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Frank stared at the wooden coffin as it was slowly lowered into the ground. He tried to picture Steven lying in it, but the image wouldn’t come. Not for Steven. Steven had been light and life and laughter.
Once more, Frank was gripped with that disturbing tumble of guilt and relief. Guilt that he hadn’t been there when Steven’s system had finally collapsed, a decade after his initial diagnosis; guilt that he hadn’t returned when Kevin had written to tell him Frank was getting worse; guilt that he hadn’t returned to Perth in time. Relief at all his absences as well, and then guilt at the relief.
.....
He observed his own reflection in the glass. Brown eyes, dark with emotion and shadowed with habitual worry, observed back from under a high forehead and a thatch of light brown hair. High cheekbones, a fine, straight nose, his sensitive mouth drawn into an unhappy frown. Milo told him he always looked too serious. Steven had said it too. He remembered a disappointed groupie in Amsterdam telling him he didn’t ‘look gay’, whatever that meant. Regarding his reflection, he didn’t think he looked like a coward either.
He glanced away from the sight of himself and realised he could see the whole room reflected in the glass. He studied them, picking out those he knew and all the strangers. There stood Dave Tyson, holding a plate full of exotic nibbly things. Kevin appeared in the doorway, gesturing to David, who made his way over. They spoke briefly, Dave nodded in his direction, and then Kevin walked towards him. Frank was briefly surprised by the expression he saw on David’s face – decidedly unfriendly – but then he remembered Milo’s judgement. David really was jealous of ‘the Golden Boy’. He wondered why David hadn’t been at the funeral.
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