‘Not bad,’ he would have said. ‘Bit slow.’
‘And steady,’ I said.
‘Wins the race,’ he’d say.
‘Won,’ I said. ‘Wonthe race.’
I put my hand on the coffin; it was just him and me for a moment, silent.
I took my hand away, opened the door and stepped out.
‘Expertly done, Brendan,’ said Mr Feeney, quietly coming up beside me, ‘expertly done.’
I looked behind and it was only then I realised that all the people who had been lining the pavements had joined the procession. It looked like an audience of hundreds to my eyes compared to the small group that had started at the funeral home. I’d been so locked into my journey forward that I hadn’t properly looked back. In the crowd of faces it was Mr and Mrs McCoys’ that shone out the strongest.
‘Brendan, oh my goodness, that was just so, oh my goodness, just so special,’ said Mrs McCoy, coming up to me.
‘Brendan, son, it really was,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘We didn’t expect that, you made that whole journey so much easier knowing it was you leading the way.’
‘It was, honestly, the greatest honour,’ I said.
I knew I wouldn’t have been able to speak during the servicethat was to follow. I hadn’t even been sure if I could manage the drive, but I had done it and I hoped Ronan would be proud of me.
Ronan was carried on the shoulders of the pallbearers into the church. I followed with Mr and Mrs McCoy as everyone filed in behind and began filling up the pews. We sat together at the front. During the service family members did Bible readings and prayers of the faithful and we listened as the priest spoke about Ronan, too numb to take anything in.
When the service ended Mr Feeney became the conductor once again, the final stage of his duties. He summoned the pallbearers, Mr McCoy joined this time, and once more Ronan was raised up onto their shoulders and carried down the aisle. I followed behind. I was thinking about the picture I’d put in with Ronan, that black-and-white captured moment of him held high. When I looked up at the coffin I could only see Ronan as he was that day back when the picture was taken; held high, like the world was his own, at the height of happiness. Looking up, it was as if I could hear the crowds of cheering students all around him, celebrating him. It was as if the tears in my eyes were tears of happiness and love and gratitude for the friendship we had. I could see him crystal clear looking down at me; smiling, laughing, crying. I really could see him, as if he was up there, closing his eyes, turning round on top of the dark blur of people below and laying down flat across them.
They stopped.
We were at the graveside.
Mr Feeney called me forward as Ronan’s coffin was laid on top of wooden slats across the mouth of the grave. He led me to the coffin side and put a length of cord in my hand. There were others around the grave too; Mr and Mrs McCoy opposite me,all holding a length of cord. The slats were removed and the weight of Ronan was in our hands. We lowered him down until the cords went loose. He had come to rest.
There were words said, prayers, blessings, but my eyes never left the open grave.
‘Grief,’ Mr Feeney always said, ‘is a strange thing. No two people ever feel it the same way and no two people ever feel the same afterwards.’
I lifted a handful of earth, held it over the grave and let go.
50
Where I come from it helps to be hungry if you’re bereaved.
The church hall had three trestle tables loaded with sandwiches, sausage rolls, scones, iced buns, Madeira cake, and someone had brought a quiche. It didn’t look like much had been eaten.
People had made their way there after leaving the graveyard. Some faces I knew, most I didn’t. Mrs O’Neill was there along with some students from our year; those who had run with Ronan, kicked football with him, voted for him at the formal. They didn’t stay long.
Jennifer was there. Her mum and dad waited outside, apparently eager to get back home to pack for their trip to Prague the next day.
‘I’m not going to go, I’m staying here,’ Jennifer said, ‘with you.’
‘No, go,’ I said. ‘It’s only for the weekend, isn’t it? Besides, they can’t just fly off to Prague and leave you on your own, can they?’
‘Well, theycan,’ she said. ‘Theywould.I’ll call you tonight, OK?’
She kissed me and hugged me tight one last time.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ she said in my ear.
