CHAPTER 1
Gary
I was with my mum when she died. Sitting at the side of her hospital bed with the rest of my family â the very same hospital she used to work in. We took turns holding her hand as we watched the blips on her heart and oxygen monitors slowly reducing. Then, with one final, exaggerated breath â almost a last gasp at clinging on to life â she was gone. The lines on the screen were all flat. And the only thing I could think about, after all these months of failing chemotherapy sessions, of watching her grow weaker and weaker as the cancer ate away at her, was that the first dead body Iâd ever seen was my own mumâs.
The next time I saw my mum, she was in her coffin. It was the morning of her funeral. I had a new suit and stood patiently while my sister tacked up the slightly-too-long trouser legs before my older brother drove me up to the funeral home. Heâd been in to visit earlier in the week, but I couldnât bear to go with him. I canât say why. Too upset? Too scared? Who knows? What I did know was that this was my last chance to see her face, so I pushed away the gnawing sensation in my stomach and sat silently in the passenger seat as Ben parked the car.
âToby,â he said, âsheâs⦠sheâs not how you remember her.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âMum doesnât look like Mum any more. The undertaker said itâs because the muscles in your face relax after⦠you know⦠so she looks a little different.â
I felt like jumping out of the car and runningaway there and then. This shouldnât be happening to me. I was only fifteen. Kids donât lose one of their parents while theyâre still teenagers. Not when they still need them so much. Thatâs all stuff thatâs supposed to happen way off in the future. The gnawing in my stomach quickly returned.
Ben kept his hand on my shoulder right up until I stepped into the room. And there it was: a polished wooden coffin with the body of my mum inside. I realised that I was trembling. Nervous to be alone with my own mother.
The funeral director had dressed my mum in a pale blue outfit, like a kind of nightdress. And heâd tied a white ribbon in her hair. That made me smile. He didnât have to do that. It was kind.
Ben was right. My mum didnât look quite like herself, but nothing near as different as I had been expecting. I backed away from the coffin and stood at the far end of the room so that I could just see her profile rising up above thewooden casket. That was better. Now she looked like my mum again. And thatâs when I lost it.
Everything just hit me at once. All the memories, the happy times â and the bad ones. If there was one thing you could say about my mum itâs that she had quite a temper. When we fell out, we really fell out. The arguments could last for days. But we always made up. She was my mum, after all.
I suddenly wanted to say sorry for everything Iâd ever done to upset or annoy her. All the stupid stuff like staying out all night and not calling, or throwing eggs at our old headteacherâs house at Halloween. Pointless, selfish stuff that Iâd done thinking that sheâd always be there to clean up the mess for me. That sheâd be there for her patients at the hospital. That sheâd be there forever.
Tears were streaming down my face now. I reached into my pocket for the tissues my sister had given me and pulled out a photograph along with them. It was a snap of me and my mumbackstage at last yearâs school play. Iâd been given the lead part and would never forget how, as the curtain rose, I instantly spotted my mum and dad sitting in the middle of the audience. My mum waved to me, even though she knew I couldnât wave back. Theyâd been so proud of me that night.
Stepping back up to the coffin, I tucked the photograph into my mumâs hand, kissed her ice-cold cheek and
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