was gone. He
walked with confidence and the silent mourners seemed suddenly charged and
energised. Talia wanted to keep her face forward but almost against her will
she found herself glancing to watch as he continued up the aisle. She felt a
thrill of shock as their eyes met and immediately her head whipped back round
to face the priest, even as her cheeks burned. Bastard.
“Thank God,” she heard Helena mutter next to her as Alex
stepped up onto the altar. Talia kept her head down, her face burning. Finally
she looked up again and there he stood, Alex Golden looking out on the
congregation. Against her will she felt a pull of something, which she quickly
pushed aside with the thought that he had no business looking so beautiful at a
funeral. She watched him adjust the microphone even as a frisson of excitement
spread through the mourners. From the corner of her eye, Talia could see that
some of the women stood up straighter, preened a little. She watched the look
of pride on Sula’s face as she stared up at her son. Talia shook head. It’s a
funeral; she wanted to yell. But suddenly he was speaking.
“Richard Golden was… is the only father I have ever known.”
The rest of his words were lost to Talia as she glanced around the mourners.
Like sunflowers bending towards to the sun, so they cleaved towards Alex, were
moved by his words. Talia felt a surge of irritation and she reached a hand out
to pat Helena reassuringly. Alex Golden could always be counted on to make an
entrance, how could she have forgotten that? She was drawn back to the present
as he finally stepped down from the podium, shaking hands with the priest
before he moved determinedly towards their pew. He gave his mother a small kiss
and Talia watched as he turned to Helena, enveloping her in a hug. Talia
thought he seemed almost nervous but she brushed the thought aside quickly,
Alex Golden didn’t do nervous. Around them, the other mourners had begun to
disperse moving towards the exit from the church. Talia looked around and was
stunned to find herself staring into Alex’s eyes. Her anger with him must have
shown because he raised an eyebrow in a sort of question. She stared defiantly
back at him and then blinked as he looked away. She watched for a moment and
then turned away as Alex suddenly folded his little sister into his arms as
Helena wept. Reluctantly Talia turned away to allow them some privacy. She felt
a lump in her own throat but she pushed it aside, she wasn’t about to forget
how often Alex let Helena down or hadn’t been there when she needed him. She
turned and began to walk towards the exit from the church.
It
was already late afternoon by the time they returned to the Hampstead House
from the crematorium. The news of Alex’s presence had predictably spread and as
he exited the car outside his grandfather’s house, he was met with another
barrage of photographers and a few passers by. Though it was a cloudy day with
no sunshine, Alex pulled his sunglasses on, covering his eyes as he pushed
through the throng, keeping his head down until he finally entered the house.
Already a select group of close family friends were gathered.
As he carelessly shrugged off his blazer hooking it on the banister in the
hallway, Alex spotted his mother holding court. Emanating from somewhere in the
house was the sound of Edith Piaf and Alex smiled at this, noting that Helena
had made sure that their grandfather’s favourite songs were playing. As far as
wakes went, Alex noted, this one was something else, some of the country’s most
notable actors and writers, who had worked with his grandfather were gathered
around reminiscing and Alex felt a beat of melancholy. He would miss Gramps.
“Wonderful Eulogy Alex.’ Alex gave a brief nod as Eleanor
Samson placed a kiss to his cheek.
“Lovely to see you Eleanor.” He responded with a genuine
smile. In his first professional stage role, Eleanor had played his mother and
he’d long held a
walked with confidence and the silent mourners seemed suddenly charged and
energised. Talia wanted to keep her face forward but almost against her will
she found herself glancing to watch as he continued up the aisle. She felt a
thrill of shock as their eyes met and immediately her head whipped back round
to face the priest, even as her cheeks burned. Bastard.
“Thank God,” she heard Helena mutter next to her as Alex
stepped up onto the altar. Talia kept her head down, her face burning. Finally
she looked up again and there he stood, Alex Golden looking out on the
congregation. Against her will she felt a pull of something, which she quickly
pushed aside with the thought that he had no business looking so beautiful at a
funeral. She watched him adjust the microphone even as a frisson of excitement
spread through the mourners. From the corner of her eye, Talia could see that
some of the women stood up straighter, preened a little. She watched the look
of pride on Sula’s face as she stared up at her son. Talia shook head. It’s a
funeral; she wanted to yell. But suddenly he was speaking.
“Richard Golden was… is the only father I have ever known.”
The rest of his words were lost to Talia as she glanced around the mourners.
Like sunflowers bending towards to the sun, so they cleaved towards Alex, were
moved by his words. Talia felt a surge of irritation and she reached a hand out
to pat Helena reassuringly. Alex Golden could always be counted on to make an
entrance, how could she have forgotten that? She was drawn back to the present
as he finally stepped down from the podium, shaking hands with the priest
before he moved determinedly towards their pew. He gave his mother a small kiss
and Talia watched as he turned to Helena, enveloping her in a hug. Talia
thought he seemed almost nervous but she brushed the thought aside quickly,
Alex Golden didn’t do nervous. Around them, the other mourners had begun to
disperse moving towards the exit from the church. Talia looked around and was
stunned to find herself staring into Alex’s eyes. Her anger with him must have
shown because he raised an eyebrow in a sort of question. She stared defiantly
back at him and then blinked as he looked away. She watched for a moment and
then turned away as Alex suddenly folded his little sister into his arms as
Helena wept. Reluctantly Talia turned away to allow them some privacy. She felt
a lump in her own throat but she pushed it aside, she wasn’t about to forget
how often Alex let Helena down or hadn’t been there when she needed him. She
turned and began to walk towards the exit from the church.
It
was already late afternoon by the time they returned to the Hampstead House
from the crematorium. The news of Alex’s presence had predictably spread and as
he exited the car outside his grandfather’s house, he was met with another
barrage of photographers and a few passers by. Though it was a cloudy day with
no sunshine, Alex pulled his sunglasses on, covering his eyes as he pushed
through the throng, keeping his head down until he finally entered the house.
Already a select group of close family friends were gathered.
As he carelessly shrugged off his blazer hooking it on the banister in the
hallway, Alex spotted his mother holding court. Emanating from somewhere in the
house was the sound of Edith Piaf and Alex smiled at this, noting that Helena
had made sure that their grandfather’s favourite songs were playing. As far as
wakes went, Alex noted, this one was something else, some of the country’s most
notable actors and writers, who had worked with his grandfather were gathered
around reminiscing and Alex felt a beat of melancholy. He would miss Gramps.
“Wonderful Eulogy Alex.’ Alex gave a brief nod as Eleanor
Samson placed a kiss to his cheek.
“Lovely to see you Eleanor.” He responded with a genuine
smile. In his first professional stage role, Eleanor had played his mother and
he’d long held a
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