“Riley, it’s okay…I’ll buy another.” Ben pressed his lips tight and leaned into the open front window of a black cab, giving the driver their destination. He reached for the door’s handle as Riley returned, shaking her head.
“Sorry, I’m such a klutz.”
She’s nervous. She’s not the only one. He opened the door, letting her climb in first.
The driver joined the Saturday afternoon traffic and left central Reading. Neither Ben nor Riley spoke. Ben fidgeted with the knotted leather bracelet on his right wrist, the healed fracture aching from the damp. Riley watched town center businesses, narrow streets, and small terrace houses morph into suburban shopping plazas, tree-lined roads, and large semi-detached homes.
“Oh.” Ben sat up suddenly, leaning toward the opening in the clear partition separating the cabbie from his passengers. “Mate, can we stop here?” He turned to Riley. “Won’t be a minute.”
The cab pulled into a gas station and Ben dashed out the door, picking up several skinny bouquets of daisies from a bucket outside the kiosk. While he paid, Riley reapplied her lipstick and pulled her hair into a neat ponytail, still unsure where they were headed.
Jeez, could they look any cheaper? Ben hopped back in the taxi, handing Riley two modest bunches. “Just a little…something.”
“They’re pretty.” A sweet happiness brightened her face, erasing her confused pout. “Thank you.”
Shit petrol station flowers, no proper kisses—this is the most awkward reunion ever, and it’s not her fault…it’s all on me. Heart pounding through his chest, Ben shook his head, his hand clasping two identical bouquets. I wish we could do this over—do it all over. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his vest.
Riley’s eyes fell to the cellophane-wrapped flowers crinkling in his hand. “Who are those for?”
2:45 P.M. We’re good for time. He stuffed his phone back in his vest. “My mum.”
“Your mom?!” Eyebrows raised, Riley’s grin grew and nudged her voice up almost an octave. “Oh! I was hoping we might be going there!”
Ben slumped against the window, his eyes darting from one impressive detached home to another, their mature leafless trees guarding the upscale road. I wish we were going anywhere but there.
Watching the increasingly luxurious houses fly past, Riley took in her jeans, old parka, and worn sneakers. A self-deprecating chuckle slipped into a whisper. “I wish I’d dressed up—” She frowned and dove into her tote, her fingers finding something that reunited her cheeks with her smile. “Oh, I totally forgot…”
“Forgot?” Ben glanced over as Riley pulled out a plastic bag…with flats. She set the shoes down on the cab’s floor.
“I usually leave these under my desk at work, but I’m so new there, it felt…oh, I dunno…” Nervously rambling, she bent down, tugging off her socks and sneakers. “I forgot they were in here. At least I’ll look a little more presentable now.”
“You look fine, Riley, really, you don’t need to…” Ben pulled off his wool hat, dumped it in his half-zipped backpack, and patted down his hair, but it stubbornly flicked up again. His hand skidded across his forehead as the taxi drove through a set of stone gates and down a long driveway. Shit. I’m burning up.
Leaning over, Riley’s head hovered at her knees. “I hope I look fine!” She slipped her bare feet into the flats and rubbed away a scuff mark.
I need air. I can’t…breathe… A thickness plagued Ben’s throat, not helping his already queasy stomach. He stared at the familiar landscape of scattered brown leaves, bare trees swaying in the wind, and the winter-scarred grass, the hint of sunshine chased away by clouds. He tilted toward the cab’s partition. “You can stop here, mate.”
The taxi rolled to a stop and Riley stuffed her sneakers in the plastic bag before placing it into the tote. She lifted her head, her eyes drifting from Ben stuffing a ten-pound note through the hole in the cab’s partition to the wilted flowers and weathered gravestones waiting outside.
Seventy
What? No…no! It can’t be…
Stepping out of the cab, Riley trembled, the cellophane surrounding her flowers rustling against her parka in the brisk breeze. “Ben? It’s not…” Words she never thought she’d say choked her throat. “Your mom…?”
He nodded, closing the car’s door behind them. The slam unnerved several crows loitering in nearby trees, their abrasive caw-caw-caw filling the stilted silence between the couple as the cab headed back toward the main road. Ben swept his hair from his eyes and wrapped his arm around Riley’s shoulder, guiding her off the cement path. A warm breath left his lips in a shudder.
The safe, familiar feel of Ben holding her close was of little comfort. Walking through row upon row of moss-covered gravestones, her eyes, dazed with disbelief, filled with tears. Her shoes sank into the spongy sod with each fraught step. This is every child’s nightmare. The tingling in her nose intensified with the cemetery’s earthy smell of damp, freshly turned dirt. Poor Ben! “When…when did it happen—?” Her voice broke.
Ben bowed his head, staring at his boots scuffing over the flattened grass. “Riley, I wanted to tell you so badly…”
Is this really happening? Her body felt stiff, uncooperative, like she had forgotten how to walk. His mom…dead. That’s why he canceled his St. Patrick’s visit, why he seemed lost, got so drunk. Why didn’t he say anything? I wish he’d told me! Gathering tears stung her eyes. “Were you with her…when…was she sick?”
“She’s here…” he whispered, stopping in front of a modest gray headstone, simple in design, without cherubs or crosses, and dwarfed by its more expensive neighbors. A burnt tea-light candle in a small mason jar lay tipped over in front.
Shannon Catherine Weir
Oh…! The sight of his mother’s name carved into stone felt like someone had reached into her chest and ripped out her heart. It’s true. Oh God, it’s true. Hot tears spilled down Riley’s cheeks. His dear mom. She leaned into Ben, who remained stoic, but the slight quiver of his chin told Riley he was barely holding himself together. “Oh, Ben,” she whispered into the wind. “I’m so sorry!”
He wiped his nose and let her go, sinking to his knees. He dropped his backpack on the grass and righted the little candle then removed his flowers from the cellophane.
Riley leaned forward, her eyes drifting past Ben’s hair waving messily in the breeze. He looks so alone. I should’ve been here for him. She slowly read the engraving as he lovingly placed the daisies on his mom’s grave.
Shannon Catherine Weir
April 18, 1975 – September 6, 2008
Beloved mother of Benjamin
“Love you until the last star fades”
So beautiful, so Ben. She traced upward again. April 1975 to September 2008—wait. 2008? But… Her breath caught in her throat. She looked at the grass under her flats—grass that hadn’t been dug up for some time. She didn’t die recently? A chill spread through her core, slowing the arrival of fresh tears. “Ben…your mom died…eleven years ago?”
His watery eyes darted over his shoulder. “Riley…” Ben stood up, his fingers curling under the bottom of his vest.
“You lied? I don’t underst—you said—” Her stare narrowed as she stuttered. “You said she was alive! Why…why would you lie about that?”
Ben met her confused, pained glare, his chest chasing breaths. “I knew it was wrong, but…” A wince pulled his head back. “I was trying to…protect you.”
“Protect me?!”
His hands fled to the zipper on his vest and up into his hair, where they roamed and tugged. “Look, everything I told you, about my dad, moving from Scotland, Mr. C—all of it’s true, but me and Mum…” Closing his eyes, he exhaled into a whisper. “I couldn’t…” His lashes flickered open slowly. “Look, I need to tell you now…tell you everything. Please, Riley. Hear me out?”
Anger and sadness whirled in her head. She couldn’t look at him, her gaze dropping to Shannon’s gravestone: �
��Beloved mother of Benjamin’. Her heart ached, revisiting those words. A twist of fate—that’s all that separates me and Ben. If we never met… wouldn’t I be in his shoes? Wouldn’t I be heartbroken, laying flowers beneath ‘Beloved mother of Riley’? She slowly looked up, meeting Ben’s pleading eyes. He needs compassion, not a fight. He’s listened to me…so many times. I owe him that. Her tight-lipped “okay” gave him the go ahead.
“Thank you.” He exhaled, rubbing his forehead in relief. “Me and Mum…we were just like you and Maggie. She was my world and I was hers. We only had each other, so we were inseparable. Even when I was, like, nine or ten, I’d hold her hand, give her a hug at the school gates. I got teased sometimes, other lads called me a mummy’s boy, but sod it.” He shrugged. “There are worse things than being uncool. She was my best friend. It was me and her versus the world, especially after my father made it clear he had no interest…”
I know that feeling well. Riley nodded.
“I loved reading with her. Every Friday lunchtime, she’d go to the library. She’d come home at night, books tucked under her arm, all for me: atlases, books about space, books about animals from faraway places. I think she spotted I had reading problems pretty early on. She took loads of time with me, going over each word. When I was diagnosed with dyslexia, she said it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, said it just meant I had to decipher each word one at a time. The specialist I saw told Mum that, like a lot of kids with dyslexia, I was a sensitive kid—empathetic was the word he used, but I didn’t know what it meant. Mum said it was this amazing superpower—I could see through people. I listen well. I pick up little clues about people’s feelings that someone else would miss. I get it now, but back then, I’d no idea what they were on about with their ‘compassionate listener’ bollocks.”
“It’s not bollocks—you are a great listener.”
“Shame it didn’t impress the school bullies…” He pressed his lips together. “Mum told me over and over, ‘You’re just different, Ben, and different is great!’”
Pulling her coat tighter against the wind, Riley’s expression softened. “She sounds wonderful.”
“Yeah. She always loved me…even when I was naughty. She’d tell me off, I’d apologize for whatever I’d got up to, then she’d give me a cuddle. One time, she dragged me into the kitchen to help her bake. I thought it was punishment, but the more I mucked about, squeezing brown sugar and butter between my fingers, making a right old mess, I began to love it.” His face lit up. “I’d look forward to it. I think it made her happy, us making brownies and biscuits together.” His fingers crept up his right wrist and hooked his bracelet. “Mum always wanted her own bake shop…” Looking away, Ben blew out his cheeks, buying time.
His market stall? A lump grew in Riley’s throat.
“When I was twelve…” He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “One day, I got in and she was already there, sat on the sofa, waiting. Mum never came home early. Her eyes were puffy, but her makeup was perfect, like she had just reapplied it. I-I wasn’t fooled—I knew she’d been crying and wondered if my father had done something to hurt her again. The year before, Mum had sent him pictures of me in the school play, but he’d sent them back unopened. I shrugged it off, but Mum…I hated how he made her feel unimportant. I went over and gave her a big hug and…” Ben’s breath hitched. “That’s when she told me.”
You never forget that moment. Tears stung Riley’s eyes. Mom waiting at home, after school…my arms full with my science project, an untouched coffee in front of her. Her words suffocating the room, extinguishing the light, shattering my heart…
“We clung to each other.” Tears glistened in Ben’s eyes and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily. “I thought cancer was something old people got, not Mum. She said, ‘We’ll have to be apart, but only for a wee while, Benjamin. The group home will be like a sleepover with kids your age.’ But I didn’t want to hang with some rando kids…I wanted Mum.”
Riley stepped closer, clasping his hand. “You must’ve been so scared.”
He choked back tears. “I couldn’t stop shaking…I-I begged her to let me stay, promised I’d be good, promised I’d look after her, told her ‘We don’t need anyone else.’ She burst into tears and said, ‘But Benjamin, love—this time, we do.’ I buried my face in her neck and sobbed my heart out. I’ve never felt more helpless.”
“Ben, I’m so sorry.” Riley squeezed his hand and sniffed back tears. “Did…did they begin treatments?”
“Yeah. I bawled the first time I saw her after surgery: part relief, part shock. She was totally out of it. Her cheeks were gray. There were tubes everywhere…”
Riley nodded. “It’s so scary.”
Ben pushed his hair off his forehead. “Mum opened her eyes and smiled when she saw me, though, so I held her hand until she fell back asleep. The next visit was better. She told me to hop onto the bed so we could snuggle while I read to her about planets and stars. That became our thing, me reading to her, even when she left hospital and started chemo treatments. It was me looking after her…for a few hours anyway. I was only allowed to visit twice a week.
“Before Halloween, they let me move back home with her. It was the happiest day of my life. Mum was mine again. We baked and played her old records—it was perfect…and then, it wasn’t. She got sick again…ten months later. I went back to the group home. Mum went…” The words caught in his throat. “Into palliative care. I’d cry into my pillow, scared of that phone call in the middle of the night, I missed her so badly, but Mum never came home again, and neither did I.” His voice trembled with tears.
What does that do to a little kid? “Ben…” Riley pulled him into a tight hug, her tears falling quickly.
“I wasn’t with her when she died.” He wept over her shoulder. “I was in fucking PE class and the headmaster pulled me out and marched me back to his office. I knew. I knew before the social worker said a word. I felt it. I felt like something sharp had ripped my heart open…and all the love and everything good spilled out.”
Riley cradled his head with her hands. “Did you…say goodbye?”
“No. They wouldn’t let me see her.” He pulled back from their embrace and more tears slipped down his cheeks. “The social worker drove me home and said to grab what I needed because I couldn’t live there anymore. She had brought Mum’s suitcase from the hospice—the pink dotty one. I was in shock. I had no clue what to do. I flipped it open and found Mum’s photo album, my stuffed turtle, some clothes. I buried my face in her cardigan and that’s when I lost it. Her scent…brought her back to me.” Letting Riley go, he dug in his pocket and found a tissue. “I couldn’t stop crying. I scooped up the rest of her clothes on the floor and curled up in a ball with them. I don’t know how long I was like that. The social worker came back and told me we had to go. All I could think of was packing as much of Mum’s stuff as possible. I put the clothes in the case and opened her old trunk.” He wiped his nose and took a shuddering breath, his tears slowing their descent. “She hid her ‘wee treasures’ in there. I found the eighties t-shirts, her notebook full of recipes, some jewelry.” He lifted the cuff of his hoodie and his thin leather bracelet slid to his wrist.
“It was hers?” Riley touched it gently. “That’s why you never take it off…”
He nodded, pulling his sleeve down. “There was one other thing that meant the world to her. She’d save it for best…that silver bracelet with a puffin charm…”
Riley’s mouth fell open, her eyes darting to her own wrist. “This?”
“Yeah, Mum brought it back from a school trip in northern Scotland.” Ben fidgeted, ripping apart the tissue in his hand. “You love puffins so much, I wanted you to have him…Mum would’ve, too.”
“Oh, Ben…” Holding the little silver bird between her fingers, Riley felt the knots in her shoulders and chest release.
Trembling in the cold wind, Ben’s sad smile faded. “I ran into my bedroom, grab
bed some clothes, and found the last birthday card she gave me, but that’s all I took. The social worker said we had to get going and she’d make sure my books and Mr. C’s telescope were sent on to me…but I never saw them or the flat again. I found out later, social had called my father, hoping to place me there, but he didn’t return their messages…I had no one.”
He was just a kid…with nobody left to love him. A deep ache overwhelmed Riley’s chest.
Ben nudged the grass with his boot. “It was raining…the day of her service. It was in the crematorium, over there. The vicar was kind; he asked me about her. Then he stood up and said some nice words, how she was a ‘great mother to Benjamin Fagan,’ how she was with the angels now.” Ben stared off into the distance. “The thing was, I was the only one there, if you don’t count my two social workers and a lovely nurse who treated Mum at the hospice.”
That fear… Riley swallowed heavily. Being entirely alone…I thought about it all the time while Mom was sick, but Ben has LIVED it.
“I rattled around the foster care system until I turned eighteen. I lived with four different families—”
Riley’s eyebrows lifted. “Four?”
“Four years, four homes.” He sniffed and stuffed the shredded tissue in his pocket. “The first foster parents hit me with a belt. The next home was with a thirty-something woman who wasn’t around much—she was just in it for the payments from social services, I think. So, I fended for myself, having cereal almost every night.”
“You must’ve been so lonely, Ben.”
“Yeah, and angry. I missed Mum so badly, I couldn’t stand it. I ran away a few times, got hauled in by the cops for underage drinking. I smoked joints, had sex…didn’t have many friends. When stuff went missing at school, I’d get blamed by the teachers. Back then, I swear I didn’t steal, but I soon figured, ‘Well, if they’re blaming me anyway, might as well get something out of it.’ I knew it was wrong, but…” He shrugged. “When I was sixteen, I joined foster family number three, in Windsor. They were an older couple, proper strict: no computer games, TV for only an hour a night after homework, household chores. They laid down rules, but it felt like they cared, you know? I liked them. We got along pretty well after a few months. I overheard them talking one night about maybe adopting me…”
Until The Last Star Fades Page 42
