Free Dead Scared by Tommy Donbavand Page A

whispered, “Thank you for everything.” Ben’s hand reappeared on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. And then we left.
    The funeral itself went without incident. The whole family was there: all the aunts, uncles and cousins we hadn’t seen in years – and even some of my mum’s cousins from Ireland flew over to be with us. The funeral was, I don’t know… nice. There isn’t really another word I can use to describe it. My sister had prepared something to say (I was terrified they would ask me as I was considered to be the ‘actor’ in the family), and I stood at the front of the church with her and mybrother as she talked about my mum. How kind she had been, what a fiery temperament she’d had, how brave she’d been in dealing with her illness.
    And then I’d laughed out loud. A random memory just popped into my head. Me and my mum had been out shopping when she’d spotted a doormat that had written on it: ‘Wipe your feet, stupid!’ My mum had always had a good sense of humour, but that doormat just cracked her up. She was literally crying with laughter. I bought it for her out of my pocket money and we giggled all the way home.
    Before long, I was standing at the edge of a grave, watching as my mum’s coffin was lowered into the ground. My cousin handed me a piece of chewing gum and I popped it into my mouth, biting down hard to try and keep myself from losing it completely. I remember spotting some bloke sitting in a mini digger at the far end of the cemetery, presumably waiting to fill the hole inafter we’d finished crying and had left. The day-to-day business of dying, I guess.
    We went to a local pub for sandwiches and drinks. I hopped from table to table, glass of coke clutched in my hand, talking to friends and family. For some reason, I felt as though I had to play the host and represent my family. My dad stayed in one place, accepting good wishes from all and sundry, and my brother and sister had their own families to look after. God knows what my little nieces and nephews had made of today.
    That’s the only reason I sat down with Uncle Gary, my mum’s step-brother. I only ever saw him and his family at Christmas if I could help it, nowadays, but my mum had made the effort to visit them at least once a fortnight. She always said that family was the most important thing in the world, and she didn’t mind driving twenty-five miles in each direction for a cup of tea and a chat.
    It used to annoy my dad that they never visited us instead, that my mum had to do all the running around. But there was little chance of Gary’s lot slumming it down to the estate where we lived. Whatever would his millionaire football-player neighbours say if he was seen around our way?
    Personally, I could have done without Uncle Gary’s boasts about his new car, or holiday villa, or whatever else he’d been spending his money on, but today was all about my mum, and I was determined to do the decent thing and include everyone who’d come to her funeral – no matter how much of an idiot.
    Gary had a bunch of empty pint glasses in front of him, and was busy downing another lager when I joined the group. His wife, Anna, sat quietly as ever, wrapped in a white fur coat and nursing a ginger ale. My cousin Mel gave me a smile as I sat down.
    â€œAre you OK?” she asked.
    I nodded. “Yeah,” I said, “I’m fine.” And, to be honest, I was. “It’s a bit of a relief, actually. All those months sitting in hospital waiting rooms. My dad bought me a new phone so I could play games like Mad Cats to pass the time, but it didn’t really help.” It hadn’t really helped at all. My dad had got me the mobile everyone was talking about on the news – the one with the battery problem – so it was turned off more than it was ever on.
    â€œYou wouldn’t catch me in one of those places,”