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“Hi,” Mark greeted Bridget on entering the room, sitting next to his wife. On this April Saturday afternoon the sun came streaming in the tall windows, belying the slight chill to the outside air. Their young son was sleeping upstairs, where Mark had just put him down for a nap. William had fought sleep for as long as possible, finally drifting off after Mark read him three of his favourite stories. His father gently pulled the blanket over his small form and slipped silently from the room, kissing his shell-pink ear before leaving.
Bridget surreptitiously wiped her eyes, trying to hide that she was utterly gutted watching the televised funeral of Prince Philip; she gave Mark a wan smile, not really convincing him. Looking at the telly, he saw the somber event she was viewing.
“Ah,” he said, having forgotten about the televised ceremony. He pulled her tight against his chest, running his hands over her shoulders while murmuring soothing words into her hair. She had the largest heart of anyone he knew, and it didn’t surprise him to learn she was upset at the death of the Queen’s consort of so many years.
“Are you okay?” he asked with obvious concern.
“Mark, how tremendously it must have helped her over seventy years to have a person who completely understood. Not just someone: the only one, the one person who even came close to knowing what it really felt to be her, the Queen of England.”
“I know, darling. She was very fortunate to have had such a long marriage.” He thought for a moment what it would be like to lose his wife, and he too became overcome with melancholy. He couldn’t fathom his world without her in it, both as wife and William’s mother. When they were apart, and he had been married to someone else, he’d believed himself happy. It wasn’t until she was once again such an integral piece of his world that he truly realized how he’d only been fooling himself, had been putting a plaster over his heart to keep living.
They both turned their attention to the telly again when the newsreaders discussed the arrival of the Duke’s carriage earlier in the service.
“Many royal fans have been left saddened by the sight of Her Majesty the Queen, who spent 73 years of marriage with Prince Philip and who shared four children, eight grandchildren, and ten great-grandchildren with him, as she sat alone during the service. However, there was another subtle yet utterly poignant moment that was particularly heartbreaking – and you may have missed it if you didn’t tune into the funeral coverage until the service started at 3 pm.
As Prince Philip’s coffin arrived on the grounds of Windsor Castle, the Duke’s carriage could also be seen for a moment, with some of his personal belongings placed in the seat. The carriage, customised by Philip himself, arrived at Windsor Castle drawn by two of his Fell ponies, named Balmoral Nevis and Notlaw Storm. His racing gloves, hat, and whip were placed in the spot where he once sat, representing Philip’s final ride in his beloved carriage. A small plastic jar was also visible, which is believed to have held sugar lumps that Philip would have fed to his ponies.”
By this time, Bridget was sobbing softly, having turned again to Mark, crying into his shirt. He quickly grabbed the remote and muted the commentary, attempting to stop her from hearing more heart-wrenching news. Several moments passed and her tears finally seemed to have subsided. She leant back to look at Mark’s face, her eyes red with emotion. Reaching behind her, he grabbed the box of tissues that had fallen into the corner.
“Here, darling,” he said, holding several to her nose so she could blow into it. He then wiped below her eyes gently with his thumbs, kissing her forehead as she hiccoughed into her hands.
“If I ever feel like crying, I envision an elderly couple, married forever, and one of them passes, leaving the other one behind — lost, destitute, alone.” She stopped at this point to take a gulp of air, before continuing once more, “The kind of very aged pair you sometimes see holding hands in the supermarket, walking very slow, with shuffling steps, carefully picking out modest groceries while you try not to stare or burst into tears like a lunatic.”
Mark looked at her, attempting his best to hide his surprise at her confession.
“Sometimes the old man is jauntily clothed, with a neckerchief and shiny shoes, or the old woman might have an heirloom badge pinned to her lapel. They’re often more down-at-heel, and you get the sense that they probably only put the heating on for a special treat.”
He wanted to ask her why she would ever want to cause herself to cry, but Bridget immediately began again, “I can picture the Queen getting ready for bed and not having Philip to talk to companionably beforehand about the amusing, absurd, or irritating things that happened that day. It can’t have taken her by surprise, not at his age. But just because you realise something intellectually does not mean it makes sense emotionally. I can’t help think: who’s she got, Mark?”
Mark began to open his mouth to answer but quickly understood it was a rhetorical question since she kept going.
“Who’s sitting on the sofa with her, handing her tissues and biscuits, laughing and crying with her?”
Now he, too, was getting misty-eyed at the images she was invoking in his mind. He thought of her parents and his. They were so fortunate to not only have them all still in their lives but in their son’s life too.
“They must have felt like a little boat in the middle of a large ocean, clinging to one another because, by this point, anything that needed forgiving was done so long ago. On their golden wedding anniversary, she called him her ‘strength and stay all these years’.”
He thought of his life with Bridget before his second marriage to Camilla and his life with her now, clearly understanding what the Queen meant by her words.
“Everything’s bearable if you know someone loves you and you love them in return,” he whispered into her ear.