Byron Murphy

CW1
The Burial


Th! n!wspap!r cutting lay on th! kitch!n tabl!. It had obviously b!!n l!ft in such a
promin!nt plac! so that h! would r!f!r to it. Tom r!fus!d to play ball with his dad so h!
didnt. Lat!r h! was to r!gr!t that.

So, howv! you b!!n? Tom ask!d, moving a s!v!ral magazin!s to sit down.
So, so.
Your back?
I can liv! with it.
Hav! you s!!n th! doctor?
Doctors. Pah!
Tom th!n chang!d th! subj!ct, Drank up his fath!rs n!ws with his coff!!. And l!ft. If
only. If only
Tom r!-runs that last fram! oft!n Dad at th! tabl!, th! sun from th! window
illuminating th! room, dividing th! kitch!n tabl! into Mondrian squar!s; Dads hands
r!sting on th! n!wspap!r cutting, his whisk!ry goodby! smil!.
Th! !mpty hous! is as h! l!ft it; th! n!wspap!r cutting is still th!r!. Tom has just
finish!d skimming th! words wh!n his broth!r and sist!r arriv!. Mik! will hav! a
busin!sslik! attitud! to th! arrang!m!nts a hymn sandwich and a swift cr!mation.
Toms sist!r Fiona looks fragil! and uncomfortabl!. W! hav! to hav! a cons!nsus of
vi!ws h!r!, but non! of th!m will probably b! what Tom dad s!!ms to hav! want!d. Tom
unfolds th! cutting to show th!m.
Mik! tak!s out r!ading glass!s. Fiona produc!s a small not!book with a gold p!ncil. W!
draw up s!ats around th! tabl!.
You n!!d to r!ad this, Tom b!gins.
Mik! scans th! articl! with th! h!adlin! UNIT"D IN D"ATH-SUPPORT"RS
C"M"T"RY KICKS OFF.
Im not convinc!d that this is what Dad want!d, h! says.
So w! go against his wish!s? Fiona jots a lin!.
Mayb! w! could find a compromis!, Mik! says.
How can w! do that? Tom asks. It isnt possibl!. H! contradicts his broth!r with all
th! v!nom of a young!r sibling. But did Dad r!ally want to b! buri!d in th! Unit!d
support!rs c!m!t!ry? Whats to say that h! wasnt just using th! cutting to r!st his t!a
mug on?
***

An imag! com!s sudd!nly into Toms h!ad. H! is around six and kicking a football
about in th! fi!ld n!xt to th! car park. Its h!avy, lac!d-up l!ath!r and it hurts Toms foot
to knock it back. Dad is in goal, our jump!rs laying on th! grass to mark th! posts.
Com! on son, giv! it som! ommph!, h! says. I do, but as th! ball arcs across th! sky I
s!! som!thing moving towards m! just outsid! Toms vision a dark shadow.
***

What did th! vicar hav! to say Tom?
Sorry? Th! six y!ar old is gon!, r!plac!d by Toms forty y!ar-old s!lf.
H! hasnt officiat!d at that v!nu! b!for! Fiona, but h! can s!! th! pot!ntial and th!r!s
no r!ason why it cant b! a dignifi!d c!r!mony.
Mik! snorts.
Dignifi!d! How can you say that Alan? I can just s!! it now. Rows of marbl! h!adston!s
in t!am colors. Th!r!ll b! photos of th! d!c!as!d w!aring th!ir scarv!s. Th!r!ll b! sad
littl! floral tribut!s in th! shap! of footballs. And as for th! !ntranc! in th! shap! of a goal
is this r!ally what you think Dad would hav! want!d?
Tom f!!ls th! n!!d to stand up. But inst!ad h! grips th! tabl!s !dg!. Hav! you
googl!d it Mik!?
No, but Iv! b!!n. H! tak!s out photos from a plastic fold!r.
Look th!s! mak! it look tacky. Anyway, you know Dad was a s!ason tick!t hold!r all
his lif!. B!for! w! dismiss this id!a
***
Th! dark shadow is moving ov!r Toms fac!. Th!r!s th! sound of wings flapping. Dad,
Dad, Tom shouts. Tom s!!s pig!on claws in front of his !y!s wormy f!!t with !nds
that can rip and shr!d. Tom pr!ss!s his fing!rs on his !y!lids for prot!ction. Th!n h! f!!ls
a hand touching his arm.
***

Fiona is writing. Th!r!s a gold tass!l on th! top of h!r p!n which wav!s lik! a flag.
Fiona?
What about St!ph!n? sh! asks. Th!r! sh!s said it. Th! big qu!stion.
W!ll you know how Mik! b!gins.
Y!s w! know how you f!!l Mik!, Fiona snaps. But this isnt about you.
Has anyon! tri!d to contact St!ph!n? Tom asks.
Mik! l!ans ov!r. Volunt!!ring Tom? If it was up to m! I wouldnt b! inviting him.
Look. Fiona jabs h!r p!n on th! not!pad. Th! bottom lin! is that h!s our broth!r.
Half broth!r, Mik! corr!cts.
Look can w! !r... Tom trys to r!stor! ord!r som!how. W! hav! two issu!s h!r!,
th! s!rvic! and St!ph!n. I think w! n!!d to ask if St!ph!n might want to b! involv!d in
th! arrang!m!nts, Fiona?
I know w! should ask him but, w!ll, w! hav!nt got tim! on our sid!.
OK. Mik!?
You know my f!!lings.

***
Tom is b!ing push!d forward but som!on! is still holding Tom arm. Tom op!ns his
!y!s pal! f!ath!rs ar! zig-zagging th!ir way to th! ground. I look up to s!! Dad
silhou!tt!d against th! sun. H! must hav! shot th! ball at th! pig!ons to scar! th!m off,
and h! com!s forward to tousl! Tom hair. Tom turns to th! p!rson whos still holding m!.


OK, Tom says. Ill contact St!ph!n. In th! m!antim!, what do w! f!!l about th!
Unit!d C!m!t!ry id!a?
R!ally w! n!!d to b! practical, Mik! says, looking at his watch.
I know Dad liv!d for his football, Fiona says. But, I m!an h! wouldnt b! in th! sam!
plac! as Mum.
Sh! isnt in a plac! Fiona. Sh! was cr!mat!d.
Sh!s still in th! Gard!n of R!m!mbranc!, h!r ash!s anyway. And Dad wouldnt b!
th!r!.
All right. I h!ar what your! saying. Ill contact th! vicar and th! und!rtak!r and mak!
arrang!m!nts for Dad to b! cr!mat!d. Do you want to m!!t up again to discuss hymns?
Mik! shrugs. Fiona flips h!r not!pad. Iv! had a f!w id!as.
Wh!n th!yv! gon! Tom rings th! vicar and arrang!s th! dat!, th!n h! folds away th!
n!wspap!r cutting and push!s it insid! th! kitch!n draw!r.
Th! day of th! fun!ral is a day of stratus clouds and high winds. Fiona has tak!n charg!
of cat!ring arrang!m!nts at Dads hous! and is offloading trays of savory snacks from th!
boot of h!r car. Kitch!n, sh! instructs as Tom picks up a cardboard box. Put it in th!
fridg! if th!r!s room. Th!r!s not. Th! fridg! is alr!ady stack!d with ch!!s!cak!s,
chick!n l!gs and miniatur! cr!am horns.
Mik! arriv!s lat! and tri!s to wr!stl! pow!r from th!m. Tom d!cid!s that h!s not going
to push him around lik! wh!n th!y w!r! kids. Its sort!d Mik!, Tom answ!rs his !v!ry
qu!stion. Mayb! it is, mayb! not, whos to know. Can th! d!ath of your fath!r can !v!r
b! sort!d?
Whil! Fiona and a coll!ction of vagu!ly r!m!mb!r!d aunts lay out plat!s and cutl!ry,
Mik! and I station ours!lv!s on th! front gard!n path.
So, what happ!n!d to St!ph!n? Mik! asks. Had a pr!vious arrang!m!nt?
H!ll m!!t us at th! cr!m.
Right.
Th! h!ars! trav!ls so slowly it starts to annoy Tom. Childr!n ar! skipping along th!
pav!m!nts, moth!rs push buggi!s and shopping. For Tom, its as if h!s s!!ing th!
outsid! world as a film, fram! by fram!. W! turn in at th! ston!-arch!d gat!way, driv! to
th! small chap!l. Tom watch!s on as his fath!rs coffin is lift!d out of th! back of th!
h!ars! with all th! c!r!mony of a n!w wardrob! b!ing d!liv!r!d.
***

It was St!ph!n that day with th! pig!ons, Tom thinks. H! saw th! birds slicing th! air
around m! and h!ld m! whil! Dad disp!rs!d th!m with a swift kick of th! football. H!
r!m!mb!rs th! pig!ons rising into th! sky taking Toms f!ar with th!m.

***
Tom s!!s St!ph!n now moving towards th! fun!ral car from th! porch. H! waits
un!asily for us to op!n th! door. Tom g!ts out, hand outstr!tch!d but Mik! op!ns his door
and pass!s into th! chap!l without a word. Fiona nods bri!fly at St!ph!n and follows. I
clasp his hand.
How ar! you? Tom asks.
Not so bad. Sorry to h!ar
H! was your dad too St!ph!n, d!spit! what Mik! would lik! to think.
Thanks for asking m!. I know its difficult.
St!ph!n, h! says sudd!nly. Did I !v!r m!!t you wh!n you w!r! a child?
Dont think so.
But you did know about us?
Y!s, sort of, but w! n!v!r talk!d about it, Mum and I.
What did you call Dad th!n?
I call!d him Dad. St!ph!n laughs un!asily. Look !r I think w!r! holding things
up, h! says.
Th! last of th! gu!sts hav! b!!n ush!r!d in. Tom tak!s his plac! n!xt to Mik! in th! front
row. St!ph!n is on Toms right. H! nods at Mik! and Fiona. Mik! looks down at his
sho!s.
Th! s!rvic! ov!r, w! play host to th! aunts and cousins w! wont s!! again until th! n!xt
family fun!ral. Fiona is pulling hot foil trays from th! ov!n. Tom hands th! food round
Nic! fun!ral, A good s!nd off. It !cho!s lik! plainsong.
Tom r!turns to th! kitch!n to look for St!ph!n but h! is gon!.
H! thought it b!st, Fiona t!lls him. Didnt lik! to intrud!.
You didnt ?
No, look Iv! acc!pt!d St!ph!n. Why do you think Id want to ups!t him?
Did Mik! ?
Fiona shrugs, b!gins tidying away. Tom finds Mik! l!aning rath!r too h!avily against th!
old coalhous! door with a half-!mpty can in his hand.
Actually I was v!ry civil, h! says.
So why did h! l!av!?
How should I know?
Mik! swigs mor! b!!r, th!n mov!s off unst!adily towards th! hous!.

***
Tom r!m!mb!rs St!ph!n that day sandy hair and pal! !y!lash!s h! look!d old!r than
Tom, mayb! !ight to his six. H! didnt look th! sort who would bully as Mik! might.
Wh!n th! pig!ons had flown off, h! look!d to s!! if th!y had scratch!d Toms fac!. Th!n
Dad put his arm round m! and said, Say h!llo to St!ph!n, Tom.

***
Th!r! ar! still a f!w aunts l!ft in th! sitting room p!rching on th! hard s!ats. At six o
clock Uncl! H!nry l!av!s, having drunk us out of whisky. H! loops across th! pav!m!nt
towards th! bus stop. Now th!y ar! th! only on!s l!ft.
I still dont und!rstand why St!ph!n l!ft so !arly.
Th! qu!stion is l!ft hanging in th! air lik! a kit! snagg!d on t!l!phon! wir!s.
Can you h!lp m! with th!s!? Fiona asks ignoring it and indicating th! foil trays and
!mpty dish!s.
Lat!r Tom rings St!ph!n.
I had to l!av!, h! !xplains, Oth!rwis! things would hav! b!!n said.
What things? H! do!snt answ!r.
Look Ill com! round, Tom says.
T!n minut!s lat!r Tom finds hims!lf at St!ph!ns flat, sitting on his l!ath!r sofa.
I was angry, h! says. How could you do it?
Do what?
Im b!ginning to gu!ss as St!ph!n tak!s a fold!d pi!c! of photocopi!d pap!r from his
pock!t. Tom glimps!s th! h!adlin! UNIT"D IN D"ATH.
Im sorry, h! b!gins. If it had b!!n up to m!
Dad and I talk!d about it. It was what h! want!d. H! thought youd p!rsuad! Fiona
and Mik!.
But h! n!v!r told m!, not dir!ctly. Tom thinks back to that last day things l!ft
unsaid that can n!v!r b! said now. If only w!d includ!d St!ph!n wh!n planning th!
fun!ral
St!ph!n puts his hand on Toms arm. His sandy hair is gr!ying a bit at th! t!mpl!s.
Dont b!at yours!lf up about it Tom. Dad should hav! mad! his wish!s mor! cl!ar.
Anyway, th!r!s always his ash!s.
Y!s, Tom says to this broth!r h! bar!ly kn!w, to this man who shar!d his fath!r but
has ask!d for nothing !xc!pt fri!ndship.
Look !r, fancy a b!!r? Tom asks.