2. Louise

Clara pulled off her headphones. ‘It’s so loud, Mummy. I can hear the music through these,’ she complained.

I was worried that the funeral would overwhelm her and lead to a meltdown. I had to keep her calm. Keeping my voice soft and low, I tried to reassure her. ‘I know, darling, but there are only three more songs to go. I’ll tell you when to put the headphones back on. Now do your breathing – in for four, hold for two and out for four.’

I breathed in and out with her and, as she followed my lead, I saw her fists begin to unclench. I couldn’t manage a meltdown today – there was too much going on, too much to organize and oversee. I was hanging on by a thread and I needed to focus on my eulogy and do Mum proud.

The priest announced the bidding prayers. I nodded at Harry. He jumped up and led two of the triplets, Tom and then Christelle up to the altar. Why was Christelle going up? Why was Leo or Liam or Luke – I could never tell them apart – not going up? I had given Julie strict instructions. I had laid it all out in black and white. I had created a spreadsheet. All she had to do was get her sons to read a few lines, but somehow even that wasn’t possible with this lot. Could they ever just bloody well do what they were told?

The triplet left behind tried to trip Tom as he shuffled out of the bench on his way to the altar. Tom almost landed on his face, but Christelle managed to catch him by the belt and lead him away. She truly was a wonder. Harry’s teenage-holiday one-night stand had produced an incredible young woman we all loved. She was wonderful with Clara and had helped me enormously in those first few years after the diagnosis when she had minded Clara while I was at work.

I suddenly had a flashback to Mum and me sitting in the kitchen. Mum was leaning over her cup of Earl Grey – I could almost smell the distinct scent of her favourite tea, the memory was that vivid. In her usual blunt way Mum had told me she was very suspicious of Christelle. How did we know she was really Harry’s long-lost daughter? Some random eighteen-year-old girl with multiple piercings turns up out of the blue and Julie and Harry don’t even do a DNA test? It was utter lunacy …

‘But that’s your sister, always a soft touch, embracing this girl as if she’s her own flesh and blood. I don’t know, Louise. I just don’t want to see my Julie taken advantage of. If it was you or me, we’d have every test available done to prove paternity.’

Mum had been slow to embrace Christelle, but once she saw how fantastic she was with the triplets and Tom, then with Clara, she had softened and fallen for her just like the rest of us. She always said, ‘Christelle is lucky to have Julie as a stepmum. Julie is by far the most open and welcoming of all my children. She’s not tough like you.’

I wasn’t sure if that was meant as a compliment or an insult. But that was Mum: she had no filter and always gave you her opinion, whether it was asked for or not.

I forced my mind back to the church, to the here and now. Thankfully, the boys read their prayers well – their posh school was obviously rubbing off on them – and they spoke clearly and distinctly. Christelle read the last prayer and the boys managed to go back to their seats without wrestling each other.

A few minutes later, Jess and Sophie went up to read a poem together. Jess’s dress was ridiculously short – you could almost see the cheeks of her bum. Sophie really should have made her daughter wear something more appropriate. I don’t know how Jess was able to see the text with the false eyelashes she was wearing either. Why did teenage girls make themselves up like drag queens? Jess was beautiful, but it was hard to see it under all the fake tan, make-up and fake eyelashes that you could have swept the floor with. Mum would have had a few words to say seeing Jess so ‘dickied-up’ as she called it. She liked her to look natural and didn’t understand why her granddaughter plastered her lovely face with make-up and wore clothes that were ‘only fit for a street-walker’.

Sophie’s voice wobbled, but she got through it with Jess’s help. Jess held her mother’s hand as they walked back, crying, and sat down. I felt a small pang of envy. Clara would only hold my hand if it was the right temperature and completely dry, which was rare enough. Still, she allowed me to hug her, which I loved. Mum, Christelle, Gavin and I were the only people she’d allow to hug her. Now there were only three of us.

I glanced at Dad, who was staring straight ahead, still shell-shocked. It was our job to mind him now. I’d have to do up a rota of dinners and visits so he didn’t feel alone.

I heard the first note of the organ and told Clara to put on her headphones.

From the front row we could see everyone coming up to take communion. Pippa walked up, holding Robert’s hand. He was a gorgeous-looking little boy. Sophie bristled beside me. Pippa, Jack’s ex-girlfriend and mother of Sophie’s stepson Robert, was an enormous thorn in my sister’s side.

‘Who wears a skin-tight red dress to a funeral?’ she whispered.

‘It’s burgundy, to be fair,’ I said.

‘Bit of a MILF,’ Gavin said.

‘Shut up,’ Sophie grumbled.

‘It was nice of her to come,’ Julie said.

‘She only came because she’s dumping Robert on us today for two weeks while she goes away with her new boyfriend.’

‘Again?’ Julie whispered.

Sophie nodded.

‘But you’ve had him for the last month,’ Julie said.

‘She’s spent two days with him and now she’s off again. She fought so hard for shared custody yet Robert is with us ninety per cent of the time. It’s a joke, but Jack never says boo to her because she’s so bloody volatile.’ Sophie shook her head.

‘Poor little kid. He’s such a cutie, how could she not want to spend more time with him?’ Julie wondered.

‘Because she’s a selfish, self-centred bitch,’ Sophie muttered.

‘That’s ridiculous. Jack needs to sort that out. She has to adhere to the custody ruling,’ I reminded her.

Sophie sighed. ‘I know that, Louise, but Pippa is not someone you can reason with.’

I bit back what I really wanted to say, which was: For goodness’ sake, could Jack not grow a pair of balls and stand up to his ex-girlfriend? It wasn’t fair that Sophie was raising Pippa’s child. What I did say was: ‘Get your lawyer involved, then.’

‘Jack wants to keep it as amicable and peaceful as possible for Robert.’

‘Well, it’s clearly not working.’ I stated the obvious.

‘Pippa is extremely difficult to manage, Louise. It’s not black and white.’

‘Guys, can we focus on Mum for now?’ Gavin said, shooting us a warning look.

The music ended and I told Clara she could take her headphones off. It was time for my eulogy.

I had chaired conferences all over the world. I did pitches and presentations weekly. I had won all of the top debating prizes at university in England. I felt confident that I was the person best equipped to give this eulogy. We hadn’t even needed to discuss it as a family – everyone had just immediately looked at me when the eulogy was mentioned. I wanted to do a good job for us all. I felt calm and composed as I strode towards the altar and stood behind the microphone.

‘Good morning, everyone. We, the Devlin family, would like to thank you all for coming out today to pay your respects to Mum. She would have been delighted to see so many friends and family here to say goodbye and it is very comforting for us to see how loved she was.

‘Mum was a no-nonsense woman who devoted herself to raising her four children, supporting her husband and creating a lovely home.

‘Mum and Dad met fifty-three years ago at a dance and had been together ever since. We got to celebrate their fifty-second wedding anniversary with her in hospital, with cake and champagne. It was a very special day for all of us.

‘They had a happy marriage. I won’t lie and say there weren’t any disagreements, but they were always resolved quickly and they were devoted to each other.

‘Mum loved us four unconditionally, even when we were hard to love, but she was tough too. She never let us wallow when things went wrong, always told us to buck up and keep going. She said some days you just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other until you get through a difficult time. She was a very wise woman.

‘But it was as a grandmother that Mum really excelled. She loved her grandchildren. She lit up when they were around her and was absolutely incredible with my daughter, Clara. Her patience and devotion to Clara were so …’

Oh, God. Keep it together, Louise, come on now. Control your voice. But I couldn’t stop it.

I didn’t stumble over my words, I didn’t sniffle or sob. I completely lost it. Emotion bubbled up and exploded out of me.

Tears cascaded down my face as the memory of Mum holding me in the park that day, shortly after Clara was diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum, sprang into my mind. I saw her sitting patiently with Clara as she read her bird book over and over. I saw her hugging Clara – one of the few people Clara allowed to hug her. I saw her sitting outside the door of Clara’s bedroom when Clara had a meltdown, crying silently as she felt her granddaughter’s pain.

I couldn’t catch my breath, but then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Julie. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got you,’ she whispered. Handing me a tissue, Julie took my notes and finished my eulogy.

‘Her patience and devotion to my daughter were humbling to see. I got to know her in a different way. I got to know my mother on a much deeper level and I truly saw how selfless and compassionate she was. Her loss has left a huge hole in all our lives and we are going to miss her so much.’

Julie finished by thanking everyone who needed to be thanked and inviting everyone back to the golf club for lunch.

She turned and hugged me.

‘Thanks,’ I said. I was furious and deeply disappointed in myself. I hadn’t done my job. I hadn’t honoured Mum properly. Grief had just hit me like a tsunami. I fought back the tears.

‘You’re welcome.’ As if reading my mind Julie added, ‘And don’t you dare beat yourself up about this. You are human, Louise. You have feelings like everyone else and it’s good to let them out occasionally.’

I sniffled into a handkerchief. ‘What am I going to do without her, Julie? She was so good with Clara. Mum was one of the only people in the world who really understood her.’

‘I know, but look at it this way. Clara had her granny for almost ten years. That’s a lot. Mum’s love is in her heart. She’ll always have her precious memories.’

I began to cry again. ‘Jesus, stop. I need to get a grip here. We have a lunch to host. We need to look after Dad.’

Julie put her hands on my shoulders. ‘Louise, our mum died. We’re sad. We’re grieving. You hadn’t cried until now, and it was freaking me out. This is normal, this is healthy. I’m delighted you broke down. You need to let it out.’

I smiled at her. The middle sister, the peacemaker, the one I was closest to. ‘Well, don’t get used to it. The emotions are going right back inside now, under lock and bloody key.’ I dabbed my eyes and went to sit down as the priest said a final prayer. Clara reached over and patted my knee. I yearned to hold her hand but knew I mustn’t.

We stood up and walked down the aisle to the heartbreaking sound of a soloist singing Mum’s favourite song, Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’. Clara was beside me with her headphones on. Dad was on my other side, head bowed as we followed the coffin out of the church.

I exhaled deeply, trying to prepare myself for the flow of mourners lining up to shake our hands and talk to us. Clara’s small hand slipped into mine. I was so grateful. I needed her touch.

‘I wish Granny wasn’t gone,’ Clara shouted, forgetting she had her headphones on.

‘Me too, sweetheart.’

We stood outside the church on an overcast day and let the love, compassion and empathy of family and friends wash over us and carry us through as we said our final farewell to our lovely mum and began life without her.