Date: Sun, 18 Jun 2006 02:19:20 +0100
From: Matt Buck <matt_v_jellicle@hotmail.com>
Subject: Don't Go

All comments, good or bad, are appreciated - email
matt_v_jellicle@hotmail.com

Other stories I've written can be found on my website, in the fiction
section
http://mattbuck.sixwinter.com
or on Nifty at http://www.nifty.org/nifty/authors.html#mattbuck

Usual disclaiming sort of stuff, I don't know McFly, I don't know their
sexualities, this story is not in any way based on real life events.



      It's an odd fact about stories - whether it's TV, a book, a film...
whenever there's a funeral, there's a burial. A coffin lowered into the
ground and two men in ochre coats standing by with spades to back-fill the
grave. But when does this happen now? No one has a funeral at a church and
gets buried in the graveyard anymore - there's no space. There's a funeral
service in a church, and then you get in your cars and drive at fifteen
miles per hour in a big motorcade, following the hearse to the crematorium,
where there's another quick service, the coffin disappears and you all
wander out to look at the flowers. The disposition of the ashes is left to
the next of kin, in which case there might be another service a few weeks
later for the ashes to be scattered or buried, but...

      I don't remember my first funeral - it was my maternal grandfather,
who died only a few months after I was born. I'm told that I was pretty
much the only thing that got my mum through it. I probably went to several
others before I became a teenager, but no one I was close to.

      The next funeral I remember is my other grandfather's - he died in
late 1999 of a heart attack. It hadn't been more than a few months since my
grandmother had ended up in hospital with a broken arm, and subsequently in
and old people's home, suffering from Alzheimer's. The memorial service was
held at the church where he'd been treasurer, and his ashes interred there
a while later. Met a load of people who you know you won't see before the
next funeral.

      The next funeral in my life was that of my maternal grandmother - she
died after being ill for a few days, living independently to the last. The
funeral/cremation was performed by a priest who oddly reminded me of
Alistair McGowan, then we had a get-together for the attendees at our
house.

      The last funeral was my remaining grandmother - we hadn't seen her
for years, as the last time we'd visited she hadn't recognised any of
us. The memorial service was marred by a family squabble involving the
ex-wife of one of my uncles, which was broken up by the funeral director.

      Four funerals - I never cried a tear. The next one I know I will.
Because the next one's yours.


      ***


      It can't have been more than a few weeks ago you went to bed
complaining of stomach pains. We didn't think anything of it - wouldn't be
the first time we'd got a dodgy takeaway. It was only the next morning we
realised anything was wrong - when Danny burst through my bedroom door,
shaking me, telling me you were pissing blood.
      The ambulance arrived pretty quickly and took you away with Danny,
leaving me to drive Dougie to the hospital. You were undergoing tests or
something when we got there - Danny had that frightened look on his face,
and he sank into my arms in the waiting room. Fletch appeared after a while
and paced up and down the waiting room. It took an hour before a doctor
came out to see us.
      "Mr Judd is stable, but I'm afraid it won't last..."
      I stopped listening. You, you were...

      They let us take you home with a load of pain meds, saying you
probably had about a fortnight to live. They told us what was wrong, but I
didn't really understand it. It meant you had probably two weeks, the last
few days of which would see you confined to a hospital bed. Fletch took
care of things, letting us all just hang out together while we could. We
all took turns sleeping in Danny's room and going to see you in the
mornings. It was my third or fourth turn I think - Danny and Dougie had
gone back to my flat after we'd spent a few hours playing on the X-box, and
I was just making sure you were okay before going back into Danny's room.
      "Tom," you whispered, "Don't go."
      I turned round, moving back towards your bed, taking your hand in
mine and squeezing gently. You felt so cold.
      "Please... stay with me tonight?"
      I looked into your eyes, that look I could never deny. I shrugged off
my shoes and jeans and climbed into the bed. You rested your head against
me, and even though you knew you might be just days away... you looked more
at peace than I'd ever seen you.

      A few days later, you got worse and had to go back to hospital. We
all knew that this time, you wouldn't be leaving. I tried to spend as much
time as possible with you as I could, make sure you weren't lonely or
anything. Maybe more for me than you - I hated seeing you like that, but
anything's better than being in the waiting room. The second day, when we
were alone, you asked me to kiss you. The gentle caress of your lips
against mine was like nothing I'd ever felt before. I again took your hand
in mine, but this time, I think you were the one doing the comforting.

      That night, you slipped into a coma. We've barely left your side
these past few days. This morning when we were woken by your heart
monitor...

      Harry...