Zak x
I rang Simon the night before the funeral and asked if he could come with me.
‘I’m so sorry, Frixie. I wish more than anything I could be there for you, but I just can’t get back to London tomorrow.’
I tried not to feel to hurt by it; it wasn’t a personal rejection, and after all Simon didn’t know Patrick.
I think he was surprised his death had affected me so much.
I tried to explain it to him. ‘I owe him so much. I’d never have considered a career in music journalism if I’d never met him.’
‘I understand, but you’ve got to look to the future, Frixie. That’s what Patrick would want.’
He was right, but it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
I was dreading the funeral more than I let on to anyone. Part of me wanted to bail, but I knew I’d never forgive myself if I chickened out.
I was struggling to grieve for Patrick and I felt awful. I hadn’t cried once. What sort of monster did that make me?
*
The funeral was on Friday morning, but I got up early and went into the office first to make sure nothing urgent needed my attention. Mike was in, too, which first surprised and then worried me.
I popped my head around his door on the way out. ‘Everything okay, Mike?’
He didn’t look up from his monitor. ‘Yep, all good here. You?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
He stopped typing and turned towards me, frowning. ‘Shit. I’m sorry. You’re wearing black. It’s the funeral today and I forgot.’
I tugged the hem of my skirt down. ‘It’s okay. I won’t stay too long.’
‘Take all the time you need, Zoë. Not much happening.’ He leant forward. ‘Is Marcie going to be there?’
‘I honestly hadn’t thought about it.’
‘If she is, will you talk to her?’
‘You want me to doorstep her at a funeral?’
Things must be worse than he was letting on; Mike wasn’t usually this cold.
‘You said you’d do whatever it takes.’
‘While still being a decent human being.’
He didn’t seem to hear me, much less notice my anger. He went on: ‘What does she care about Patrick? She bloody well fired him, didn’t she?’
I took a breath to calm myself. ‘Well, I doubt she’ll come to his funeral, then.’
*
I was still irritated when I arrived at the chapel in Kensal Green cemetery. What the fuck was wrong with Mike? How could he suggest such a thing? But my anger was being slowly filtered through dread. The finances must have been more desperate than I thought. I wanted to run away, not be at the funeral of my mentor with the almost certain demise of the magazine we both loved hovering on the horizon.
But I was already in the chapel now; people had seen me and the service was due to start any moment. There were fewer people than I expected, and a quick glance around confirmed that Marcie was definitely not here. I was relieved, but sad at the same time.
Had they fallen out so badly?
