Liam chuckled, and then abruptly sat down in between Grant’s grave and his neighbour, an old man named Thomas MacDonald who’d died when he was 94. That was how it was meant to be. I sank down next to him. I wasn't sure how long we sat there for. I looked around a few times, but the paparazzi were keeping a respectful distance for once. I glanced over in the direction of Mum’s grave, and got up, leaning heavily on Liam’s shoulder. My foot had gone numb. I hobbled over the well tended grass and looked down on Mum’s gravestone. I’d memorised it months ago.
Margaret (Margie) Anne Pike (nee Wilson)
30 th March 1960 - 2013
Beloved wife of Bill
Cherished mother of Stephanie and Jennifer
Always in our hearts
I always felt a bit strange coming here. For both Mum, and Grant. I didn’t believe in any gods. I was 99% sure I wouldn’t be meeting them in any afterlife, as much as I wanted to. Here was the place their bones rested. It was a strange thought, when I thought about it too hard. This wasn’t where I felt comfortable talking to Mum. I did that sitting at the kitchen table, over a cup of tea. Or wherever I was, really. But I still liked coming up here every now and then. I patted the grass covering Mum and almost jumped when Liam leaned down and put his hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t heard him come over.
“I miss Margie,” he said, squatting down next to me.
“Me too,” I sniffed.
“She was way more supportive of my acting career than my parents were at first.”
I smiled. Now that I thought about it, I remembered walking in on Mum and Liam huddled over the kitchen table more than once. “Is that what you guys used to talk about?”
Liam just nodded.
“I guess you creative types need to stick together.”
“You should write more,” Liam said after a moment. “Your Mum always said you were good.”
I scoffed.
“Hey, she should know.”
“I think she was a bit biased. I’m her daughter. Everything I did was wonderful.”
“Nah. Well, yeah. But, usually when a New York Times best-selling author says you write well, you should probably listen to her.”
I looked at him speculatively. “You know that you and your brother are the only people that know about Mum’s secret life as a best-selling romance novelist?”
Liam laughed. “Yeah. She always told us not to tell anyone. I don’t know why…”
“I think it was to save Steph and I the inevitable high school embarrassment. She probably would have come clean to the town if she’d lived a bit longer…”
Liam squeezed my shoulder again and stood up.
“Do you want to stay here for a bit longer? I can leave you alone.”
I brushed my hands. “Nah, I’m good. See ya, Mum.” I kissed my hand and leant over and touched her gravestone. There was something to be said about rituals. “Death sucks.”
“Yep, it sure does,” Liam agreed. “Ready to go?” Liam asked. My foot was starting to get numb again. I wiggled my toes in my boot and nodded to Liam. I sighed sadly, patted the grass, and tried not to think too graphically about Mum’s bones beneath us. Liam stood up and stretched, then held a hand out to me. I took it, and he heaved me up.
“Damn it, pins and needles,” I muttered and stamped my foot, trying to get the feeling back as quickly as possible.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as Liam checked his phone. I quickly glanced at mine, but there was nothing.
“Want to come over to Mum and Dad’s for dinner? Mum’s making a roast,” Liam said as we reached the car. He didn’t even glance at the hovering photographers. Some of them seemed to have left, and at least one of them was actually exploring the cemetery, and was ignoring us. I had a quick flash of respect for him. The cemetery was old, and I’d always found the older parts interesting. The new section was full of tears too fresh.
“Sure,” I said. “Can Dad
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