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I then found myself squished between Harry and Tom. My cheeks burned. I pretended to read the Order of Service. I felt closer to Harry now, more than just friends and well beyond awkward acquaintances since the racetrack. But I wasn’t sure how to act around him right now. And then, the first time in a week we see each other, I was yelling at my brother that my bladder wasn’t going to explode at a funeral.
“You didn’t have to come,” I whispered.
“I wanted to be here to pay my respects for a patient of the practice.” Harry met my eyes. “But mostly, I came for you.”
We held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Harry looked away first, pointing to the front of his Order of Service. “Nice drawing of a house. What’s it got to do with Lynn?”
“That’s her home, ‘Merribee’. You can see it from the road when you keep driving past our place towards the national park. She painted the house portrait herself. Someone must have the original and reproduced it for the Order of Service booklet.”
A family walked past us to take seats across two rows ahead.
“They are the Zanettis, our other neighbours. Their vineyard and cellar door entrance is just after Granny Lynn’s place. Granny Lynn has known them, and our family, our whole lives and—oh, Tom. Rosie is here.”
My brother stiffened beside me, grunting a reply, and kept his head down.
Rosie waved our way and I waved back.Ugh, brothers are strange.She then faced the front.
“Rosie is Amanda’s best friend,” I continued to Harry. “And maid of honour for Amanda’s wedding. Sienna is the one with the husband on the end, and youngest is Gaby. Oh, but I’m sure you don’t want to know all of this.”
“I don’t mind. It’s very helpful, actually.” Harry shifted which caused his thigh to press against mine. “Like a crash course in the who’s who of Ballydoon. Do you know everyone in this town?”
I swallowed hard, staring at his leg against mine. The warmth of his body and the hint of spice was intoxicating and comforting at the same time. I wanted to rest my head on his shoulder and take a moment to justbe.
“Most, yes. And those I don’t know Mum would know for sure.”
“She’s not here?”
“She’s better but weak. Ryan’s still sick, too. Sam’s running late.”
“Pam finally succumbed. No doubt she caught the gastro bug off Phil. I left Bev with Dr McIntyre for appointments when I came here. Your social media posts last week about symptoms were really helpful.”
“I hope Pam’s okay—”
I stopped as a hush descended across the room. A family of four walked up the aisle and sat in the front pew. Everyone knew of them—the Cranstons. Granny Lynn’s daughter had married a well-known politician in Sydney. A young man and woman trailed after them: Granny Lynn’s grandchildren.
“Know them too?” Harry asked, leaning into me.
I froze. He was so close; his minty breath on my cheek.
I shook my head, trying to think of anything except Harry, and my mind settled on the strangest thing. My father’s Order of Service was in a shoebox, along with photos and mementos. I hadn’t attended his memorial service. Uncle Bruce filmed it for me so I could watch it later in hospital. Ten years on, I’d never watched the footage. I couldn’t bring myself to.
“This is my first funeral,” I blurted.
Tears stung my eyes as I stared straight ahead, studying the open casket.
Tom squeezed my knee.
Guests chattered quietly around me: about buying milk and bread on the way home, whispered memories of Granny Lynn, and others caught up with friends they hadn’t seen in years. In death, Granny Lynn had brought Ballydoon together. Uncle Bruce had told me the same thing about my dad’s memorial service. Shops had closed, including the pub, which had hosted his wake.
Something landed on my lap. A tear had dropped with a splat on my dress. More fell.
Harry offered a tissue. I took it and dabbed my eyes.
“It will be okay,” his deep voice rumbled in my ear, his hand slipping into mine. “I hate funerals, too.”
“I didn’t attend my father’s funeral.”
Harry’s mouth fell open. “Why not?”
