Joe-Nathan made no noise at all as he approached Charlie but Charlie didn’t seem surprised to find Joe beside him, staring down – just as he was – at a gravestone all curled round with ivy. Neither one looked at the other, but Joe said, ‘My dad is here.’
‘Here?’ Charlie said.
‘Buried here.’
‘Oh.’
‘Do you want to see?’ Joe asked.
Charlie shrugged, ‘Sure.’
They walked on, away from the people lingering outside the crematorium, under an arch of trees that threw down greenish light. Joe walked with his hands deep in his trouser pockets, like Charlie did, to see what it felt like. It felt soothing; he could understand why a person would do it.
When they got to Joe’s dad’s gravestone, they stopped and stared at it.
MIKE CLARKE
BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER
Charlie read the words out loud.
‘Mum said it was how he would want to be remembered,’ said Joe.
They stood in silence for a while before Charlie said, ‘My dad was nice when I was little. I remember him doing all the nice things good dads are supposed to do.’ He hesitated. ‘Then mum left – left us both – and he started drinking too much, getting angry and hitting me. He’d hit me, and then he’d hug me and say sorry, sorry, sorry. And that’s how it’s been with him and me ever since. Except he doesn’t say sorry anymore. I think even he knows there’s no point in saying sorry for a thing you know you’re just going to do again.’
Joe didn’t know what to say, so they stood in silence again long enough for shade to cover them, then sunlight, then shade again.
‘How do you think he would like to be remembered?’ Joe asked.
‘How do you mean?’
‘His epitaph. What would your dad want it to say?’
Charlie made a light scoffing sound, then he was quiet, but Joe didn’t interrupt, just waited for Charlie to answer.
‘I don’t know how he’d like to be remembered. Not the way I see him, that’s for sure. He wouldn’t want to be remembered for the kind of man he’s become. I suppose if you don’t like the way you’d be remembered by others when you die, then you should change and be the kind of person you want to be known as. Too late for my dad though, I think.’
There was silence once more.
‘I know you call me Mean Charlie,’ said Charlie, and Joe pulled his hands from his pockets, crossed them tightly across his chest, and tucked his chin down into his collar.
‘It’s okay, I have been mean. But I wouldn’t want to be remembered like that.’
‘Will you remember me as Joe-Nuthin?’ said Joe.
‘Huh? No.’ Charlie laughed and turned to face him. ‘You ain’t nuthin’, Joe, you’re really somethin’. But don’t tell anyone I said that. How do you want to be remembered?’
‘I want to be remembered as A Man of No Mean Bones,’ said Joe. ‘My mum said I don’t have a mean bone in my body.’
‘Think she was probably right,’ said Charlie. ‘You’re certainly made of different stuff. Can’t imagine you being mean to anyone on purpose.’
‘Are you mean on purpose?’
‘I don’t know. Yeah, I guess.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t know.’
Joe looked over at the crowd in the distance and saw Chloe waving at him, slowly, with her arm in a wide arc, beckoning him.
‘Looks like you better go back,’ said Charlie.
‘Where will you go back to?’ asked Joe.
Charlie shrugged again, pressed his hands even deeper into his pockets and looked at the ground. ‘Dunno.’
It was just as Joe thought: there was nowhere for Charlie to go back to; no safe or good place to which he should return.
‘Okay,’ said Joe, and he turned to leave.
‘Hey, Joe,’ Charlie said, and Joe turned back and waited for Charlie to speak. ‘I think you’ll get your wish.’
‘What wish?’
‘To be remembered the way you want to be,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ said Joe, and he returned his hands to his own pockets and smiled inside as he walked back towards Chloe and the others.
‘Who was that?’ Chloe asked, when Joe arrived back at the crowd.
‘Lovely service,’ said Hugo, coming up to stand beside them. ‘I thought your speech was excellent.’
‘Thank you,’ said Joe, nodding at the ground and avoiding Chloe’s scrutiny.
‘Your speech was lovely,’ said Pip, coming over.
‘Thank you,’ said Joe, and he began to feel like he’d won the spelling competition at school again, the number of times he was congratulated by almost everyone there, the way the words thank you started to feel strange in his mouth because he’d said them so often.
Then Angus clapped his hands once, as though he were some sort of magician, and said it was time to go to the pub. Iris said, ‘Hear, hear!’ and everyone made their way to their cars.