White roses

White roses. 

‘It’s what he would have wanted, dear.’ That’s what Ma tells me for the third time as we get ourselves dressed this morning. 

At what point during Pa’s fifty years did he ever give off an ‘I love white roses’ vibe? He was all rugby and beer. Burrowed away in the upstairs study, watching his beloved Whitehaven Wolves win or lose, game after game, whilst Ma and I sat downstairs in silence. 

I say nothing, pinning my hair into place in a respectable, neat up-do. 

Not a pin out of place. I know I did it perfectly, but Ma comes over and rearranges it anyway. Forever needing the last word. She got the last word over Pa. I’m sure he’s fuming. I hide a smirk as Ma tilts my head each way, ensuring every pin is replaced exactly where she needs  it.

‘You be sure to say hello to everyone today you hear me?’ says Ma, scraping up scalp as she secures yet another pin. 

I go to nod and she pulls my head taut. 

‘Especially Aunt Jenny, dear. You know how smug she is about her Gerry lasting longer than my dear John.’ Ma holds a hand to her chest in feigned shock. Aunt Jenny and Ma have always had it in for each other. Born a year apart, they’ve seen their closeness in age as a sign that they are to compete in every aspect of life. 

‘Of course Ma.’ I reply, getting up from the dressing table to let Ma at her beloved perfume. 

‘Be sure to hold your head high, and don’t show a speck of sadness when you see her. Do you hear me?’ I look over and nod. Then answer aloud seeing as Ma is now in a misty whirlwind of Chanel No.5. Pa’s favourite on her. Or so she says. 

‘I’ll meet her eye to eye.’ I promise. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘And so, as we lay the late John Brown to rest for the final time, we give thanks for his life. For the things he achieved whilst in this world. And the legacy he leaves behind. For as we all come from the ground, so to must we all one day return.’ 

The minister bows his head as the gravediggers carefully lower Pa into the six-foot deep whole in front of us. As I wonder to myself if it’s actually 6 foot, or if some man just made up that phrase, I glance around at the crowd around Ma and me. I catch Aunt Jenny first, dabbing at her faux tears, her arm wrapped tightly round Gerry’s. Feigning sadness when we all know she’s clutching her first place trophy. Poor guy. Just a pawn in Aunt Jenny’s schemes. 

Ma stands next to me, staring at the hole where Pa’s coffin now rests. We’re meant to scatter dirt and the white roses on top after the gravediggers move away. But I’m not sure if Ma is going to move. For all their unorthodox marriage choices: the lack of talking, the living separate lives, the different mealtimes; they really did love each other. In their own creepy, quirky way. 

I hesitate, not sure whether to get the procession started; lay a rose and some dirt on first. I know Ma wanted to lead. Before I have time to make a decision though, sisterly rivalry intervenes for me. Aunt Jenny starts to edge towards the ceremonial shovel and that sets Ma off like a firework. Before I can blink, Ma is diving for the shovel and then, once composed, turns to Aunt Jenny, ‘Thank you, dear sister. I’ve got it from here’, and as delicately as a smug sister can do, sprinkles dirt over Pa’s grave. She picks up a rose next, ignoring the one that Aunt Jenny offers her, and turns back to the hole that is Pa. ‘Goodbye my love. I know you could have had a hundred more years in you if you had had your way. Until we meet again my love.’ After dramatically flinging the rose into the grave, Ma smiles a polished “Thank you all” smile at the gathered crowd, which tightens painfully as her eyes reach Aunt Jenny’s, and then Ma moves back to my side. 

‘Go. Now.’ Ma nudges me with each word. 

I rush to attention and fling myself at the dirt and roses. Like mother, like daughter I guess. Maybe we are similar in some things. 

‘Goodbye Pa.’ I say as the dirt scatters. ‘I’ll keep the rugby on the telly for you.’ I add with the rose. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everyone has gone into the church hall. Gorging themselves on free sandwiches and scones. I mean, sitting together and grieving for Pa. Offering Ma support and words of encouragement of course. 

I tell Ma I need a moment on my own. 

‘For what dear, he’s gone.’ Ma replies when I tell her. 

‘I know Ma. I just need a moment with him and no-one else. Please.’ 

Her sceptical eyes talk a mile a minute, but miraculously, she relents. Today of all days seems to have gotten to her too. 

After a few moments of hovering awkwardly around the fresh mound of dirt, walking in circles around Pa, I make myself too dizzy and feel a fool. So, I gather up my long black dress and sit down beside my Pa’s new home; the perks of wearing black. 

I don’t know what to say. And he obviously can’t hear me. So, I just sit. 

It feels like old times to be honest. Ma and I downstairs, with Pa in his cocoon upstairs. If I listen hard enough, I can almost hear rugby commentary. 

‘Kaitlyn? Kaitlyn, can you hear me?’ 

I freeze and look around me. But nobody is there. 

I glance down at my watch and see that I’ve been sitting by Pa’s grave for twenty minutes. No wonder I’m frozen to the bone and hearing things. Probably frostbite or pneumonia setting it. I get up to leave, but in my haste, don’t notice my right foot has gone to sleep and I stumble. Landing on my knees, my left hand sinks into the mound of dirt that covers Pa. 

‘Frig, sorry Pa. My bad.’ I snatch my hand back, brushing it off on my dress. Another perk of wearing black. 

‘Hope I didn’t, you know, disturb you or anything.’ 

Talking to the dead. Another classic sign of frostbite. I shake myself out of my foggy headspace and get up to leave. 

‘I know you’re there Kaitlyn.’

There it is again. 

I freeze. And this time, it’s definitely not from the frostbite. 

I look at the grave. The dirt. The plaque marking Pa’s spot until a headstone can be made. 

Nothing there makes me think that there is a living talking soul. But there is a voice.

I stand in silence, wobbling on my right leg, trying to wake it, and myself up. 

Wait to hear that voice again. 

Because in my haste, I hadn’t recognised it. Until now. 

‘If I know you Kaitlyn, and having been your Pa for twenty-three years, I think I do.’ 

It is him! But how? 

I take timid steps around Pa’s graveside, looking for a tape recorder. This must be some foul trick of Aunt Jenny’s. A new low for her, that’s for sure. 

Maybe she meant it to play earlier, but it malfunctioned in the cold. 

But why didn’t she make it talk to Ma? 

‘Don’t bother looking for a tape recorder, hun. You won’t find anything.’ 

Tripping over air at Pa’s words I stop and listen. For once, I don’t have the strength to question anything, so I just stand and listen. 

‘Good. You’re listening now.’

‘Just to reassure you, yes I am still very much dead and no, don’t worry, you didn’t bury me alive. Although no doubt your Aunt Jenny would have stooped to that level if her beloved Gerry ever had a whiff of death about him. Your Ma and that woman eh?’ 

That gets a laugh out of me, but I quickly regain my composure and listen hard. Whatever this is, I’m not missing a word. 

‘Now, you’re probably wondering why I am sending you a message from beyond the grave.’ 

‘Just a little bit.’ I mumble to myself. 

‘It’s about rugby.’

‘Uhhh - 

‘Before you start groaning, please hear me out. When your Ma and you were downstairs doing… whatever it was you ladies do, you both thought I was watching rugby. Granted, yes, sometimes I did watch it, as I did always have it on.’ 

‘Literally always.’ 

‘Sometimes maybe too much. But Kaitlyn, the rugby was never my real focus.’ 

‘The heck?’

‘Hard to believe I know. I really had you all fooled didn’t I? 

‘What I was actually doing was working on something. Something big. And I was getting close to finding out some major stuff. Like, “changing the world” level stuff.’ 

‘Yeah right.’

‘I promise. I know it sounds ridiculous but please listen. I should have told you earlier, but a heart attack doesn’t give you much warning before its arrival. Sorry about that. Now, I need you to do something for me.’ 

I sit down again and place my hands in the dirt. Feels closer to Pa that way. 

‘Go to my study, get the key from the bottom of the pencil pot you made me when you were five. Yes, I still have it. Pull out the desk from the wall and go behind it. On the back left, you should see a keyhole. Unlock it and take out what you find. It should all be there. I hope it explains what I was working on, whilst “watching the rugby”. Oh, and Kaitlyn?’ 

‘Yes?’ I wince. Replied out of habit. 

‘There are some bad people who want what you’re about to find. So please, be careful. I didn’t mean to leave this in your hands but it seems fate had other ideas. Get the pieces quickly and take them to my work. Yes, the newspaper office. Ask for “Angel”. They’ll know what you mean. I know this is a lot to take in, hun, but you are the smartest person I know and I know you can do this. You’ll be safe when you get to my office.’

‘Also, if you see a man in a grey suit, slight limp and a pocket watch - run. He’s bad news. Really bad news.’ 

As I try to take all of this in, I hear what sounds like static on the line. Are there phones in heaven? 

‘Look, I’ve got to go. But do exactly what I say and it will all be ok. The fate of the world is in your hands, Kaitlyn. And it’s really heavy. I love you, hun. And tell your Ma thank you for the white roses. Go Whitehaven Wolves eh?’ 

The line goes dead. Like Pa. 

‘Miss, you’ve been out here a while. Are you sure you’re ok? Do you need me to get someone for you?’ 

I turn to the voice and see that it’s one of the gravediggers from earlier. I start to get up as I tell him not to worry.

‘Thank you for your concern though.’ 

‘Certainly, Kaitlyn.’ 

I look up then, because he never said my name before. 

My breath freezes in my throat. His gravedigger overalls have been undone and are tied around his waist. Underneath, he wears a grey suit, and hanging from the top pocket is a watch. Now swaying in the slight breeze. And by his side; a shovel that he’s using as a walking stick. 

My eyes meet his again. He smiles and his lips twist and rise. My stomach twists and plummets. 

‘Your Pa have anything interesting to tell ya?’ 

In his hand, he twirls a white rose.