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“Come on, or you’ll be late!” Connor huffs from by the door. He’s dressed in a black suit jacket and slacks with a pair of well-polished shoes, tapping his foot and fiddling with the cuffs of his white shirt. He looks smart. A lot smarter than I do in my black turtleneck.
I tear my eyes away and ignore him. I need to find an umbrella. Its raining. It seems like it hasn’t stopped raining for weeks now. I poke around in the cupboard under the stairs, blindly feeling around for what I need, until eventually I feel the plastic handle and pull it out. Its Connor’s old umbrella. Faded electric blue with white paw prints. Childish. But Connor isn’t the type of person to care about the age rating of an umbrella. The handle is bent from its time in the depths of the cupboard.
“Buy a new one on the way, you’re already late.”
I ignore him again, but head towards the door anyway, leaving the blue umbrella behind.
We stay in silence the whole journey to the church yard. Connor always used to be quiet in the car, listening along to Hank’s old music. I don’t keep CDs in my car, the noise is too distracting. Instead he stares out the window, watching the rain tap dance on the glass.
Amanda is already here. I can see her at the top of the small, muddy hill, underneath a black gazebo and a layer of fancy coats. She’s statue still and I can just about make out that she’s frowning. Not a sad frown, but a disappointed one. Amanda has always been like that. Disappointed in us both for never meeting her expectations as sons. All of Connor’s friends are up there too, dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs and touching each other’s shoulders. The thought of joining them is suffocating.
“The Victorians thought that rain at a funeral meant the deceased will go to Heaven.” Connor says. Neither of us make a move to towards the door handles.
“Do you believe that?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. It’s a nice thought though.”
“Do you want to go to Heaven?”
“Not if it means leaving you.”
I just nod back. If I get out of the car now and run up the hill, if I stand next to Amanda as she expresses her disappointment instead of grief, if I cry over the coffin labelled Connor Stern, will the Connor Stern sat next to me in the car disappear? Will he be gone for real? But more importantly, do I want him gone?
“I don’t mind, if you want to let me go. I understand.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s a familiar smile, the one he always used to show when we were kids. The one he’d use when he didn’t want to upset me.
“Let’s go home.” I say, starting the engine again and leaving the car park before anyone can notice I came in the first place. They wouldn’t understand.