Michael Devlin stood at the mirror in his downstairs washroom. He filled his large cupped hands with cold water from the running tap and buried his face in the contents. Next he placed his hands on the square bathroom sink and leaned forward to look closely into the reflecting glass. The toll of the last twenty-four hours looked back at him.
His eyes were red. Not from tears but from fatigue. The damage had come from holding himself together. From being the rock that Daniel’s wife had needed. That had taken every ounce of strength he had. The strain showed on his face.
Michael left the bathroom and walked from the hallway to the lounge. The sight of the leather sofa in the centre of the room was welcome. The thought of letting it take his body’s weight was almost a physical pleasure, but it was a pleasure banished in an instant. Replaced by the memory of a telephone conversation from less than a day before.
The memory was forced from his mind. Michael would not allow himself to fall apart. Not now. The strength he had shown throughout the day may have left him, but his mind remained clear. Instead he thought through the past hours. The loss of his closest friend was more than painful. As was the need of those Daniel had left behind. Michael had been there for them. They were his responsibility now. What was it Daniel used to say to him? Family doesn’t stop at blood? For the first time he really understood what that meant. He would not let Daniel down.
Michael had already taken every responsibility from Claire Lawrence’s shoulders. He had made the calls no one would want to make.
Claire’s family had come quickly to her side, comforting her as best they could. Michael had played no part in this. Instead he had kept himself busy, scouring Daniel’s contacts for details of anyone close to his friend. Those who should hear first-hand.
It had been an unhappy task, but he could not leave it to Claire. Or to anyone else. It was his duty.
The reactions had been varied. Some were stunned, the conversation stopped in its tracks by shocked silence. Others, including Daniel’s secretary, simply collapsed. Others still took the news with stoic but no less devastated acceptance.
Tony Haversume had fallen into the third category. He had been the hardest to contact. Michael had finally managed to reach him in the late morning, and when he did the news was taken as expected. No tears. No sobbing. No self-pity. Tragedy was accepted in silence until – in a voice that betrayed the enormity of his loss – Haversume had asked if there was anything he could do to help. Michael had assured him that there was not, but still Haversume had sworn to be with Daniel’s family as soon as possible.
This had been Michael’s last call. But not his last responsibility. That was something altogether worse. Explaining to Harry Lawrence why his father had not come home.
Michael had sat and gazed at the child for what now seemed like a lifetime. The boy had always strongly resembled his father, but never more than at that moment. Just eight years younger than Daniel had been when they had first met, Michael could not help but see his lost friend in this child’s eyes. It had been almost unbearable. The closest he had come to falling apart. Somehow he had not.
The conversation had gone as well as it could. Placing his hand lightly on Harry’s knee, Michael had told him in the softest tone that there had been some bad news. At that Harry had begun to sob. The bright ten-year-old seemed to know what was to come. But he still needed to hear it.
Michael spoke slowly. Gently. Explained how Daniel had been driving home late when his car had been involved in a road accident, and what that meant. Harry had taken it in. He had cried pitifully in Michael’s arms until no more tears would come. Only then did the questions begin. Questions Michael was duty-bound to answer until Harry knew everything a child in his situation should know.
The next three hours were a blur. Michael could remember long, strained conversations with Hugh and Deborah Lawrence, Daniel’s parents, and with Tony Haversume, who was much more restrained but in obvious pain. There had been talk of autopsies, of coroner’s inquiries, and Michael could now recall Haversume’s promise to Deborah that no one would touch her son’s body; he would see to that.
Above all else Michael could remember a family that was torn apart by the memory of Daniel. Parents. A child. A wife. All of them needing to grieve with no restraint. So Michael had left them, returning home at last to mourn privately and in his own way.