I can’t say it was comforting to know she had everything she wanted around her. It was just very, very sad. I had done my best, but it didn’t make things any better. It was just another step in a terrible process, something that unfortunately had to be done. There were lots of tears as the service progressed, especially when Christine took Reef and Finn up to the front to place snowdrops on Kate’s coffin. Where she found the flowers I don’t know, but I’m glad she did. As funerals go it wasn’t too somber, which came as a surprise and a relief.
Afterward we had a gathering at a venue called Plantations in the middle of the moors at Kingston Seymour. It’s a special place used by Reef’s disabled team, and they very kindly let us use their facilities for the afternoon. It was perfect, not only because it is so private but because it is in such a lovely setting, surrounded by nature. Kate would have been outside hunting for bugs and four-leaf clovers given half the chance, because that’s what she often did on our visits there.
Guests brought games and Harry Potter DVDs as gifts for the boys, and we had more Blue Man soundtracks playing, which kept them entertained. My uncle had edited together a video and a load of old photos, which were played on a loop on a large screen. I had no idea how he’d managed to pull so much together so quickly, and it took my breath away.
I saw snapshots of Kate’s life and my life with her. I loved her so much, at every stage in her life. She never changed, and even when she was near the end of her life, suffering and in pain, she still had the mischievous glint in her eye I’d first seen in the teenage Kate.
The boys didn’t really cry, they just got a bit upset when they saw others getting emotional. I was very glad when the day was over. We’d given Kate a wonderful send-off, but now I was looking forward to a more private kind of grief, one that Kate had instigated when she wrote on her list: “Would like to go on top of the wardrobe, with the cuddly toys, to be with boys a bit longer.”
I remembered being a bit taken aback, to say the least, when Kate explained this wish. I simply couldn’t comprehend having my wife, the warm, tactile, sweet-smelling Kate, reduced to cold, black ashes and sitting in a box on top of a wardrobe—and not any old wardrobe, the wardrobe in the boys’ bedroom. I was very wary, but Kate had it all worked out. She knew that, after she was cremated, there would be a gap before the interment, when we would finally bury her box of ashes. Kate had thought this through deeply, and she had decided that she didn’t want to be left sitting on a shelf in a lonely undertaker’s storeroom when she could be at home with us.
“The boys don’t need to know,” she said. “But if you could pop me up there, between the cuddly toys, I could be with them for a bit longer.”
My heart bled when she said that. She was so clear about her fate it had become almost mundane to talk about it. She sounded as if she was asking me to hang out the washing or feed the fish. I felt uncomfortable about it, though there was no way I was going to argue with her.
Now Kate’s request seemed much less weird, and when I collected her from the crematorium the next day I told my brother quite matter-of-factly on the phone: “I’ve just picked Kate up.”
“OK, Singe,” Matt said warily. “I was just phoning to make sure you’re OK—er, are you sure you’re OK?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m fine, mate.”
Kate was in a beautiful basket that matched her coffin. It looked exactly like a little picnic basket, which was just what I wanted. It was very pretty, very Kate. I’d be able to hide her among the teddies in that without any problem at all.
Once we were safely home I carried Kate upstairs, telling her the boys were still at school and we had the house to ourselves for a while. I sat her on the carpet while I made a little space in between Finn’s favorite lion, Reef’s giraffe he had in hospital and a collection of cuddly Disney characters, teddies, floppy dogs and a fluffy guinea pig.
“There you go!” I said as I lifted her carefully into place and arranged the toys around her. “That comfy enough for you, Kate?”
If anyone had heard me they’d have thought I’d lost it, but it didn’t seem right not to talk to her. I wanted to talk to her, and I surprised myself by feeling quite comfortable doing so. I realized that Kate being on the wardrobe was not only going to fulfilll her wish, it was going to help me grieve. She would get her wish to be with the boys for a bit longer, and I could be with her for a bit longer too. I just knew she’d thought of that already.
That night, after I tucked the boys in and kissed them both twice, I glanced up at the wardrobe before saying “Good night, sleep tight.” Two little voices came back: “Night-night, Daddy.” I felt Kate’s presence in the room so strongly I half expected to hear her voice too. I wanted to tell the boys Mummy was watching over them, that she wasn’t quite gone yet, but I knew it could confuse them or even frighten them, and it was not the right thing to do at all. Besides, I didn’t even know if that was true, or just silly wishful thinking on my part.
Kate and I shared Christian values and morals and chose a Church school for the boys because we firmly believe in its ethos, but we weren’t regular churchgoers. If there was a God I found it very hard to understand why we’d been put through so much. Having said that, Kate’s presence felt so powerful it was almost tangible that night. There was a soft warmth in the air, and pushing the door open into the boys’ room to wish them good night had felt like walking into a big cuddle. I liked it, and the boys floated off to sleep soundly, looking like a pair of very happy bunnies.
I trawled the Internet that evening, looking to buy memory boxes, and was delighted to come across some fantastic pirate chests on eBay. I ordered two the same size and one big one from a company in Germany, thinking it would be comforting to make a start on creating the memory boxes while Kate was still in the house. I knew the boys would love them too.
The interment of Kate’s casket wasn’t for a good few weeks. I’d chosen March 31, as it was our wedding anniversary. We loved that date because we worked out that if you typed it into your mobile phone, it made a heart shape from the numbers. It occurred to me that it would be fitting to get the boys christened on that date too, so we could celebrate their lives and Kate’s on the same day as our wedding anniversary. Marriage in 1996, death in 2010. Who could ever have imagined those events would happen within such a short space of time?
This year was too soon for the christening, and it wouldn’t be appropriate, let alone practical, to hold it on the day of the interment. But I decided next year was perfect, and on March 31, 2011, I would tick that one off the list: “Christen boys—Noel.” That way we would create a new, happy memory for that date. I told Kate my idea and I knew she would have approved.
“It’s a shame we didn’t christen the boys sooner,” I said. “You’d have loved it. At least it’s something to look forward to, a date to cherish.”
I knew Noel would be only too happy to help. He is the vicar in the church attached to All Saints School, where Reef was a pupil and Finn soon would be. Noel has also got two little boys and is a school governor, and he and Kate got on well.
Privately, I ran through the occasions in my mind again and again. Marriage, interment and the christening of our children. It wasn’t the right order at all. I picked up my mobile to type in the date, wanting to see the heart shape and remember how Kate and I would text it to each other, anniversary or not. Before I did so the phone rang, my Transvision Vamp ringtone, startling me.
“Have you remembered about tomorrow night?”
It was Rachael, a good old mate of mine and Kate’s. She and her husband, Stuart, had talked me into going to a local barn dance. I vaguely remembered agreeing to go, under duress. I love Rachael and Stuart, mainly because they are a bit wacky like me and Kate. Rachael always takes the mickey out of me and makes me giggle, and Stuart is a great laugh too. He’s also a skilled carpenter, and I’d already asked him i
f he’d work on our extension. I wanted as many mates involved as possible, as that’s the way Kate would have done things.
“It’ll do you good to have a night out,” Rachael was saying. “Can’t have you moping around on your own, no, no, no!”
She knew all about Kate’s wishes, and she clearly wasn’t going to waste any time getting me out and about and meeting new people, even though it was only a couple of weeks after Kate’s death.
“I haven’t booked a babysitter,” I said, feeling strangely jittery about the dance and scrabbling around for an excuse not to go.
“Surely Kate’s parents will have the boys? They’re always brilliant like that. Or what about Kirsty, your babysitter?”
“OK, I can see you’ve got this all sussed,” I chuckled. “What do I have to wear to a barn dance? I don’t want to look like a fat cowboy on my first night out as a single bloke!”
Rachael cracked up laughing.
“Pick you up at seven tomorrow,” she said. “Stuart and I will walk there with you.”
I went over to my side of the wardrobe and started picking through my shirts. I felt odd, like a teenager again, fretting about what I was letting myself in for and who I might meet. Thinking about it, I realized I hadn’t been single since I was about thirteen years old—over thirty years. I didn’t want to be single and forty-four, yet I was nowhere near ready for the dating scene, let alone another relationship.
Going out as a single man was a whole new challenge, an alien pursuit, but one I knew I was going to have to get used to. I worried about the dance on and off all the next day, but with hindsight I really needn’t have. When we arrived at the venue, Stuart bought me a Wood’s Rum and Coke even though I rarely drink, which helped me let my hair down a bit. I had a couple of dances and a few giggles with some mums from school, and it turned out to be a thoroughly enjoyable evening.
Rachael and Stuart walked me home at midnight. It was a cold, frosty night, and my deep breaths made the air fog in front of me. It was actually a relief to be out of the house, I realized. I had missed not having Kate to dance with and chat to, but I’d enjoyed getting out and breathing some fresh air, away from the memories piled up at home. I was an adult for the evening; just a single male, swapping jokes and socializing with friends. The pressures of being a single dad and a grieving widower were left behind for the first time in weeks, and I was glad I’d made the effort.
Unexpectedly, a car sped round the corner, and its headlights illuminated a couple walking along the pavement on the other side of the street. Their heads and bodies were pushed up so closely together they looked like one huge person. I felt a pang of jealousy that seemed to come from nowhere, puncturing my mellow mood and flooding me with feelings of self-pity.
Why couldn’t that be me and Kate? Why was I on the other side of the road, on my own, with just the cold night air wrapped around my shoulders? I looked up at the sky, wondering if Kate was looking down on me. The sky was clear, and the stars were shining brightly. The sight of them cheered me up, reminding me of the nights Kate and I had had midnight picnics in the Mendip Hills when we first dated.
“Don’t worry, I won’t get old and bitter,” I told Kate silently when I got home. “Don’t worry if you see me get cross and upset. It won’t last forever, I promise.”
The next morning I left the boys watching Saturday-morning TV while I showered. Scooby Doo was on, which the boys love. As I stepped out of the bathroom I heard the most amazing peals of laughter ringing up the stairs. Both Reef and Finn were absolutely chuckling their heads off, and their giggles were rocking the whole house. I went downstairs in my towel, curious to see what could possibly be so funny on Scooby Doo, only to find them watching an old Norman Wisdom film they’d flicked on by chance. The pair of them literally had tears streaming down their faces and were pointing at the screen, doubled up with laughter.
“Look, Daddy, that silly man is being chased by a policeman!” Finn managed to spit out.
“He’s like the blue men,” Reef said, his voice breaking into giggles. “Mummy would have laughed really hard at this.”
She certainly would. The slapstick humor was right up her street, but, much more than that, she would have given anything to hear her boys laugh like that again. That was a bit of a moment for me. I remembered feeling sorry for myself when I saw that couple knitted tightly together on the pavement the previous night and I gave myself a little ticking-off. I had so much to be grateful for; I mustn’t let myself get down. I had to keep smiling like Reef and Finn, because what was the alternative? There wasn’t one, at least not one Kate would have approved of.
I’d balked when she’d told me she wanted me to find someone else. It seemed an impossible task. Kate was irreplaceable, I told her that straight. She was my soul mate and I wasn’t sure you ever got the chance to have two soul mates in one lifetime. But Kate insisted. I watched as she selflessly said and wrote the words: “Find a woman to settle down with so the boys can have a female influence and stability in their lives.”
Remembering the look on her face as she read the words out loud was painful. She was trying to smile at me, willing me to be happy, but was unable to stop the tears spilling from her eyes. Now, for the first time, I fully understood why she had insisted on putting this on her list. As a wife she was being selfless and thoughtful and incredibly generous. I already got that. It was her final, ultimate act of love for me. But I could see the richer meaning in her words too. I could see something Kate’s maternal instinct had alerted her to long before: with the boys being so very young, my happiness had a direct impact on theirs. Having a miserable single dad as their only parent was no good for the boys at all. I had to look for happiness and stay positive, and she knew me well enough to realize that I’d struggle to do that on my own.
I received another invitation that week, this time for my brother’s girlfriend’s eighteenth-birthday party, which she was holding in a nightclub in Weston-super-Mare. It was on February 12, just ten days after Kate’s funeral, and I think friends and family were surprised but delighted when I agreed to go. It helped that I’d already been to the barn dance, and I was less wary this time, knowing I’d be surrounded by family.
It was still a bit of an ordeal getting ready on my own and driving to the club all by myself. I turned the music up loud in the car on the way there, trying to fill the empty space next to me. When I finally arrived and walked into the party my head was banging with tunes, and I think I must have been on autopilot. I hadn’t wanted to think about being there without Kate, I just wanted to get through the evening and maybe even manage to have another night off from full-time grief. My mind had other ideas, though, and my subconscious was playing tricks on me.
“What d’you want to drink?” Matt asked.
I will remember my brother asking that question forever, and I will never forget turning round and asking Kate what she fancied to drink. I was convinced she was there, standing beside me at the bar in the nightclub. I could see her outline against the backdrop of disco lights and dry ice, I was sure of it. It was so good to see her again, or at least to see a vision of Kate, the vision I projected into the empty space beside me.
My brother was shocked by my mistake, of course, but it certainly didn’t spoil the evening. I quickly reassured him I was fine and I moved on, mingling easily around the party. I smiled and chatted and I coped with other people’s awkward reactions when they saw me and didn’t know what to say or do. I’d lost my wife, not my personality, I thought, as I broke the ice and showed them I was the same old Singe, up for a laugh and a chat.
I knew some people were amazed to see me at a party so soon after losing Kate, and I think those who knew I had accepted the invitation half expected me to be sitting in the corner moping and crying. Driving home, I felt quite pleased with how the evening had gone, and I told Kate as much when I got in that night, tiptoei
ng into the boys’ bedroom and whispering in the dark to the collection of strangely shaped shadows on the top of the wardrobe.
I told her how my brother had been shocked when he realized what I’d done, thinking she was beside me. I explained how I’d thought she was on my arm at the bar as usual, and when I realized she wasn’t how I wasn’t upset, but realized I had quietly enjoyed seeing her. I also told her how, later in the evening, memories flooded back when I saw the teenagers on the dance floor. They reminded me of our early days together, when we melted into each other on our midnight picnics at Priddy. Finally, I told Kate that I would take the boys to the play area at Priddy Pools, where we’d hunt for bugs and reptiles and toads and lie in the little grassy bowls pitted into the landscape, because that’s what Mummy liked to do.
“I will also do my best to find a new woman, one day,” I said, not quite believing what I was saying. “I’m not promising anything, though, and it won’t be for a long time yet.”
Chapter 4
“Mummy loved how sparkly Reef and Finn’s eyes were in Lapland”
A couple of weeks after Kate’s funeral we returned to Plantations in Kingston Seymour for a family fun day, organized by the North Somerset Disabled Team. “Keep in touch with Maria and Lynne, Disabled Team,” Kate had asked, and I fully intended to.
Maria and Lynne are a great team, and Kate had gotten on with them brilliantly. When she was very poorly, they sometimes took the boys to school, taking the pressure off so I could go to work early or take Kate to a hospital appointment. They both had a great sense of humor that always shone out, regardless of how sick or disabled the children in their care were.
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