Iris

Early the same afternoon

People are starting to ask questions about Noah’s death.

People are starting to ask questions about Noah’s death.

People are starting to ask questions about Noah’s death.

I mean, how long has it been now? Two weeks. Two weeks - and yes as much as I am heartbroken, I was sort of hoping that his passing could remain a family matter once everyone had received and digested the news, surely you’d say that two weeks is long enough in order to process the news regarding someone’s sudden passing? Well, I know I think it is at least, don’t know about you but anyway, I suppose my concern here is now, aside from having to act as one of the core pillars of support for my dearest daughter (can’t even begin to imagine the grief she must feel right now), is what if people start to question the reputation of the family?

And ask questions that our success may in fact be a mask for a plethora of secrets behind the scenes?

“I bought you in a cuppa love,” I said to my daughter, Libby, who was sat in the lounge cuddling into a sofa with her eyes intently fixed on Loose Women (never been a fan of the show myself personally but I’m not here to discuss my views on daytime television). Her sapphire blue eyes had vivid black circles underneath them, as mascara was smudged around her eyelids, as her face looked an anaemic white, and her honey blonde hair looked wispy in the high ponytail she had so loosely drawn it up in as she wore an oversized nike tracksuit. She was my youngest you see - I have five children in total (Libby was my youngest, then it was Imogen, then it was Samuel, Robert and Stephen), so I suppose speaking from a mother’s perspective you always reserve an extra piece of worry for your youngest. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just want to the ground to swallow me whole,” She wiped her nose on a tissue. “Waking up everyday, walking past his room, feeling how cold it all feels now, how bare,” She began to sob. “Kiarra can’t even get out of bed, Brett’s trying to carry on as normal but I can hear him up in the early hours sobbing I,” She looked at me. “Why didn’t he talk to us? Talk to me? Tell us that he was suffering, that he wasn’t right, at least I could’ve helped,” She breathed shakily. “I could’ve helped him, I could’ve saved his life.”

But could you have really?

Men never really tend to speak openly about their mental health, so I suppose it was just simply a case of it being unfortunate he felt the way he did.

“I know you want to blame yourself for his passing, love,” I put my arms around her shoulder. “But no-one could’ve foresaw what was to come, nor what was really going on in his head,” I sighed. “As much as we might wish we did.”

“I’ve not even begun to think about his funeral,” She turned to look at me. “All of the things I need to arrange, the coffin, the music, the hearse, the wake, the celebrant, so much,” She began to sob. “And to think this will be his last journey, nothing about it feels right.”

Nothing about Persephone being a part of this family felt right.

But she still was, the little brat, god if only I could just wash my hands of her.

“I know my love,” I said. “But it will get easier in time, I promise it will.”

Just as people will stop asking me about why Noah died:

“Hey Iris, I heard that your grandson Noah passed away recently, I just wanted to express my condolences first and foremost - he was truly a gentleman and a very talented footballer. I don’t suppose you know why he committed suicide? Sandra x -”

“Iris, please let me be the first to share my sincerest condolences for Noah’s passing? What exactly happened? Ken -”

“Do they know what exactly happened to Noah?-”

“The school will be beside themselves, but do you know why exactly he committed suicide-”

Chapter One: "Just Prisoners Of This Life": (III)

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