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“The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” –1 Corinthians 15:26
It felt like any other Tuesday, except it wasn’t.
Lockwood put on a fresh shirt and a new suit as he dressed for the day, fighting off the feelings of deep melancholy that always threatened to descend. Grief, his old friend, was close at hand again.
As he knotted his favorite tie in front of the mirror—a gift from Lucy, of course—he took a deep breath. All he had to do was make it through the day.
Thankfully, the morning was busy. Several new clients stopped by to inquire about Lockwood & Co.’s services, and then Holly had massive amounts of insurance questions for him to deal with. He even made a few phone calls he’d been putting off.
As he ate an early lunch, Lockwood reminded the rest of the team that he was going to be out running errands this afternoon, offering no further details. He saw Lucy give him an inquisitive look, as she sat across from him, but he just gave her a small smile and promised he’d be back later.
As Lockwood shrugged on his coat and put his hand on the doorknob, a new idea occurred to him, and he impulsively turned around. While usually he spent today alone, perhaps that could change this year.
“Luce?” he called.
“Yes?” she replied, sticking her head out the living room door.
“Actually, would you like to join me this afternoon? We’ll just be out for a couple of hours.”
“If you’re okay with me coming along,” she said hesitantly, looking uncertain.
“You?” he said, giving her a smile. “Always.”
They walked side by side in the cool, crisp sunny afternoon, his long strides next to her shorter ones, to their first destination: St. James's Catholic Church in Marylebone. When they reached the towering Gothic spires, Lucy paused at the entrance and gave him a confused look. “What’s this mysterious errand? What are we doing here, Lockwood?”
“Oh, there’s a Mass starting shortly, and well… you’ll see.” He ushered her into the church, stopping only to dip his fingers into the font of holy water and quickly make the sign of the cross. “Let’s sit there,” he said softly, motioning to a pew on the back left side of the sanctuary.
They slid in next to each other silently, as other parishioners slowly filtered in and sat in their own pews. Lockwood knelt briefly, then settled in next to Lucy so their shoulders brushed. She was looking around curiously, admiring the stained glass windows, beautifully restored statues, and soaring architecture.
Soon enough, the service began, and they stood together, Lockwood flipping through the hymnal stored in the pew to follow along with the opening song. He let the sensations of the familiar flow of the Mass wash over him: the distinct warm, musky scent of incense, the rhythm of the communal responses, the worn wooden pew under his hands, the filtered multi color splashes of light from the stained glass windows, the booming notes of the organ, the glow of the candles on the altar, the solid feeling of someone he loved standing beside him.
As the liturgy progressed, Lockwood whispered directions to Lucy, guiding her through the various steps. “Now we sit… stand… sit again… no, it’s later that we kneel… ah, now we stand again.”
“Again?” she whispered back, a bit of mischief in her eyes.
“It’s a workout in addition to a religious service,” he replied solemnly.
Finally, after the homily and prayers of the faithful, Lockwood instructed Lucy to kneel for the second part of the liturgy.
As the priest held up the bread and wine, he recited the ancient words: “Take this, all of you, and eat of it: for this is my body which will be given up for you… take this, all of you, and drink from it: for this is the chalice of my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in memory of me.”
Do this in memory of me, Lockwood repeated silently, feeling himself slip back in time, echoes of days gone by surrounding him.
Outside of Portland Row, there wasn’t a place that held more memories of his family than this church. The entire building was saturated with them, starting with the wispy recollections of sitting in this same pew next to Jessica between his mother and father.
He remembered it all.
His mother’s soothing voice, whispering explanations of the liturgy to him—much like he was doing now with Lucy—and her hands affectionately ruffling his hair when he stood on his tiptoes to get a better view of the altar.
His father, wearing a coat very similar to the one Lockwood currently had on, holding his hand and pacing with him in the back of church when he had too much energy to sit still for the entire hour-long service.
Teenage Jessica, insisting that the two of them still go to Mass, bribing him with the promise of doughnuts afterwards, and elbowing him in the side when he fidgeted too much.
Even now, Lockwood felt like if he turned his head quickly enough, he could almost see the three of them out of the corner of his eye, like the glimmer of a Shade appearing just as dusk was falling. But no matter how good his Sight might be, he knew this was one view that would always be out of reach.
Finally, the end of the Eucharist prayer arrived, and with it, the reason why they were there. Lockwood braced himself to hear the words that he knew from experience were coming next.
“Remember also, Lord, your servants Donald and Celia Lockwood, who have gone before us with the sign of faith and rest in the sleep of peace. Grant them, O Lord, we pray, and all who sleep in Christ, a place of refreshment, light, and peace,” the priest proclaimed.
Lockwood closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, Lucy was staring at him with her mouth in a small ‘o’ shape.
“Is today…?” she mouthed, understanding washing over her face.
Lockwood gave her a small nod, and his eyes caught on the sapphire necklace at her throat, shimmering the stained glass dappled sunlight. Lucy followed his gaze and touched the gemstone gently, reverently. She swallowed, blinking back tears, and he had to look away briefly to compose himself.
At the Lord’s prayer and the sign of peace, Lockwood gestured for Lucy to stand yet again. “Peace be with you, Luce,” he said, squeezing her hand.
“Love you,” she murmured back. It wasn’t the traditional response, but as far as he was concerned, it was even better.
“Love you, too,” he replied, leaning in to brush her cheek with a light kiss.
As the other parishioners started lining up for communion, Lockwood nodded his head towards the front of the church. “I’m going to go up,” he told Lucy softly. “You can come with me for a blessing if you’d like, or you can stay here.”
Lucy looked a bit alarmed about the idea of a blessing, and he had to hold in a chuckle. “I’ll wait here,” she whispered, sitting back in the pew.
Lockwood walked slowly up the center aisle, once again following in the footsteps of all those before him who had taken part in this same ritual: Jessica, his parents, his grandparents, countless unnamed relatives and loved ones. So many people who had also recited these prayers, stepped down this aisle, ate this bread, and sipped this wine.
“The body of Christ,” the priest said. “The blood of Christ.”
“Amen,” he said in return, a first time and then a second time. Let it be so.
After the final hymn, the parishioners around them began to shuffle out, but Lockwood sat down again, and Lucy joined him. He gestured to the small chapel in an alcove on the right side of the sanctuary with a statue of Mary, the mother of Jesus. She was cloaked in white, her face serene.
“My family used to come here for Mass every Sunday,” he told her quietly. “My mother loved that chapel. She would always take me to look at that statue of Mary. Now it reminds me of her. Coming here for Mass...” he said haltingly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, it’s one of the few memories I have of my parents.”
Lucy’s eyes filled with tears again.
“They’re good memories though,” Lockwood quickly assured her. “Even though at the time, I remember feeling bored; I was young, of course, and I would have much preferred to be running around outside.”
“Well, you certainly seem to be an expert at the service,” Lucy said fondly. “I would have been lost without you.”
“This was your first Mass, right?” he asked.
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“It’s funny how much I remember,” Lockwood said, “even though I clearly don’t do this often. It’s like muscle memory though—almost like rapier drills—it just sticks with you. But there’s something quite beautiful about the ritual and the history of it. My family has been parishioners here for generations. In fact, I was baptized here as a baby.”
“Really?” Lucy asked, pausing to assess the church with new eyes, as if trying to imagine a tiny Lockwood toddling around.
“Yes, there’s a picture somewhere back at the house of me in a ridiculous outfit, screaming because I didn’t like water being dumped on me in the middle of a nap,” he said wryly. “Someday I’ll try to dig it up for you.”
“Well, I certainly look forward to seeing that,” she said fondly, and he laughed.
“There are a lot of photos here, actually. Jess’s baptism, too, of course, and my parents were married here and my grandparents before them. Being here… it makes me feel connected to all of them,” he admitted.
Lucy studied him with a tender look in her eyes. “Maybe you should come here more often then.”
He gave her a soft smile. “Perhaps. But now, I have a few more things I’d like to do if you don't mind accompanying me, Luce.”
As they passed through the entryway of the church, Lockwood guided her towards a display of candles. He slowly lit three of them, silently reciting their names as he did so. Celia. Donald. Jessica.
Lockwood dipped his fingers into the font of holy water again at the entrance as they exited. The priest—a tall man with a round, cheerful face and wire rimmed glasses—was still standing outside, chatting with another parishioner. He smiled as Lockwood approached and shook his hand.
“Thank you, Father Paul. It was lovely as always,” Lockwood said.
Father Paul reached out and put a hand on Lockwood’s shoulder. “It’s always good to see you, Anthony.”
Lockwood nodded. “Likewise. Father Paul, this is my girlfriend, Lucy Carlyle. Luce, this is Father Paul—he’s known me since I was a child.”
Father Paul raised an eyebrow at the word ‘girlfriend,’ giving Lockwood an approving look. “Nice to meet you, Lucy. I'm glad to have you both here. You’re both welcome any time,” he said warmly.
“Thank you,” Lucy said softly.
“I’ll be thinking about you today, Anthony.” The priest hesitated for a moment before continuing. “It’s truly remarkable how much you look like Donald—more every time I see you. He was a good man. He and your mother would be proud of who you’ve become.”
Lockwood swallowed and let out a low breath. “Thank you for saying that,” he said slowly.
“It’s the truth,” Father Paul said gently. “Now, I won’t keep you all any longer, as I imagine you have other plans for the rest of the afternoon?”
“We do,” Lockwood affirmed.
“I’ll let you be on your way. Please let me know if you ever need anything, Anthony.”
Lockwood nodded and took Lucy’s hand in his. “Thank you again for the Mass.”
Father Paul called out to them as they began to walk away. “Oh, and Lucy? Do your best to keep this one in line,” he said good-naturedly. “He’s been a bit of a loose cannon ever since he snuck up to the choir loft when he was supposed to be in first Communion class.”
Lucy laughed. “It’s quite a job, isn’t it?” she said, giving Lockwood a sideline smile.
Lockwood rolled his eyes, waving a final goodbye, then set off walking briskly. They went to a nearby florist, where he searched the space, looking for something specific. “Ah, yes,” he said finally, as he spotted an assortment of pink roses and white lilies. “These will do nicely.”
After purchasing three small matching bouquets, they were off again. Lucy buried her nose in the blooms, breathing in the fragrant scent of the roses, and Lockwood smiled at the image of her bright face surrounded by flowers.
“Our next stop is one you might remember, Luce,” he said, as he led them to the graveyard in Marylebone that they had once visited together on an afternoon that now felt like a lifetime ago.
Once they arrived at his family’s burial plot, Lockwood motioned to the carving of a woman in a hooded cape on his parent’s gravestone. “You saw the statue of Mary at the church. Here she is again—my mother was quite devoted to her. The representation here is referred to as Our Lady of Sorrows. I didn’t choose it obviously because I was too young, but it seems… fitting now.”
Lockwood bent his knees so he could gently place a bouquet on each grave. First, his father, “Earth to earth—” then, his mother, “—ashes to ashes—” and finally, Jessica, “—dust to dust.”
Lucy looked at him curiously, raising an eyebrow in a silent question at his words. “It’s part of the prayer said at burials,” Lockwood explained. “It always struck me as a powerful image.” He stayed squatting for a moment, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes closed.
Finally, he stood up and dusted his hands off. Lucy was gazing at him wistfully, a few tears shimmering in her eyes. They sat together at his usual perch on Derek Tompkin-Bond’s headstone, her head resting gently on his shoulder.
Lockwood put his arm around Lucy and pulled her closer. “Thank you for being here, darling,” he said, resting his head on top of hers. He felt her nod against him.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” she replied, her voice rough.
“I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I didn’t have to do this alone…” He swallowed. “I’m glad that I don’t feel so alone any longer.”
“Never alone,” she promised fiercely.
They sat like that for a long time, both of them looking at the graves adorned with the bright bouquets. Eventually, Lockwood pulled away, but he took Lucy’s hand again, helping her to her feet. “Are you good with one final stop?”
“Of course.”
This time, they took a short walk to a nearby café down the street, where they both ordered tea and sat quietly sipping their beverages together.
“Any significance to this place—or did you just want tea?” Lucy asked quietly.
Lockwood nodded slowly. “Actually, yes, there is. My family used to come here after Sunday Mass. It’s under new ownership now, but it still looks the same.”
“I didn’t know that this was something that was so important to your family.”
“It was—to both my parents and then to Jessica as well. Jess and I used to go to church together after they were gone; she even made sure I did my first Reconciliation and first Communion. But then after she—” he paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.
“Well, after that, I didn’t set foot in a church for a long time. My uncle wasn’t religious, and it wasn’t exactly a priority for me either at that age. But then a few years ago, around the time I started the agency, I ran into Father Paul one day in the neighborhood. It seems the local priests also like Arif’s doughnuts,” he said wryly.
“How could they not?” Lucy said loftily.
Lockwood grinned at that. “Precisely. Anyway, Father Paul reminded me that I could have Masses said in memory of my parents and Jessica. So I’ve done it every year since on the anniversaries of their deaths.”
“That’s quite lovely,” she said softly. “I never knew.”
“Well, I usually go alone, of course—but it felt… right to have you with me to remember them today, Luce,” he said, rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand. “After all,” he said, his voice cracking slightly, “you’re my family now.”
Lucy nodded solemnly and leaned forward, running her hand down the side of his face and letting her fingers linger on his jaw. “Lockwood, I’m so glad you asked me to be here. And thank you again for sharing so much with me about them. I know it’s not easy for you to talk about.”
“It isn’t,” he admitted. “But it’s getting easier.”
She smiled at him then, splashes of the mid-afternoon light illuminating her face. Lockwood gestured to their now empty cups of tea.
“Ready to go home, love?” he asked. “I’m sure George and Holly are wondering where we’ve snuck off to.”
As they walked back to 35 Portland Row together, hand in hand, Lockwood let out a deep exhale, soaking in the feeling of the sun on his face. And as he looked over at Lucy, for the first time that afternoon, he didn’t think of the past.
Instead, Lockwood thought of the future—without guilt and without apprehension. He thought of the unspoken dreams that he’d hidden away for so long, hazy images of the next generation of Lockwoods that would hopefully come after him. With each passing day, the future that had felt out of reach for him for so many years became a little bit clearer.
Lockwood’s hand tightened on Lucy’s, and he pulled her into his side to quickly press a kiss to her temple. His grief would always be with him, but right now, they were just together on a beautiful Tuesday afternoon.
“In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life
through our Lord Jesus Christ,
we commend to Almighty God our brothers and sisters,
and we commit their bodies to the ground:
earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
The Lord bless them and keep them,
the Lord make his face to shine upon them
and be gracious to them,
the Lord lift up his countenance upon them
and give them peace.”
-Order of Christian Funerals