At First Sight by Hannah Sunderland (best inspirational books txt) 📗

I glanced behind me and made sure that no one was watching us before taking his hand and squeezing his fingers. ‘Isn’t this why we came? To get closure, to move on?’

‘I have closure. It’s not like I’m under any illusion that she’s alive still, I just don’t wanna see the patch of grass above her skeleton is all.’

‘That’s not what it is. It’s her final resting place. It’s the place she’s going to be for the rest of time and I think you need to see that with your own two eyes. Yes, you saw her after it happened, but, Charlie, you were in shock then. Your brain probably still hasn’t processed, I mean really processed, the fact that she isn’t coming back and I think that’s something you need to see before you can move on.’

He turned from the water and back to me. ‘See, I know you’re right, but I still don’t think I can go.’

‘Of course, yer can,’ Carrick said as he appeared behind us. ‘Come on, yer can sit next to me in the limo. Hopefully it’s one of those ones with champagne and disco lights.’

‘Oh, yeah. I hear that they always rent the ones with stripper poles out for funerals.’ Charlie rolled his eyes.

‘Ah, that’s good.’ Carrick grinned. ‘I’ve been meaning t’brush up on my technique. My fireman knee spin is in definite need of some work.’

We both stared at him for a moment, with scarring mental images playing out in our brains, before I turned back to Charlie, ignoring everything Carrick had just said.

‘How about this: you go in the car with Carrick and, if when you get there you think you can, you get out and stand in the graveyard for a little while. And, you know, if that’s not too bad then maybe you can walk over and see Abi’s grave. How does that sound?’

He thought for a moment, his body ready to turn tail and run, but his head knowing that this was what we came here for. ‘Okay,’ he replied.

‘She’s smart,’ Carrick said, linking arms with his nephew and tugging him gently in the direction of the car. ‘Far too smart for yer.’

‘Do yer wanna come too?’ Charlie asked.

I shook my head. ‘No, I think this is something that you can do without me.’

‘What are yer gonna do then?’ he asked, worried.

‘She can come with me,’ Kenna said, appearing behind Carrick and coming to stand beside me.

‘I’m not goin’ either. Can’t stand it there.’ She shuddered. ‘Walk with me back to the house?’

‘See,’ I said to Charlie as Carrick struggled to get him towards the car. ‘I’ll be just fine.

‘Great.’ Kenna grinned. ‘Yer can help me put out the cocktail sausages.’

I turned to Charlie and shrugged. ‘How can I turn down an offer like that?’

The thought of being alone with Kenna was far more terrifying than the reality of actually being alone with her.

‘So, what d’yer do over there?’ she asked as we wandered through town, over bridges and past brightly painted shops.

‘I’m a counsellor, of sorts. I work for a mental health helpline.’

‘Yer kiddin’? What a great job.’

‘What about you?’ I asked as we took a left up to a more residential part of the town.

‘Oh, I do a bit of everythin’. I do some modellin’ in Dublin and over in London – I gotta place with a couple of other girls that overlooks the Liffey.’ Her accent was more genteel than Charlie’s and soothing in a way that made me think she had missed her calling for recording audiobooks.

‘Impressive,’ I said, trying to not let the intimidation flare up again. ‘Who do you model for?’

‘Anyone who’ll have me really.’ She sighed. ‘I do a lot of foot modelling. I have really nice feet. It’s mostly shoe stuff, although it is my foot and lower leg on those blister plaster packets, the ones in the purple box.’

‘Very impressive.’ I glanced down at her peep-toed, monstrously high-heeled shoes. From what I could see of them, they were very good feet. Although, I didn’t know what state they’d be in when we got back to the house, which seemed to be miles away. My shoes, although nowhere near as high-heeled as Kenna’s, were higher than my poor arches were used to and that ache, fondly remembered from my late teen years of wearing shoes I had no hope of doing anything other than sitting down in, came back to my feet like an old friend that I’d hoped had cut ties with me.

‘I did do some private modelling for a client. They just wanted pictures of my feet standing in things like cakes and custard.’

‘What the hell did they want those for?’

‘Sometimes it’s best not to ask questions,’ she answered and we both chuckled. ‘So, you and Charlie, huh?’ she asked after a short pause.

‘Erm, I have no idea, to be honest,’ I replied, not really knowing how to talk about this with her.

‘Charlie Stone is about as good as they come. Sure, sometimes he’s the world’s biggest eejit, but he’s a good person.’

I looked down at the toes of my shoes and smiled. ‘What about you?’ I asked, eager to change the subject. ‘You must be fighting off men with foot fetishes left, right and centre.’

She laughed, swinging her arms casually by her sides. ‘That may well be the case, but I’m not interested in them. Or men at all for that matter. I have a … companion in London – Naomi – but we’re nothing serious.’ She abruptly turned to her right and began walking up a driveway towards a large blue front door beneath a wisteria-draped awning porch. It reminded me of the colour of the door to Charlie’s flat and I wondered if Abi had painted it that colour to remind her of home.

‘I just want you to know,’ I said as she slid her key into the door, turning around at the sound of my voice, ‘that what’s been