Fully English

CHAPTER 40

I have brought my father's old navy coat to sit on as I walk into the cemetery, past the hedges and overgrown trees to the tidy area where my father's grave is. It is mid-afternoon and I am teetering in heels with my blue satin dress and hair tied back in a ponytail. I feel my Swarovski crystal drop earrings swinging as I move over the grass and lay the coat down to sit on it. There are a few people around, bowing to drop flowers of all colours and assortments but today I have only brought a few stems of hydrangeas. It is my peace offering to my father, an exchange for his natural wisdom when I sit before him and ask for help.

"Hi dad."

I lean on the headstone and lower myself, my blue nails shining against the matte as I sit cross-legged on the coat I have laid as a mat.

A thrust of wind whisks me in greeting as I make myself comfortable, position my back upright and stare head on. In my reflection I see a distorted version of myself, different shades of blue screaming and gleaming as I search for my face. It is so dark I almost cannot see myself but the whites of my eyes shine through.

This is the same outfit I am wearing for George's dinner, the base of my heels still clogged with dirt. I have told him to meet me around the corner from here in an hour so I know I have to be quick with this conversation.

I begin to play with the petals of the hydrangea, picking each one and letting it flow through the wind.

"I have an issue dad."

I am so nervous that I am not looking at him, his gravestone. Instead I watch as the bright lilac pieces settle into the grass around me and onto the coat.

"So there are two guys: George and Reece."

I go into telling him the details of their appearance and their backgrounds: how George Levantine the fifth is an all-around English boy, son of the woman he had an affair with. For a moment, I cringe aloud, realising that my dad and I are one in the same in our attraction for the Levantine family. It is uncomfortable knowing how similar we are, how connected we are both in life and death. I speak about George being a white, upper-class lad with both parents present in his life and cute younger siblings – a supposedly healthy family unit. Almost picture-perfect. Then I transition to talking about Reece – the lovable friend who I fell for long before I had processed it. His kind demeanour and smile despite his troubled inner conflict. There is an identity complex he lives with, growing up as the only son of his black mum and white dad, only for him to be thrust into his father's remarriage and subconsciously try to emulate him for the rest of his life: from his career to his choice of partner to his status.

I position my hands behind myself and lean backwards so I can look at the sky: it is another shade of blue – a pale celeste with sparse frothy white clouds. I was surrounded by so much blue today, it was almost comical. A blue grave, a blue outfit and blue flowers. And then a pair of blue pupils block my view from above and I realise I am being stared at from above.

"Karma."

I have an upside down view of George's face – clean-shaven and smiling.

"Oh shit," I turn around to face this apparition and realise that I am not hallucinating, that he is real and that I am not imagining him. "How the fuck did you know I was here?"

Clad in a midnight blue two piece stands a sharp looking George. He looks out of place in this grave environment, as do I. One hand on the knot of his tie, the other extended to me in assistance to get up. I shun it though.

"I didn't."

He is loosening his tie to reveal the stark white of his shirt and then plops down to sit by me on my dad's coat.