by Mia James
The door was already open and a table with a dark red velvet cloth laid over it was standing to one side of the entrance, while huge flower displays had been left to both sides of the steps. The pall-bearers gently laid the coffin down and the vicar began the ancient rites, the same words this hillside had heard over and over these past two hundred years.
‘I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’
April began to cry.
‘Into thy hands, O merciful Saviour, we commend thy servant William,’ continued the priest. ‘Receive him into the arms of thy mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.’
The mourners all mumbled ‘Amen’; then, leaning on Grandpa Thomas’s shoulder, Silvia shuffled forwards and, with a great sob, placed a white rose on the coffin as the vicar made the sign of the cross and began to intone: ‘Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live and is full of misery. He cometh up and is cut down, like a flower; he fleets as a shadow and cannot stay. In the midst of life we are in death …’
April stepped forwards and placed her own flower on the coffin. ‘I love you, Daddy,’ she whispered.
‘We therefore commit his body to this resting place; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life …’
Each of the mourners stepped forwards in turn, then the priest signalled to the pall-bearers, who lifted the coffin into the tomb as they all muttered the Lord’s Prayer over Silvia’s sobs.
‘Forgive us our trespasses …’
Finally, the priest stepped forwards to close the vault door. ‘Deliver us from evil …’
And a terrible scream went up.
‘Nooo!’ cried Silvia, throwing herself against the door. ‘I won’t let you, I can’t!’
‘Dear lady,’ whispered the vicar, and Silvia slipped down the door, as if in a faint. April jumped forwards, but her grandfather got there first, lifting Silvia to her feet and supporting her. The vicar, as gently as he could, finished the service.
‘God of peace, who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus Christ, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, grant eternal rest to his soul, O Lord. May his soul and all the souls of the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Caro had painted her nails a pale, neutral pink. It was only a small thing, but April almost started crying again.
‘Oh, honey, that’s so sweet,’ said April with emotion. She had never seen Caro with anything except black nails; it was almost part of her personality, a statement of intent to the rest of the world. But today she had changed it for April and for her dad.
Caro flushed a little and shrugged. ‘Well, I just thought it was appropriate, respectful.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And I didn’t want any of these weird people thinking I was taking the mickey.’
The ‘weird people’ were April’s relatives. As William Dunne had no family to speak of, the mourners were mostly from her mother’s side, so it was no surprise that like Silvia and Grandpa Thomas, they were tall and athletic. April had always assumed Gramps had been referring to character when he said Hamilton - or should that be Vladescu? - women were ‘strong’, but she could now see he was referring to their stature, too. Beautiful as well, which somehow gave April hope. Her mother had cheese-wire cheekbones, but April was still waiting in vain for hers to pop out. Maybe there is still time, she thought, casting a longing glance over at the Constances, Mariellas and Georginas sipping politely at their wine. Maybe I’ll get their legs too. She wasn’t particularly keen on inheriting their personalities, though. They were all polite of course, muttering that they were ‘sorry for her loss’ and that ‘William was a good man’, but overall, they were posh and aloof, observing the room with superior stares. Perhaps they were silently questioning Silvia’s decision to hold a wake for her husband in the room next to the one where he had been killed. April certainly had.
‘It wouldn’t hurt them to smile, would it?’ said Fiona under her breath. ‘I mean, you don’t expect stand-up comedy at a wake, but it is supposed to be a celebration of someone’s life, isn’t it?’
‘I think they’re worried they’ll crack their make-up,’ said Caro.
April was glad that Fee and Caro where getting on so well, as if they had known each other for years. Her life had been turned completely upside down in the last few weeks and it was nice to know that she had friends to lean on when it all went completely pear-shaped. Like my bum, thought April, and managed a giggle.
‘What are you all sniggering about?’ said a voice.
April turned to see another tall man about her dad’s age. This one she recognised vaguely, possibly from photos at her grandpa’s house. He had the standard-issue Hamilton frame; he looked like a gangster in his tight black suit, his neck bulging over his collar, but he had less of the frosty beauty with his broken nose and hooded eyes. Plus there was an amused arch to his eyebrow that April liked immediately.
‘I’m Uncle Luke,’ he said, holding out a hand. ‘I’m sure April doesn’t remember me, but I recognise her. I can see a lot of your mother in you.’
‘Not too much, I hope.’
Luke laughed. ‘Yes, she has many great qualities, your mother, but she does have a temper. Still, however much she drives you mad, imagine what it was like to grow up as her baby brother.’
‘Did she torture you?’ asked Caro eagerly.
‘Not exactly.’ Luke smiled. ‘But I do have a few scars.’ He pushed up his sleeve and showed the girls a white curved mark on his wrist.
‘Did you try and commit suicide?’ gasped Fiona.
‘God, Fee!’ cried April, looking at her uncle with embarrassment. ‘I’m so sorry, she’s not usually like this.’
Luke only laughed. ‘It’s quite all right - I can see why you might think that,’ he joked. ‘No, it’s a bite-mark. I wouldn’t let her have a go on my pogo stick so she sank her teeth into my arm. I let go of it quick enough then.’ He chuckled ruefully.
They all looked at Silvia in silent awe. She was sitting on the other side of the room nursing what looked like a tumbler of vodka and talking to a grey-haired man April recognised as one of her dad’s old newspaper friends.
‘So is that why you haven’t seen April for so long?’ asked Caro.
April shot a look at her and Caro made an innocent face, mouthing the word, ‘What?’
‘It’s okay.’ Luke smiled. ‘There’s no excuse, really. I’ve been working abroad for the past ten years, so I haven’t been over here enough. I’m back now though, and living in London, so I’ll definitely be seeing more of you both. Anyway, I always knew your dad would look after you - and your mum sent me pictures and letters about you growing up.’
‘Really?’ said April, looking at her mother again, who was now blowing her nose on a lace hanky. It was a surprise; partly because Silvia had never seemed the sentimental type, certainly not the kind of woman who would swap baby photos. And also, now she thought about it, April couldn’t remember many family photos being taken as she was growing up. She wasn’t entirely sure whether either of her parents even owned a camera.
‘Uncle Luke,’ said April, ‘are you a Vladescu or a Hamilton?’
Luke smiled. ‘We’ve always been Hamiltons,’ he said. ‘Your granddad changed the name before your mum and I were born. I imagine it was strange seeing the old name above the door of the tomb, eh?’
April nodded. ‘A little. Feels a bit weird that my dad should be in there with a load of strangers.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry about that,’ said Luke, that amused eyebrow arch back again. ‘Listen, I’d better go and check on your mum. I’ll see you later, okay?’
‘He seems nice,’ said Fiona as Luke disappeared.
‘Yes, I wish I had uncles like th
at,’ said Caro. ‘All mine are either villains or coppers.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said April.
Caro winked. ‘Got to maintain my mystique, haven’t I? Anyway, it’s not like I’m going to boast about it. If this was my dad’s wake, they’d all be drunk and fighting by now.’
‘Speaking of which …’ said Fiona, nodding towards April’s mother. She seemed to be struggling to get to her feet while Thomas hooked an arm under hers.
‘Leave me alone!’ she snapped, slapping his arm away. ‘I don’t need your help, I can walk on my own, God knows I’ve had to for the last twenty years.’
‘Excuse me,’ said April, following her mother into the kitchen where she found her splashing more vodka into her glass.
‘Mum, haven’t you had enough? You’re embarrassing us.’
‘No, I do not think I’ve had enough,’ said Silvia, defiantly taking a swig. ‘I will never have had enough. Not ever. And if you think that’s embarrassing, well, you can get out too.’ She gestured unsteadily towards the living room.
‘What do you mean, “me too”?’
‘Your father,’ said Silvia, slurring her words. ‘He’s gone off and left us again, hasn’t he?’
‘Again? What are you on about?’
‘Ha! You always were such a little daddy’s girl,’ said her mother scathingly. ‘He could do no wrong in your eyes, could he? But then how could he when his whole existence was built around protecting his little precious girl?’
April was feeling uncomfortable now, as if she had stumbled into a conversation she shouldn’t have overheard.
‘Protecting me? What from?’
Silvia threw her head back and cackled with laughter and swung her hand in a wide gesture, spilling some of her drink. ‘From all of them, of course,’ she said.
‘Silvia!’ said Thomas forcefully, striding over to April’s mother and snatching the glass from her hand. ‘This is not the time or the place.’
‘Oh no? Well, when will be? When is the right time to tell her who her father really was? Surely now he’s dead? Weren’t you the one who was dying to tell her a couple of weeks ago?’
‘I’m warning you,’ growled Thomas in a low voice dripping with menace. April could see that he was gripping the glass so hard his fingers were white.
‘Gramps, no,’ said April, running across and trying to pull him back. It was like tugging on a tree. ‘She’s just drunk and upset,’ she said, a pleading edge to her voice. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying.’
Thomas glared at her and for a second April saw the fury in his eyes, a burning, raging fire, then suddenly his face softened and he put the glass down. ‘Yes, of course. It’s been a tough day for all of us.’
‘Tough for you?’ Silvia snarled. ‘I should think you’d be popping the champagne.’
‘Mum, please,’ said April, her voice wobbling. ‘Can’t we all get along today? I’m sick of all this fighting. Please, it’s destroying me. I’ve just buried my father, I don’t want either of you …’ Her voice cracked. ‘Don’t leave me,’ she sobbed, looking up at them with glistening eyes. ‘Please tell me you won’t go too.’
Thomas and Silvia exchanged a look. It was fleeting, less than a second, but once again April had the feeling that she had just seen something she shouldn’t have.
‘We’re not going anywhere,’ said Thomas, reaching out to hug April. ‘You can count on that.’
At least Davina was enjoying herself. When April returned to the living room, she found the queen of the Faces flirting with all of the Hamilton men. She was wearing a short-short black satin dress with stockings and six-inch heels. Jesus, thought April, does she think it’s a wake or a party? Clearly April’s cousins and uncles weren’t as dour as she had first thought, since Davina was leaning against one of them and laughing with a wicked expression.
‘Oh hi, darling,’ said Davina, seeing April walk in. She instantly changed her expression to one of sincerity, head tilted to one side. ‘How are you? I’m so sorry about your dad.’ She air-kissed April and whispered in her ear, ‘Who is that gorgeous man behind me?’
‘I think he’s one of my cousins. I don’t know really, we don’t mix much.’
April realised that she hadn’t really stopped to consider why. Her mother had always told her stories about how she had been forced to spend interminable holidays with endless elderly relatives as a girl and had sworn she would never make her child go through the same thing. April had assumed there was something more to it, especially given the spiky relationship both her parents had always had with Grandpa Thomas, but she had never asked about it. To her, it was just one of those things; some people at school had loads of cousins and half-brothers and some people didn’t. As she had got older, of course, April had supposed that the Dunnes’ lack of big family get-togethers was down to some sort of family feud her parents didn’t want to tell her about. Given her conversation with her mother and grandfather in the kitchen, that was probably a pretty good guess.
‘But what about Jonathon?’ asked April.
Davina frowned for a moment, as if she was trying to recall the face of a distant acquaintance. ‘Oh, him, he’s gone,’ she said vaguely, looking over April’s shoulder. ‘Now who is this? I love your hat!’
By the time April had turned around, Davina was fingering the lace veil on Fiona’s hat.
‘Erm, Davina, this is my friend Fiona from Edinburgh.’
‘Delighted,’ said Davina, leading a bemused Fee off to a corner for a fashion conflab. ‘Now you must tell me where you get such yummy vintage …’
April stood there, amazed at Davina.
‘Sorry, she’s always like this at funerals.’
Benjamin was standing behind her. Why is he always sneaking up on me? He stepped forward and handed April a glass of wine. She glanced around nervously.
‘Don’t worry.’ Benjamin smiled. ‘Your granddad’s having some heated discussion with my dad and your mum’s sitting on the stairs talking to Hawk.’
April looked up. ‘Mr Sheldon’s here?’
‘Yes, I know,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘It’s like this at my parents’ get-togethers too - they always invite the last people you want to see. As we speak, my mother is in the kitchen talking to Miss Holden. We might as well have stayed in school.’
April took a long swallow of her wine and shivered.
‘Looks like you needed that.’ Benjamin reached out and gently stroked her arm. ‘You okay? Can’t be easy for you today.’
April shook her head. ‘No, no, I’m fine.’ She wasn’t fine, of course. She still had her mother’s words going round and round in her head. When is the right time to tell her who her father really was?
What the hell did that mean exactly? Was she implying her father wasn’t the man she’d thought he was? But he had always been a good, loyal and hard-working family man. Hadn’t he? Or was she saying something else - that William Dunne wasn’t even her father after all?
‘You sure you’re all right, April?’ asked Benjamin. ‘You don’t look too good.’
‘Sorry, I just need a bit of air.’
She pushed her way outside. The backyard was just that - when the town houses had been built, the yards had been intended as a workspace for the house maid, not as a place for the owners’ relaxation and enjoyment. Still, Silvia’s friend Tilda had made the most of it, creating a little patio with wooden seats and raised flower beds around the edge. Not that it was terribly cheery in late autumn. April sat down on the seat and wrapped her arms around herself protectively. God, it’s cold here, she thought. Why is it so cold?
The smell made her turn around.
‘Sorry,’ said the man standing by the door. He lifted his hand to show her a cigarette. ‘Terrible habit, I know. Would you like me to put it out?’
April shook her head, but the man stubbed it out anyway.
‘I can see you want to be alone - I’ll go back inside. Just wanted to say hello though,’ he
said, leaning forwards and putting out a hand. ‘Name’s Peter Noble. I’m an old friend of your dad’s.’