Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

Birdie Lively Funeral Order of Service:

Piano performance of ‘You’re my Best Friend’ by Queen

Reading of ‘Funeral Blues’ by W. H. Auden

Eulogy by Olive Brewster

Acknowledgements

Piano performance of ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ by Bill Withers

I wrapmy coat more tightly around me to shield off the icy wind that blows my hair into my face, where it sticks to the lip gloss I put on because Birdie warned me I had ‘better make a damn effort at the memorial’.

‘I don’t want to bloody leave,’ I say to Birdie’s headstone. Everyone else left an hour ago. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it quiteyet.

‘You’ll freeze to death,’I hear her answer in my head. ‘That would be a dick move and you knowit.’

I look up at the sky. It’s mostly grey, but right over there, the sun is trying its utmost to get a turn in, bolshily elbowing a few dark clouds out of theway.

After her heart attack, Birdie got another six months before it happened again and stole her away for good. It was more time than either of us expected to have and we both agreed, just last week, that it was the best six months of both of our lives. But it wasn’t enough time. Another six years, another sixty years wouldn’t have been enoughtime.

I plonk myself down on the ground in front of the headstone and cross my legs. I’m vaguely aware that the ground is cold. And that the wet grass is seeping into my skirt. But I don’t reallycare.

After Birdie recovered from her surgery, she was allowed to leave hospital for a few days each week. And while I took on an evening job as a bartender at a Manchester Comedy club, I was free to spend my days with her. So we took a trip to London, because I’ve never been and Birdie said that if I was to continue to shine and not get stuck back in my boring old ways then I was to keep on trying new things. So we did it together.

We also went Segwaying in the Lake District, we ate Japanese food and Korean food and the spiciest Indian food we could find. We laughed and squealed our way through a Chippendales performance, did an overnight stay in an observatory and fell asleep looking at the stars. We sang karaoke in a private pod, went for massages and spa treatments in Cheshire, spent a day at Stonehenge and declared it ‘incredibly boring’. And when Birdie had her hospital stays we embarked on major Harry Potter Marathons, flirted with Dr BJ until he got so embarrassed his eye would start twitching, and even once did a jigsaw (much to Birdie’s annoyance).

If Birdie had a period of illness, then she would pick something bonkers for me to do and make me film the whole thing so she could laugh at my inevitable messing up. And that is why there is now a video on the internet, showcasing one Olive Brewster dramatically puking while on an Alton Towers rollercoaster.

I clutch my arms around myself, my bum starting to freeze on the floor. I can’t believe my friend has gone. We both knew it was coming. We’ve known for a long time. But now it’s here, I don’t quite believe it. My chest feels empty. It aches and swirls with a pain I know I will always carry withme.

Above me, in a gnarly old oak tree, I notice a dark little bird peering down at me, it’s head cocked to one side. And for a brief moment I wonderif…

Then I hear Birdie’s giggly voice in my head. ‘Nope. Not me. Of course I’m not a bird, you geek! If I was going to come back as something do you think it would be something so on the freakin’ nose as a bird? Olive!’

I laugh. And it turns into a cry. But not in a bad way. Just in a way that’s needed.

I slouch there, before Birdie’s headstone and chat to her until the sky gets dark and the chapel park-keeper tells me that it’s time togo.

I touch my fingers to the headstone, my eyes blurry with tears, my throat aching with the words I never wanted tosay.

‘Goodbye, Birdie.’