I take a pew at the back, partially obscured by an ornate pillar. Mourners trickle past me, some familiar. It’s the first time I’ve been home in a decade and everyone looks kind of weathered. Except him, that is.
Josh turns around as the church organ roars into life and catches my eye, then presses his lips into a tiny smile of acknowledgement, of gratitude. I feel overwhelmed by sadness.
His Facebook photos don’t do him justice, I think to myself, studying him in profile as he comforts his father. At thirty-eight, he looks better than ever.
There’s a large photo of his mother, Susan, on an easel and I barely take my eyes off it during the service, thinking how odd it is that the woman pictured, tanned and on holidays in Spain, is now in the box in front of me. Goosebumps cover my skin, despite the muggy summer weather.
When the ceremony’s over, he’s quick to find me outside. He wraps me in a friendly bear hug, but for a second too long, and I notice his wife watching us from the other side of the churchyard. Her eyes flick to us every few seconds. A knot of delicious heat forms between my legs.
“Thank you,” he says, a little bit breathless, “thanks for coming. It means a lot.”
“She was like a mum to me growing up,” I say and my voice cracks a little.
Josh and I were together for six years, throughout university and our early twenties.
“You look wonderful,” he says, stepping back to admire me. “You’ve done so well for yourself. I follow you online, you know.”
I suppose it’s true; my paintings are on display in some of the world’s finest galleries, but being back home strips that layer of my life away, and suddenly I feel like a teenager again.
“I keep an eye on you too,” I say, smiling and pulling shawl around my shoulders and across my chest, suddenly conscious that maybe my dress is too low cut. “Your business is doing well.”
His eyes are locked on mine. “Will you come for tea and sandwiches? It’s up at Glen hotel.”
He’s referring to the only hotel in the small village of Glen Marrick. Every wedding and funeral is hosted there.
“I’m staying there.”
--
The function room is packed and I stand near the back, nursing a coffee and making awkward conversation with old classmates who never made it out of Glen and somehow turned into their parents.
I make excuses and wander into the lobby, planning to go back to my room. The combination of the stifling heat, old faces and the circumstances surrounding my return have sapped my energy.
“Laura.”
It’s Josh. His tie is slack now and the first few buttons on his white shirt are open.
“Hey. Just taking a breather.” I hover at the bottom of the staircase that leads to the rooms.