jacket just as Mr Feeney strode over.
‘Morning, Brendan.’
‘Morning, Mr Feeney.’
‘He’s looking powerful well, isn’t he?’ he said to my parents, putting a hand on my shoulder.
‘He is indeed, Gerry,’ said Dad, ‘but, honestly, we’ll have to sort you out with the cash for that suit.’
‘You will not indeed, business expense,’ he said with a knowing smile towards me. ‘Mr and Mrs McCoy are in the chapel of rest at the moment. Brendan, did you have a wee think about that? It’s only what feels right for you today.’
‘I would like to see Ronan,’ I said. ‘I have a wee picture here I’d like to give him, or put in with him.’ I showed it and he took it for a closer look.
‘Ah, that’s a class picture, look at him,’ he said and then pointed, ‘and there’s you in the corner. Class picture, Brendan.’
As he handed the photo back I saw Mrs McCoy appear in the doorway of the chapel of rest. Her face looked red, her hand in a fist pressed to her chest. She seemed lost as she looked around at the gathering and then her eyes met mine and she smiled, beckoning me over.
‘How are you, Emma?’ Mum said as we came over and hugged her.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘we’re all together, we’ll get through. Thank you so much for coming.’
Dad hugged her, too, and offered condolences.
‘Brendan, look at you,’ said Mrs McCoy, breaking from Dad’s embrace, ‘doesn’t he just look so …’
She shook her head trying to find the word, just like Mum had done.
‘He does indeed,’ said Mr Feeney.
‘Thank you, Mrs McCoy,’ I said.
