THE EIGHTH

The shrill of the alarm pierces my consciousness. The lack of Taylor's presence in my bed when I wake feels like déjà vu. As the reality of the day that lies ahead hits, my heart sinks. With leaden limbs I get myself into the shower, trying to blot out the image of Nonna dead on her kitchen floor that keeps resurfacing from my subconscious. It's not long before I am wrapped up in my heavy winter coat and scarf to ward off the autumn chill and pulling my case loaded up with a week's worth of my baking out the door and onto the main road to call a taxi to the station. I am just not in the mood for the bus today.

I spend the journey attempting to analyse the situation with Taylor. I can't figure out why he keeps turning up when he has categorically stated that being with me can't happen. I can't help the attraction I feel, and I get the feeling that neither can he, but there is this big issue of him being my boss. Which of course on a rational level I completely understand. However, the romantic, naïve part of me wants to shout "Sod it!" at the top of my lungs and leap into his bed, and not when I am drunk or emotionally fraught either. I just wish I could see how this would turn out; I am heading into the unknown and am terrified by the thought of what lies ahead.

My inner musings are interrupted by the train pulling into the station, and I make an effort to shelve my thoughts and focus on the day ahead. When I arrive at Nonna's, my mum and dad are waiting for me. The dark circles under both their eyes remind me that it is not just me going through this nightmare. I think in all of this I have forgotten that my mum has lost her mother, and my dad has lost the closest thing he had to a mother as well, given that his died when he was very young. Grief has etched itself on all our hearts. My parents pull me into a tight hug and then in low voices remind me that the taxi will be arriving shortly. Hurriedly I pull out my cakes and desserts, arranging those that can be left out on Nonna’s table and putting the rest in the fridge for when everyone comes back later.

The day is bright but cold as Nonna's friends and family file into the crematorium. I stand at the entrance, greeting familiar faces and those I don’t recognise but who obviously know who I am. It's not long before the minister motions that it is time to begin, and my mum and I make our way to the front pew. Nonna's favourite tune, 'Clair de Lune', fills the air, and I glance behind me to see my dad and the ushers bringing in Nonna's coffin. I hug my arms around myself, feeling chilled, as we all take our seats. 

I find myself tuning out most of the service as my thoughts swirl and I desperately try to calm my nerves about standing up and delivering the eulogy. I have it printed out, so it is just a case of reading it out loud, but still I am worried that I am going to say something wrong. I am startled back to the present as the kindly minister says my name. My feet feel numb as I make my way up to the lectern at the front, and all I can think of is not tripping up. I feel like I have a lump the size of a tennis ball in my throat, and when I try to speak, nothing comes out. Nervously I try to clear my throat softly, all the while shuffling my notes to buy some time. I glance around the room, attempting a watery smile, and go to speak but falter as my eyes suddenly lock on to Taylor's.

The world recedes, and all I can hear is my breathing as I take in his dark suit and tie, his spiked black hair and his dark eyes. He smiles reassuringly at me. I wonder why he is here, and then it hits me like a thunderbolt. He is here for me. 

I am jerked back to the present by a loud cough, and I make a second attempt to start my speech. Tears start to course down my face. Whether it is from grief or nerves I am not sure, but my teeth start to chatter and my hands are shaking so hard I fear that I am going to drop the papers. I don’t see him move from his seat, but suddenly Taylor is at my side, gently removing the pages from my hands. He puts his arm around me, squeezing my shoulder gently, and then in a low but clear voice starts to read,

"Nonna was more than just a grandmother to me…" The tears keep falling, and I am grateful to Taylor for being there to speak my words for me. There is no way I would have got through it by myself. 

When he is finished, I am gratified to see smiles on so many people; it was the note that I had hoped to strike with my speech. A happy end to a happy life. Taylor steers me back to my seat, and as I glance at my mum, I can see the question marks in her eyes. I know she will corner me later and grill me, but at least for the moment, I am spared that torment. Taylor leaves to return to his seat, but before he drops my hand, he offers a reassuring squeeze. Just knowing he is here gives me the strength to get through the next couple of hours.

"That was beautiful, sweetheart," whispers my mum, giving my knee a squeeze. Anyone would think I am about to fall apart by the amount of ‘reassuring’ touches I seem to be receiving, but reluctantly I have to acknowledge that I am not far off it. The rest of the service passes in a blur, and it is not long before Nonna’s coffin is disappearing through the curtains and I am forced to admit to myself that this really is goodbye. No more comforting chats over cups of strong Italian coffee and biscotti in Nonna's homely kitchen, or her unique pork meatballs and spaghetti on a Friday night, or baking up a storm on a rainy Sunday afternoon. I didn't think I could possibly shed another tear, but it appears that I am wrong as yet another river slides down my face. At least I didn't bother with mascara today.

We hurry back to Nonna's to prepare for the wake. Most people are coming straight from the service, so I immediately start percolating the coffee, plating up sandwiches and putting cakes on the large trestle we have set up in the living room. Fortunately, most people have taken their time, so we have a few minutes to regroup, giving me the chance to give my parents an impromptu hug.

"What was that for, Abs?" asks my dad with a questioning smile.

"Do I need a reason to give you guys a hug?" I retort a little too tartly. We are not the family that does random hugs, with the exception of Nonna of course, so of course this is unusual. "Sorry, I just wanted to let you guys know that I love you," I add in a conciliatory tone.

"We love you too, sweetheart," Mum adds, trying to smooth over the situation. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear and hurries to the door, the chimes of the bell interrupting our little family love-in.