Lonely Girl (28 page)

Rosie nodded. Peeking up at Harry with red-raw eyes, she told him shakily, ‘I just want him here … with me … to talk with him, and laugh with him, and race across the fields with Barney running ahead.’

Holding her tight, he kissed the top of her head. ‘I know that,’ he said, ‘and who knows, like Dad said last night, how do we know that we won’t ever see him again, or run across the field with him, or talk to him? Maybe he can hear us now, and he’s feeling sad because you’re sad. Oh, Rosie, just think about all the wonderful times you had together. Imagine now that he’s standing beside you every step of the way as you live your life. Keep the good memories strong in your mind and heart. They will help you, I promise.’

‘Is that what you do, Harry?’

‘Yes, because I loved your father as well. He was like a second dad to me, and I will never, ever forget him.’ He held her face between his hands. ‘And, yes, it does help.’

Harry always seemed to know what to say to make Rosie feel better.

‘Come on then,’ she slid her hand into his, ‘Daddy’s waiting for us.’

‘You’re right, he was always a stickler for being punctual.’ Even as he was leading her out, the tears pricked his eyes. ‘Oh, Lord,’ he murmured under his breath, ‘please look after that wonderful man.’

Once outside, Rosie went straight to the hearse, where she saw the wreaths through the windows of the car, carrying his name, her own words written in flowers across the back window – ‘Love you, Daddy.’

Growing tearful again, she traced the words with her fingertip, and then Harry was there to hold her hand and help her into the front car.

‘Time to go, Rosie,’ he said softly.

She held his hand so tightly that he felt as though the blood would drain away. In that very poignant moment he knew in his deepest heart and soul that he could never love anyone else like he loved his darling Rosie. But, as always, in the back of his mind he thought his love was hopeless because Rosie had known him all her life and saw him as a kind of brother.

And knowing that, and carrying the sadness of that day, it was almost too much to bear.

The church was filled with flowers, given with love and respect by the many villagers who had always seen John Tanner as a friend; as a pillar of the community; and, for some of them, as an employer. He was always there if ever there was a problem. He was a fine friend, and a much-loved and respected neighbour. Every soul there prayed for him, and many shed a sorry tear for his loss.

After the gathering and prayers came the final commiserations in the churchyard, and then it was time for everyone to depart.

‘Thank you so much for being here.’ Rosie spoke to each person individually, and they hugged her lovingly, each and every one being too filled with emotion to say much. Rosie was glad of that, for as soon as the mourners had departed, she needed to be alone with her daddy.

‘Do you want me to come with you, Rosie?’ Harry was loath to leave her side.

Rosie shook her head. ‘Later, maybe, but for now I need a minute or two just to be on my own … if that’s all right?’

Harry understood. ‘I’ll wait by the gate at the bottom of the path,’ he promised. ‘I won’t be far away.’

‘Thank you, Harry.’ Rosie reached up and shyly kissed him, being very gentle and hesitant, because she had known him all her life and she was convinced he saw her as a kind of sister.

As she walked away, Harry watched until he could see her no more. He then looked up at the bright skies with a heavy heart. ‘Let her be strong, Lord,’ he murmured. ‘Let her find happiness. And please, help me to accept that she will never love me as I would like.’

That was the saddest thought of all: a life without Rosie to share it with was, to him, no life at all.

While Harry waited for Rosie, he strode up and down the pathway.

At one point he noticed a woman standing by a tree, not too far from where he had been waiting. She looked rather lonely, aged probably in her early thirties, or thereabouts. Harry thought her quietly attractive with her long brown hair swooped up in a whirl and tied with a delicate little blue ribbon.

She was dressed in a knee-length light-green coat, and wearing dark ankle boots. Dangling from her wrist was a small, chunky umbrella.

Harry couldn’t help but feel that she must be waiting for someone, but as far as he knew everyone had gone except for himself and Rosie.

He continued to pace up and down, and when he looked up again, the woman was nowhere in sight. She must have come to the wrong church, he thought. Poor thing.

When, a moment later, he saw Rosie coming down the path, he ran to meet Rosie. ‘Are you all right, my darling?’ Reaching out, he took her by the hand and walked her down to the gate. He knew she’d been crying because her eyes were red raw. ‘Come on, let’s get you to the village hall, eh?’

‘We’d best hurry,’ Rosie told him. ‘By now they’ll be wondering where we’ve got to.’ It was hard for her not to think all the time of her darling father, lying up there all alone in the dark earth.

As the two of them walked hand in hand towards the village hall, Harry forgot about the woman who had appeared rather lonely, back there in the churchyard.

The reception was not a morbid affair, although talk was muted and the sadness was highly evident in the hall. People ate and drank and toasted the life of John Tanner, and, with nervous approach, they talked to and hugged Rosie and the family.

When Patrick stood up to give a speech, there was not a dry eye to be seen. Instead, each and every one there was made to reflect on the fact that life was indeed precarious, although in each of them, the memory of John Tanner was bound to live on.

When it was time to leave, they left singly or in small groups: the village shopkeeper; the little widow who owned the flower shop; Fred Pearson, manager of the local garage – all glad to have had the chance to say a proper goodbye to their respected neighbour.

Soon it was time for the family to say a gracious thank-you to both the vicar and the lady who had organised the reception.

As the family made their way out, Rosie said, ‘I need to go back to the churchyard, just for a little while.’ She was missing her father so much, she could hardly breathe.

‘Do you want us to come back with you, sweetheart?’ That was Kathleen.

Rosie shook her head. ‘No, thank you, Auntie Kathleen, and I really don’t want to go home in the official car.’ Shuddering at the thought, she turned to her uncle. ‘Can we please get a taxi, Uncle Patrick?’

‘Of course, Rosie, love, if that’s what you want.’ He understood. ‘I’ll use the telephone in the hall to call a taxi to take you and Harry to the churchyard, then he can wait there for you and bring you home whenever you’re ready. Will that do?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

When the taxi arrived, Patrick and Kathleen hugged Rosie and Harry, then lingered a moment while they climbed inside. Patrick and Kathleen waved the young ones off until the taxi was out of sight, and then they too were heading off, but in the opposite direction.

‘Will they be all right?’ Patrick asked.

‘I’m sure they will,’ Kathleen replied, ‘but Rosie’s positively broken by what’s happened. Oh, Patrick, I don’t know how she will ever get through this.’

‘She’s her father’s daughter, my love.’ He took hold of her hand. ‘I know it won’t be easy, but Rosie will get through it – with our help and with Harry by her side.’

His remark raised another sorry point. Being aware of the driver up front, Kathleen lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘You do know they love each other, don’t you, Patrick? I mean, they
really
love each other.’

‘Yes, I have realised that,’ he replied, ‘and I’ve been thinking of having a serious talk with them. But with things the way they are at the moment, and Rosie having to cope with the loss of her father, it might be kinder if I left it just now. They are so very young yet. What do you think?’

‘Yes, I think that would be best.’

For the remainder of the drive home, Patrick was thinking about when he first met Kathleen, and then later when she said yes to his proposal of marriage. Over these past wonderful years, they had been so happy, and so much in love. He considered himself the luckiest man in the world. He only hoped Harry and Rosie would find the same kind of happiness.

‘A
RE YOU SURE
you’re all right on your own, Rosie?’

‘I think so.’ Now that they were actually in the churchyard, Rosie was experiencing so many emotions she felt totally lost. ‘I just need to be with him … just for a minute or two,’ she said in a shaky whisper. ‘I need to tell him how much I miss him, and how much I wish he was still here, talking and laughing with me, and just to see his smile once again would be so beautiful.’

Harry forced back his tears. ‘His smile will always be with us,’ he promised, ‘because you have it. You have his smile, and you have his goodness, and I will always look after you, Rosie.’

Rosie slid her hand into his, her eyes welling with tears. ‘You are the kindest person I know and I’m so glad I’ve got you as a cousin,’ she said.

Saddened by her innocent remark, Harry nodded.That was how she saw him: as her cousin. ‘I’ll go inside the church and light a candle for your father. Would you like that, Rosie? After I’ve lit the candle, I’ll wait at the church door for you.’

Rosie smiled on him, and then she turned away and went up the path.

Rosie turned her head to see him enter the church, and then she walked on towards her father’s resting place.

When she was within sight of the mound of floral tributes that marked her daddy’s grave, she paused, surprised to see someone was there, kneeling down, placing flowers.

Drawing nearer, she saw it was a woman, but she could not get a good look at her because her head was bent, and her light-brown hair was somewhat tousled about her face.

As Rosie came nearer, increasingly curious, she heard the woman softly crying. Her sadness touched Rosie’s heart.

For a long, confusing moment, Rosie wondered if she ought to go to the woman and ask her who she was.

Quietly, Rosie approached softly, until she could see the woman more easily. She appeared to be in her thirties, and she was reaching out to lay the prettiest posy of flowers on the grave, the gentlest smile on her sad face.