On Sunday Charlie had called Tasha to tell her the funeral would be taking place the following Wednesday. It had all happened so quickly, organised with the typical quiet efficiency of the military. In the tradition of the SAS there would be no pomp and ceremony, no parade, just a quiet local service in their village church. Charlie had stayed with Becca and his parents, offering them his support, helping with Daisy and Fergus, generally being there for them all. He had also been working on the eulogy, which Becca had asked him to give. Tasha knew how much he hated public speaking. This would be without a doubt the hardest thing he had ever had to do; so much raw emotion. Tasha was beside herself with nerves on his behalf. What if he lost control and couldn’t get the words out? It would be too heartbreaking to see. And she knew how important it would be for him to feel as though he’d done Andrew proud.
On Wednesday Tasha got the train to Surrey, having left the children in Emily’s care. The journey passed by in a total blur. She was lost in her thoughts, still trying to come to terms with what had happened. When her taxi pulled up outside the church, memories of Fergus’s christening came rushing back. It had been the last time they were all gathered there: a truly happy occasion, the opposite of what they were all about to face.
The grey stone offered calm sanctuary from the cold wind that nipped at its walls. One of Andrew and Charlie’s cousins greeted Tasha at the door, offering her an order of service. Her heart leaped into her throat as she saw the photograph of Andrew on the front page, so handsome in his uniform, so full of life. Fighting to control her emotions, she was shown to a pew near the front, behind Becca, Caroline and Stephen. Daisy and Fergus were at home, both far too young to witness such a harrowing sight. Tasha slipped into the pew, reaching forward to squeeze Becca on the shoulder. She turned to greet Tasha, giving her a glimpse of the faintest smile behind the tightly clamped mask of pain. She looked fragile and lost; a shadow of herself. Tasha kissed Caroline and Stephen, offering her condolences, furiously blinking back tears in the face of their brave smiles. They looked as though they hadn’t slept in days. A family gathering missing one vital piece.
The church was packed to the rafters with Andrew’s loved ones. The pungent scent of white lilies lingered in the air. Half-smiles of greeting flickered across faces heavy with sorrow as they caught the eye of long-lost friends. The overwhelming weight of grief was palpable.
A hush amongst the congregation announced the coffin’s arrival in the church. The pall-bearers, led by Charlie, were some of Andrew’s closest friends. As the solemn procession made their way up the aisle silent tears streamed down Tasha’s cheeks. Charlie’s eyes brimmed with tears, pain etched his features. She knew she would never forget the sight as long as she lived. Becca broke out into sobs as she saw the coffin, the Union Jack an emblem of the cause for which Andrew had so selflessly given his life, his beret and belt the poignant reminders of the beloved man to whom they had belonged. Having placed the coffin down Charlie took his seat between Becca and his parents. He turned around and smiled at Tasha, deep purple grooves under his eyes. She could feel his agony with every fibre of her being.
Soon the space was filled with voices singing, defiant, determined to give Andrew the send-off he deserved. When the time came for Charlie to give the eulogy, Tasha could barely breathe as she watched him take his place at the pulpit. He was so like his brother in so many ways, those deep blue eyes, the kindness in his face. Her heart went out to him; she was willing him on with every cell of her body. His hands trembled as he looked around the congregation, causing the paper he held to tremor against the polished wood.
He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began to read. His touching words echoed around the church. It was beautiful, every word heartfelt. He described his brother through a series of stories, covering each stage of Andrew’s life, eliciting several laughs amongst the multitude of tears, never more so than when he talked about Becca: how complete she had made his life, how his children were the best gift he could ever have been given, how much he adored them.
Tasha had never felt so proud of Charlie as she did in that moment, watching him standing up there, so vulnerable yet so strong. She had never felt so completely full of love.
All too soon they were standing out in the bitter cold at the freshly dug graveside, watching the coffin as it was slowly lowered into the ground. A gentle drizzle of rain drifted down as if heaven itself were weeping. Tasha reached out and took Charlie’s hand in hers, he squeezed it tightly. She looked at Becca, clutching hold of her mum; the anguish on her face was so agonising it broke her heart. She watched Stephen and Caroline, arm in arm, so frail themselves. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it must feel like to see your child buried; no parent should ever have to witness such a thing.
After the wake they drove back to London with the heaviest of hearts. Charlie was needed back at work the following day. Tasha had offered to stay instead of him but Becca had assured them she would be all right, that she wanted some time with just her and the children. Becca had been brave beyond imagination at the wake, smiling and greeting Andrew’s friends and family as if offering them comfort when it should have been the other way around. Daisy had joined them for a while, dressed in the fuchsia-pink dress Andrew had always said was his favourite, a much-needed splash of colour, resplendent in her childish innocence, unable to quite comprehend the enormity of what had happened or the loss she would suffer without her father.
‘It was a beautiful ceremony,’ Tasha said quietly as she drove. The rain had begun to fall more heavily, the wipers swept across the windscreen, back and forth in a rhythmic beat. ‘Your eulogy was perfect. Andrew would have been so proud.’
‘Thank you,’ Charlie said. ‘It was definitely the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. God, it all happens so bloody quickly, doesn’t it?’
‘One moment they are here, the next they are gone.’
‘Life can be so tragic.’ He shook his head, still finding it hard to believe that his brother was really dead.
‘It’s amazing how we forget just how mortal we all are.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Charlie said, staring blankly out of the window.
When they pulled up on Havers Street Tasha glanced across the road, noticing the lights were on. Back inside they paid Emily, thanking her for looking after the children, who were all tucked up in bed. She left, telling Tasha she would see her in the morning.
‘Right, I guess I’ll be off,’ Charlie said. He looked comatose with exhaustion.
Tasha’s heart fell. She couldn’t bear the thought of being on her own after the harrowing events of the past few days. And she didn’t want Charlie to be alone either. Part of her had been hoping the total agony of Andrew’s death might have brought Charlie back to her. That he might stay with her that night. She swallowed and nodded. He was probably going to meet Sophia, who would no doubt be waiting for him with open arms. At this the tears welled up once again, but she fought them back.
He looked at her and she turned away, not wanting him to see just how desperately she still missed him, when he was so clearly moving on. ‘I’ll call tomorrow,’ he said, ‘to speak to the kids.’
She nodded again.
They checked on the children, who were all fast asleep, and then Charlie left, closing the door quietly behind him. Tasha walked into the kitchen. She opened a bottle of wine, poured herself a glass and sat down. She stared at the wall, at a framed photograph of them all, taken two years ago in Dorset. She felt numb from pain and loss. She howled as she let the tears fall freely, crying for Andrew, for Becca, for Daisy and Fergus, for Charlie, and for their children. In that moment she knew that Charlie had truly gone, that he was never coming back.