Ellipsis

5 The Dead, Silence

5 The Dead, Silence

Thom is surprised during the funeral. No one seems to have known Daniel. Thom himself spends the whole funeral in a daze, thinking about adjectives for Daniel, only realising it’s over when Emma squeezes his hand. She looks great in her black dress. If it weren’t so inappropriate, he would take her to the car and distract himself with a good dose of indecent exposure.

By the time they watch the curtain devour his coffin, Thom has thought of only useless adjectives for Daniel. He was mysterious, elusive, and witty. He always seemed like he knew more than everybody and he probably had. That’s what drove a wedge between Daniel and everybody else. That’s why during the funeral there are few tears. The entire room is suffocated with only one feeling: guilt.

The wake is at Aunty Val’s house. Thom feels the pieces of furniture he grew up with are stabilisers. He can’t help but think he has missed seeing it more than he has missed seeing Daniel over the last few months. The tired grey sofa in the living room is so old and so used that you can see the mould of people’s arses. His is the one in the middle. Aunty Val doesn’t care much for decoration as she always tells him people are more important than houses. Therefore, she doesn’t care (especially today) that the wallpaper in the living room has started to peel at the seams and that a stain has grown on the ceiling, the colour of tea, from when Richard always spills his bathwater. The mourners walk mud into the living room and nobody complains.

During the wake, Thom drifts between everybody, trying to catch snippets of conversation about Daniel. Yet, everybody seems to be discussing the food: “These sausage rolls are tasty”, or the weather: “It’s warmer than I expected it to be”, or where they bought the clothes for the funeral: “It was a bargain, especially as I’m only going to wear it once…” Worst of all are the people who are saying nothing at all. The only bit of shocking information is that Mrs Launder’s dress, which looks like s**t, apparently cost her one hundred pounds. She has clearly been robbed.

Thom slumps onto the nearest thing for the second time that day and rests his head in his hands. Emma appears a few minutes later, kissing him on the ear. She sits across from him, pushing a cup of tea in his direction. He gives a faint smile and takes a sip, then pushes it aside.

“How are you?” she asks, reaching across the table to touch his hand. He is conscious of the dried sick on his sleeve but hopes she won’t notice it.

“Fine”, he says automatically.

“No. How are you really?”

“I’m really fine”, Thom pauses and adds, “I’ve just been thinking about how little I knew him”.

“Don’t people always think that when someone isn’t around anymore?” Emma counters, thinking this isn’t serious. He hasn’t told her about the note, which has crackled in his pocket throughout the day, so loud at points that Thom wonders why someone hasn’t heard it.

“This is different”.

“How?” She is leaning forward.

“I’m not sure”. He shrugs, chickening out. Sometimes, he is worried that he finds it hard without a script for every eventuality, a line to satisfy people when they want clarification. Emma lets him get away with it for now. She doesn’t say anything else. She just pulls him closer and kisses him on the lips, deliberately, hard. She holds his face an inch from hers for a moment, saying she is here for him; she will wait, until he understands himself.