DANIEL STONE
(1968–2013)
FATHER, HUSBAND, SON.
LOVED DEARLY BY ALL.
I glance at Josh, waiting for him to say something. But he doesn’t. And, although I’m glad that no one can see us in here, I can’t help but feel it is a bit strange. Then, I don’t know why, I have this sudden, terrible, uncontrollable urge to laugh. What the hell is wrong with me? It bubbles in my stomach, gurgles in my throat. I shake a bit from trying to keep it all in and I’m sure it’s going to spill out any second and ruin absolutely everything between Josh and me.
I gulp down practically the whole can of beer to try to calm the giggles. It works, thank God. Bit like putting out a fire. I focus on how creepy this place is so that I don’t laugh again. It’s just so weird, all these dead bodies in one place, all those bones under the mud. I peer into the darkness. There could be hundreds of ghosts around us right now. A shudder goes through me. Great, now I’ve managed to freak myself out.
I shift a bit closer to Josh. ‘So … do you … come here often?’ I say, trying to lighten the mood. I watch his face for a reaction. I hope I’m not being too insensitive, but I need to do something.
Luckily, he laughs. ‘This isn’t the most romantic, is it?’
The beer fizzes in my belly. ‘No, no … it’s fine. Totally fine … Graves and ghosts and whatever else is lurking in those shadows is actually my idea of a perfect date.’ I do a pretend shiver to cover up a real one.
He laughs again. ‘It seemed a good idea at the time … I … I don’t know why …’
Josh finishes his beer and gets himself another. He passes me another can too. I’m tipsy. I shouldn’t drink it. But I take it. Who decides what we should and shouldn’t do anyway? Why are there all these rules all the time? Would you like a drink? Yes, please. It should be that simple. Shouldn’t it?
‘I usually talk to him,’ Josh says. ‘You know, like if I’m upset, or worried about anything. It helps. It never seemed strange on my own, but now …’ He looks at me sheepishly.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, wrapping my fingers round Josh’s. ‘I get it.’ And I get why he might want me here with him too.
‘I wish you’d met him,’ he says.
‘Yeah. Me too.’
We look at the shiny gold words for a bit longer. FATHER, HUSBAND, SON. Funny how you can mean so much to so many people, and then suddenly be gone.
‘Where do you think he is now?’ I ask.
Josh squeezes my hand tight. ‘Dunno, to be honest.’ He sniffs. ‘Mum believes in the afterlife. She never used to, but she completely changed after Dad died. Yoga and running was just the beginning. Then it was meditation, gratitude lists, incense sticks – like a whole different Mum. But … I guess that’s what happens … Things happen … and we change.’
I swallow. Things happen. We change. ‘Yes, yes, that’s true.’
He drinks some more beer. This time, he downs loads in one go. ‘What about you? What do you think happens … afterwards?’
I shrug.
‘Do you ever wonder about Akash?’ he goes on. ‘What happened? How do you … How do you deal with that … that loss?’
I shrug again. The real question is, what have I not wondered about Akash? ‘I find all that stuff … confusing,’ I say. ‘But, you know, weirdo parents, that is my forte too.’
Josh laughs. ‘Trust me, your mum can’t be weirder than mine. She’s vegan now and completely obsessed with all things green. She even goes to these classes where they dance naked and stuff.’ He groans. ‘Oh God, I can’t believe I just told you that. When you meet her, that’s all you’re going to be thinking about now. Naked dancing.’
I laugh too. But all I’m actually thinking is: He wants me to meet his mum! I try to play it cool. Totally cool. ‘Honestly, nothing about parents can shock me any more. They reckon teenagers are hard to understand, but whatever. I can’t keep up with old people …’
Josh looks at me, waiting for me to continue. ‘Your parents are strict, right? That’s why you were unsure of things earlier …’
‘Yeah. I mean, they’re so … I don’t even know what the word is. Traditional. Old-fashioned. Weird. All of the above. It was always there, just much worse now. Proper weirdos.’
I laugh but Josh doesn’t.
‘So … if we’re going to do this, it’s not going to be … easy …’ I try to explain. ‘No one can know about us. It can’t get back to my parents …’
Josh nods but he’s frowning. ‘Yeah, yeah, I get that. But how old do you have to be? You know, until you can have a … boyfriend?’
My heart sinks. ‘Well, I … I’m not sure.’ Then my heart flutters. Does that mean he wants to officially be my boyfriend?
‘Oh.’
‘But it doesn’t mean …’ I swallow. ‘It doesn’t mean I can’t have a boyfriend.’
Josh nods slowly. He looks confused. I cringe. God, I wish we’d stuck to talking about graves and the afterlife. That was definitely less awkward. I’m actually feeling quite sick now. That combination of whisky and beer probably wasn’t the best idea. ‘My mum’s having a baby,’ I say suddenly. I don’t know why I add that to the mix right then. But there it is. Maybe I need to prove just how bizarre my parents are. Because then perhaps we can laugh about it. Or maybe I just need to talk to someone about it, share the weight of it all.
Josh tilts his head. ‘Wow.’
‘Yep! She should’ve tried yoga and running, or even meditation first, right?’ I force a small laugh. ‘It’s just so weird. And they’re so old.’
We both screw up our faces.
‘God, yeah,’ Josh says. ‘The thought of parents having sex. Gross.’
We stare at each other. Sex. All I hear is sex. And, from the way he’s looking at me, I know he’s thinking about it now too.
He turns to face me, kisses me, which I guess means he’s OK with the secrecy thing. And, the next thing I know, we’re lying on the grass, next to Josh’s dad’s grave, and we’re kissing and kissing and Josh’s hands are everywhere. In my hair, on my waist, my thighs. And I feel like I did at Fi’s party the other day: as if the world and everything that has happened in my life before this moment is a distant and inconsequential thing.
A totally embarrassing sound escapes my lips. Like I’m enjoying myself a bit too much. Oh God, I want to die. But then Josh makes a similar sound back and it makes it OK. Sort of special even. A secret between us. We carry on kissing and it all feels so good – until I accidently hit Josh’s dad’s headstone with my elbow.
We both freeze. I clutch my elbow. Wince. Josh is above me and he looks at the headstone and then back at me. We smile at each other awkwardly.
‘You OK?’ he asks.
I nod as I rub my elbow. Talk about killing the mood.
‘Do you … want to get out of here?’ he asks. ‘Maybe … come back to mine for a bit?’ He coughs. A bit nervous maybe. ‘My mum’s cool about that sort of thing.’