We all stand in a circle around a newly planted olive tree in the garden of Joanie’s house. Me, Keats and Michael. And Joanie of course. I’ve made my peace with my half-brother and his mother. It hasn’t been easy but the world doesn’t need more ugliness after what we’ve all been through. I don’t think me and Joanie will ever be great friends but I respect her as Philip’s mother.
Philip’s remains were found in the fire, but Dad’s weren’t. Still, I had a burial for him at a church near where he lived. With the police involved, news had leaked out about what had gone on, so many of his business associates decided to stay away. I refused to bury him near Mum. She deserves to rest in an eternal peace she didn’t find in her marriage.
We’ve just got back from the church where Joanie laid her son to rest. The celebration service he’d prepared had guided the proceedings. Joanie had invited a few of us back to her home for the last simple request Philip made in his celebration programme. To plant an olive tree so that his mother could still see him grow. There are the stains of long-dead tears on Joanie’s face now but there’s a ghost of a smile too as she stares lovingly at the small tree. Ray is lying near the tree, his tail wagging but he makes no sound. Maybe he senses what the olive tree represents.
Now for the final part of the ceremony. I wave my hand for Jed and his band who stand at a respectful distance in the corner of the garden. They play Eighteen and we all sing with our best voices to Philip’s song.