[Author's Note – This is the third instalment of the story that began with 'Gotta Love Them Cheerios' and continued with 'Bluetooth'. I've tried to make it understandable to readers who haven't read those other stories, but I can't judge how successful I have been in achieving that.]
Peter held his daughter close. It was raining a little but they hardly noticed as they stood at the graveside. As the mourners moved away, seeking refuge from the persistent drizzle in the long line of parked cars, they inadvertently gave Peter and Luce the privacy they needed.
Luce lost her reserve, clinging to her father's overcoat for support as she sobbed against his shoulder. Peter didn't cry. There'd been enough tears already – two years of them since Georgina had been diagnosed with cancer. The fear, hope, despair, resignation and most of all, the waiting had been theirs alone. Georgina had insisted that Luce should still go to college and had struggled to put on a brave face whenever she spoke to their daughter by telephone. Peter, on the other hand, had held his wife in the night when she woke up crying, had sat at her bedside through interminable sessions of chemotherapy, had been spared none of the details of Georgina's inevitable death. No, he'd not cry over her grave – Not while his only daughter needed his support. Georgina would understand.
Theirs was the last car to leave the cemetery. Peter had asked Jean-Paul to see to the drinks, et cetera, back at the house. As he pulled into the driveway, hearing the familiar growl of the gravel under the tyres, he broke the silence.
"Luce... You don't have to be here right now...If you'd prefer, you could go next door and..." Next door was the home of Luce's godparents, Jean-Paul and Lucy, whom she was named after. The two families had been neighbours for over twenty years and business partners almost as long.
"Thanks Dad, but I'm alright now." Her cold hand rested lightly on his, on the gear lever, and she looked sideways at him. This was the first time she'd thought he actually looked his age. Usually, people were incredulous when they found out he was approaching fifty: Today he looked every day of it. While her parent's had shielded her from most of it, Luce was a bright young woman and could figure out just what the last two years had cost her father emotionally.
Pausing only for the briefest of hugs on the doorstep, they joined the wake. Jean-Paul, redoubtable friend that he was, had made sure that everyone had a full glass of something and had found sufficient cloakroom space for all the wet coats. He came straight to Luce, brushing her cheek lightly with his lips and gesturing for her coat too. Peter followed him to the cloakroom.
"How are you holding up?" Jean-Paul asked, as soon as they were private.
"Ok. I don't think it's really hit Luce yet. I'm not sure we've done her a favour, keeping so much from her. Georgina's death really came as a shock to her."
"So she will grieve and you will console her and at least she didn't have to see her mother fade away. My friend, you've spared her much – don't ever doubt that." Jean-Paul hugged Peter. It was a gesture that they would only share in private but, well, they'd shared a lot over the years and if Peter were going to cry on anyone's shoulder, it would be Jean-Paul's.
"Thanks Buddy. Let's get this over and done with, huh?" Peter let go of Jean-Paul and with a stoic attempt at a smile, returned to the family room. As he moved through the throng, thanking people for coming and accepting their condolences, he noticed that Lucy had gathered Luce in and that the two were having a quiet cry together in the corner. A few other women drifted close to them but Lucy waved them off. When Peter passed that way again, the corner was vacant. Lucy had spirited Luce away somewhere.
When all the guests had left, Peter and Jean-Paul gathered up the empty glasses and full ashtrays and deposited them in the kitchen for later attention. They were just about to go looking for the Elles – a longstanding nickname for the two Lucys – when footsteps on the stairs heralded their return. Both women had been crying a lot. The red rimmed eyes and streaks on their cheeks were testament to that. As Luce let go of Lucy's hand and crossed the kitchen to hug her father again, he could barely focus on her for the moisture welling in his own eyes.
"Sorry for leaving early, Daddy. I just couldn't take any more." She mumbled against his shoulder. He stroked her hair.
"Its ok Luce. Everyone understood...I'm sure."
Jean-Paul caught his eye and nodded in the direction of his own house. Peter nodded ever so slightly.
"We'll be off then." Jean-Paul said, moving close enough to pat Peter on the shoulder while Lucy pressed a Kleenex into Luce's hand, squeezing the girl's fingers gently. Jean-Paul and Lucy left quietly.
It was a long time before either Peter or his daughter moved. Eventually, they made their way to the stairs and to their respective bedrooms, whispering goodnight to each other in the dark corridor of an eerily quiet house.
* * *
Lucy arrived during breakfast and insisted on getting started on washing all the crockery from the previous day's gathering. Peter was too preoccupied to put up even a token resistance.
"Luce, I have to go over to the hospital and pick up Georgina's things. Do you want to come with or stay home?" Peter asked his daughter as they sipped lukewarm coffee.
"I thought I'd make a start on sorting out Mom's things with Lucy... Unless you'd prefer us to wait until you're back."
"No. That's a good idea."
Lucy joined them at the table, helping herself to coffee. "Georgina and I discussed it weeks ago... When they started just making her comfortable. We've got plenty of boxes, bags and tissues."
"I'll leave you to it for a couple of hours then." Peter stood up, rounded the table to kiss his daughter then bent to kiss Lucy too. Luce wasn't in the least bit surprised that he made no attempt to aim for her cheek. She grown up seeing her parents and their neighbours kissing each other and it had never looked that platonic. By the time she'd learnt that word, she'd picked up enough clues to know why they were so affectionate. Not that she ever let on that she knew her parents and Godparents were swingers.
It was emotional work, sorting through all her mother's personal stuff and Luce was glad of the company. The Elles shared stories about the things they found, reminiscing about Georgina, and there was almost as much to smile about as there was to grieve.
"I worry about Peter." Lucy changed the subject out of the blue. "He seems so detached from all...this. You're under the same roof, Luce. How's he really coping?"
"I think he's trying to be strong for my sake. He's sleeping in the guest room. He can't bear this bedroom alone – surrounded by all Mom's things. I'm glad we're getting through all this stuff. Perhaps it'll be easier for him then."
"Oh. Poor Peter." Lucy started welling up and reached for a tissue. The box was emptying pretty fast.
"You could help..." Luce observed cryptically.
"I'll help you both, however I can. You know that." Lucy was sincere. She and Jean-Paul had been very close to Georgina and Peter for a long time.
"I think Dad could move back in here if he wasn't alone." Luce gestured expansively around the master bedroom.
"Luce? You mean..."
"I know you guys have been swapping beds for years." Luce shocked her godmother into silence. "I just think Dad needs someone with him for emotional support... I know it's really awkward and it's not really fair on J-P but-"
"Jean-Paul wouldn't be an issue. If you know about our relationship with your parents, you must know how much my husband thinks of Peter." Lucy emphasised her relationship to Jean-Paul deliberately.
