The day of Nigel Cunningham's funeral was absolutely beautiful. The sky was deep blue, dotted with fluffy bits of white, and a light breeze ruffled MJ's unruly hair. She wondered if she was supposed to have worn a hat, if etiquette dictated such a thing. She hoped not. It seemed wrong, somehow, to put someone in the earth, to bury him in the ground on such a beautiful day.

They were going to spend the afternoon with Nigel's family at their estate, Five Oaks, with John and Charlie, before coming back to London. They were heading to Rome in the morning to rejoin the tour.

They were in the car, headed toward Kent, when something occurred to MJ. "Hey!" she said, turning away from the window to face Heath.

"Yeah?" he laughed.

"How come we stayed in a hotel?" she asked. "I thought you had a house in London? Wasn't there something about some fans camping out in the parking lot across the street from where you live last year, trying to catch a glimpse of you or something?"

Heath nodded. "Yeah, I did have a house here. But it was a bit small, if I'm honest. And I never liked how modern it felt? A few too many angles, you know?" He shrugged. "There were always little problems with the plumbing, too. The fans finding out where I lived was just the final straw, so I sold it. I've been looking, but I never found anything that suited me, then I left to go on tour, so--" he spread his hands out. "There didn't seem to be any point in rushing to spend money on a place that would sit empty for the next seven months, you know?"

MJ sat back, nodding.

They'd left London proper behind now, as they headed southeast, in the direction of the sun. MJ once again turned to look out the window. Funeral or not, this was still her first time in England, and she was fascinated.

"I'm so sorry, MJ, that your first time visiting has to be for something so sad," Heath said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, Heath, please stop apologizing," MJ said, turning to face him. "I'm glad I was able to do this for you, that I was able to make things a little more bearable for you, really."

Impulsively, she leaned forward and hugged him, hard.

His arms came back around her, grasping firmly, pulling her into his body.

MJ, whose automatic response to situations like this was to wonder if she felt sweaty and to pull away, stayed where she was, fighting the impulse to increase the distance between the two of them.

"Thank you, darling," Heath whispered, kissing her ear.

They arrived about an hour later. The massive gates to the estate stood open, with security guards, dressed in black, wearing black carnations checking arrivals. The driver gave Heath's name, and they were let through.

The car wound through the property, past the huge house, through a park, to a cemetery that looked like something from a movie to MJ. Actually, the whole place looked like something straight out of Masterpiece Theatre to her.

A few people had already arrived, though not the family, or the other boys.

MJ asked Heath if this was typical of an English funeral.

"Not exactly," he responded. "Normally there would be a bit in a church, but the Cunninghams aren't religious. They have a family vicar who will perform the graveside service, but they didn't want to do the church bit, since it would've had to happen in the local village, and it would've been a real circus, with fans and paps all over the place. This way it can stay private and peaceful, you know?"

MJ nodded her understanding.

They walked to the family plot, and saw the fresh hole, dug with neat precision in a perfect rectangle. It seemed to yawn open, and MJ was ominously aware of it, gaping at the periphery of her vision, no matter which way she faced.

It made her uncomfortable and sad. She couldn't even imagine how it made Heath feel, knowing his close friend was shortly going to go down into that hole.

Another car pulled up, and MJ recognized Charlie McAllister and John Darling-Ekekwesili emerging, along with a thin, pale girl that she remembered was Charlie's girlfriend, though she couldn't remember her name.

Heath began walking toward them, grabbing MJ by the hand and pulling her with him.

"Hey!" he called, subdued but happy, enveloping first Charlie, then John in huge hugs.

"Jane! Lovely to see you again," Heath exclaimed.

Jane. Of course, that was her name.

"This is my good friend, MJ," Heath was saying, gesturing to MJ, who stepped forward, hand extended.

"Hello, MJ, heard so much about you, pleasure to finally meet you," Charlie said, grasping her hand.

"Same," John said, smiling at her.

Holy moly, these boys were handsome, MJ thought. Charlie was similar to Heath, with hazel eyes and dark hair. John, however, had light brown eyes the color of cream sherry, eyes that were almost the same color as his skin, and the combination was so striking that it was hard not to stare at him. Of course MJ knew what he looked like, as she'd fangirled, hard, over The Jacks since she was a teenager, until they'd taken their permanent hiatus, but seeing John in person was almost bowling her over.

Jane was watching her with a knowing grin.

"I know, right?" she said, nudging MJ's shoulder with her own.

"Okay, that's enough of that," Heath declared, grasping MJ by the upper arm and turning her away.

"Sorry," she said. "But you can't just spring him on people like that, you know?"

Heath turned huge eyes on her.

She smiled back at him.

"You!"

MJ laughed.

Just then, a hearse, followed by another car, came around the curve of the house, and the thirty or so people grew quiet.

MJ grasped Heath's hand and squeezed, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

You're not alone. I'm here for you.

The hearse and car pulled up, and Nigel's parents, grandparents, brother, and sister-in-law got out of the car. Then the back of the hearse was opened, and the beautiful coffin was pulled out. Then Heath, John, Charlie, Nigel's older brother Simon, and two other people MJ didn't know, pulled on white gloves and walked over and grasped the coffin by the handles for the short walk to the graveside.

MJ had known the boys were going to be pallbearers, but seeing them actually doing it was so, so sad. She was already crying, before they even got to where they were going. They slowly put the coffin down on the apparatus that would lower it into the ground and stepped away, pulling their gloves off.

Heath returned to stand by MJ and grasped her hand once more, squeezing it. Charlie, Jane and John also came to stand near them, and turned to listen to the words of the vicar, the man presiding over the service.

His words were heartfelt, because he'd known Nigel all his life.

Nigel's father also spoke.

"He was a beautiful boy, and he grew into a beautiful man," he began. "He never forgot where he came from, ever. He never made us feel like he was bored with us, or tired of his dull little family, moldering away in the countryside of Kent, you know?" There was a polite laugh from everyone assembled.

"No matter what he was doing, no matter what exciting things were going on in his life, he always made time for us.

"I remember once, he was in Hong Kong, parasailing on some prince's yacht or something, and I know that's what he was doing, because I had the Twitter by then," his father said fondly, which made everyone laugh again, "and he dropped everything and raced back here to Five Oaks because I'd spotted a particular type of bird nesting in that grove of Alders over there that we'd been trying to spot since he was a little boy." He nodded. "He did that, because he wanted to share that moment with me. We really enjoyed our bird-watching, we really did--" and he had to stop talking, he was too overcome.

Nigel's brother Simon went to him and put an arm around him, comforting him.

"In fact, I had a favor to ask of you boys," Nigel's father spoke hopefully as he wiped his eyes. "I was hoping you'd sing 'Fly Away'? As a good bye to our boy? Could you do that?"

John, Charlie and Heath looked at each other. There was no question of saying no.

"Right now, sir?" Heath asked.

"Please," Mr. Cunningham responded.

Heath looked at MJ. "Darling, could you give us a 'G', please?"

And MJ, who would rather die than sing in front of people, produced a 'G' for them, humming so all three could hear.

The boys took it from there, singing the pretty, folksy song about a boy going for a walk with his dad on a country lane. It was very pretty, and within a few bars, most of the people at the graveside were crying.

It was Heath who realized the problem first: The song had been written in standard, four-part harmony, as most of their stuff had. And Nigel had carried the melody; he usually did, because he had the standard range, and he'd written this song, about his dad, about Kent, about birdwatching. The hole couldn't really be heard until the bridge; it was at that point that the rest of the parts really faded to the back ground, and the melody was pulled forward.

The song was going to fall apart, very soon. It didn't help that the boys, too, were getting emotional, with tears coursing down their cheeks.

John, and Charlie, too, looked over at Heath, eyes wide, as they sang, trying to figure out what to do. John, who had the next highest voice, after Nigel, tried once or twice to jump to the melody line, but he couldn't do it. Jane, who was standing a little behind Charlie, knew something was wrong, but didn't know what it was.

Then, suddenly, MJ, who was standing next to Heath, was holding his hand and singing the melody, loud and clear, her voice blending perfectly as the fourth, just in time for the beautiful bridge.

"Our feet will always wander
Far and wide, these country lanes
Listening for the songbirds
Through the misty summer rains"

There were two verses left, and the four of them raised their voices in the woodlands of Kent, with no instrumental accompaniment but the birdsong that surrounded them, as they laid their young friend to rest.

Finally, Nigel was lowered into the ground, and John, Charlie, and Heath each stepped forward and tossed a handful of earth onto the casket, wiping away tears as they did.

Heath stepped back and covered his face, stepping into MJ's waiting arms, weeping for Nigel.

"Oh, MJ, he was so young, so full of life, it's not fair, not fair you know?" he murmured into her neck.

"I know, I do, I'm so, so sorry," she whispered back as she held him.

He was at last able to let her go, and watch as the family, too threw earth and flowers into the hole in the ground.

"G'bye, Nigel, my drinking friend," he whispered, still holding on to MJ.