Fractured(19)

My feet faltered for a second when I rounded the last street corner and the church came into view. It stood alone at the top of a hill, with no shops or houses nearby. Its closest neighbour was the town’s railway station, and that stood almost two miles away. Even on a clear day, the red-bricked station building was completely obscured by the churchyard’s high iron railings. Its isolation was perhaps meant to engender a feeling of peace and tranquillity, but on this dark December night neither of those emotions were foremost in my mind.

As I approached the large arched gate in the railings, I wondered what I would do if it were locked. Climb over? I looked up and surveyed the height of the fence… no, that wasn’t going to happen. Come back in the morning, I supposed. Yet the urgency to make this very real and physical connection with Jimmy was so strong, I didn’t think I could wait until the following day.

The gate swung open on well-oiled hinges. Strange, I’d felt sure it was going to creak and make the cliché complete.

Once inside the churchyard my courage wavered slightly. Was this an act of total madness, to be wandering around a deserted graveyard at this time of night? Wasn’t this just the sort of behaviour I’d always ridiculed heroines for in the movies?

A noise from an approaching car startled me, and instinctively I ducked behind a large oak tree to avoid being picked up in its headlights. I’d forgotten I could be clearly seen by passing cars on the road. Plus, I wasn’t exactly dressed for covert manoeuvres in my long white coat. I wasn’t sure if I was actually committing a criminal office, or an act of trespass, but winding up at a police station, trying to justify my actions, was not how I planned to end the evening. My brush with disclosure decided me against hesitating further, and as soon as the car was out of sight I drew away from the tree and walked with renewed purpose towards the rear of the church, where the small graveyard was situated.

There weren’t many graves in this part of the cemetery. The larger, older section was around the other side, and much of this grassy area was still awaiting the arrival of its new occupants. I supposed the large crematorium in the next town might account for the comparatively few new markers I could see in this more traditional place of rest. I instinctively knew that Janet would have wanted somewhere close by where she could visit her lost son. I also knew that the easiest way to find him would be to look for the best maintained plot.

I didn’t have to look at many before I found what I was searching for. Just long enough to read half a dozen moving and heart-wrenching epitaphs as I walked among the granite headstones. Dearest husband, Beloved grandmother, Much loved father. So much grief, so many tears, the frozen soil must be virtually saturated from those emotions.

Jimmy’s grave stood slightly to one side, clearly newer than its neighbours. The headstone was sparkling white marble which seemed to glow under the winter moon’s iridescence. I walked around and steadied myself for a moment before reading his inscription.

Jimmy Kendall. Lost too soon at 18 years. Cherished son and loyal friend. Our love for you will live on for ever.


A sob broke from me, so raw with grief it sounded more animal than human in its anguish. I felt my knees begin to buckle and I sank onto the cold grass beside his grave. I had come here hoping to voice all of my feelings but none could reach the surface through the boiling swell of pain that swept me in its path. I had believed that over the years I had reached a place of acceptance, but I realised now that all I had done was pull a thin veneer of pretence over a gaping wound. I was incapable of words; only able to rock slowly back and forth on my knees, repeating his name over and over again.

This was too painful. I wasn’t strong enough, either physically or emotionally, to cope with this grief tonight. It was madness to have come. Still hiccupping soft sorrowful sobs, I started to get to my feet and then swayed forward, only stopping myself from falling by flinging out my hand onto the ice-slick turf. My head felt suddenly strange, too heavy for my neck to hold. Then, giving a small helpless cry, my supporting arm gave way and I fell forward onto the cold, unyielding ground beside the grave.

The pain from my head now encompassed my entire neck and shoulders and I wondered if I had somehow struck myself on a rock when falling. But the cold grass beneath my cheek was clear of any obstruction. Very slowly, trying to minimise each movement of my head, I inched back my arms until both hands were flat on the soil on either side of me. I tried to lever myself up but although I exerted every ounce of my strength, my quivering forearms would not comply. After several abortive attempts, I realised I wasn’t going to be able to get to my feet that way.