by Dyan Sheldon
Table of Contents
1 Goodbye, Hello
2 Death Is Not the End
3 Now You See Her, Now You Don’t
4 The Light Gets Up to More Tricks
5 Too Much Time in the Sun
6 Things that I Miss About You
7 There Isn’t Enough Natural Light in the Bookshop for It to Be Up to Its Old Tricks
8 You Can Run but You Never Can Hide
9 A New and Different Shopping Experience
10 There Are Some Things for which Aluminium Foil Is No Help at All
11 Belief Isn’t Always Necessary
12 New Hope for the Living
13 Lonely No More
14 Orlando Has More than One Dead Child to Deal with
15 A Day of Firsts
16 There Is Never Any Danger of Running Out of Things to Worry About
17 Orlando Has to Hope that It’s Easier for the Dead to Keep a Secret than It Is for the Living
18 Everyone’s Patience Has Its Limits
19 If You Don’t Succeed the First Time You Can Always Try Again
20 It’s Usually Only His Father Who Tells Orlando What to Do
21 Cinderella Redwing
22 We Have to Talk About Your Mother
23 Black Friday, Bordering on Grey
24 You Can’t Miss Someone Who Refuses to Leave You Alone
25 It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas
26 The Truth at Last
27 The Peace on Earth Blues
28 Starry, Starry Night
29 A New Year Begins As It Means to Go On
30 You Can’t Please All of the People All of the Time – and Then There Are People You Can Never Please
31 Death Changes Everything
Praise for Dyan Sheldon
Other books by Dyan Sheldon
This is a day straight out of an advertisement for the glories of early Summer. Blue sky, whipped white clouds, big yellow sun, lush green trees and singing birds. The air is heady with the smells of flowers and new-mown lawns. Full of warmth and promise, it is a perfect day for a birthday party or a wedding. But the figures who pick their way over that freshly cut grass, under that blue sky and big yellow sun are here for neither. They are here for a funeral, for final farewells.
Sorrel Groober was a fairly normal teenage girl, not an iconic, much-loved celebrity or world leader. She was a very attractive teenage girl (and most people in Beaconspoint are aware that they’ve opened a paper or magazine at some time and seen her face smiling back at them), but she was only a teenage girl – loved by a few and unknown to most. Dead too soon to make a difference to the world at large. None the less, there has been such an outpouring of sorrow and grief over Sorrel’s unexpected death that if Beaconspoint were a person and not a village it would be dressed all in black and keening in a dark corner, the floor covered with used tissues. There was a long, fulsome piece about her in the local paper that brought tears to many eyes. At the site of the accident a pyramid of flowers and small stuffed animals has been tied to a tree with coloured ribbons. Online, a memorial page has been set up with photos and messages. There are pictures of Sorrel when she was younger. Pictures of Sorrel that appeared in advertisements. Pictures of her on the beach and in snow and on sidewalks. Sorrel on school trips, at games, in the mall. Except for one of her crying when she was four and fell off a swing, in all of these pictures she is either smiling or laughing. A happy girl, beautiful and blessed. The messages say how full of life she was, how much she’ll be missed, how she’ll never be forgotten.
Almost everyone with any connection to Sorrel or her family seems to be at the graveside. Friends, relatives, neighbours, teachers. Maybe even a few people who didn’t know the Groobers at all, who heard about the accident and came out of human interest. Human interest or its less attractive brother, maudlin curiosity. There is an undercurrent of murmurs – the same sighs and whispers that have been circling the town since it heard that Sorrel Groober had been hit by a car the night of storm Bob. So tragic … so heart-breaking … so senseless … so sad … so sorry for the parents … at least she didn’t suffer … she’s in a better place … we can’t understand the ways of the Lord…
Among the many mourners here today are Sorrel’s three closest friends: Celeste Redwing, the best friend Sorrel ever had (and ever will have, as things have turned out), Orlando Gwinnet and Ruben Rossi.
Sorrel had missed most of first grade and was the eldest of the four. Three short weeks ago they were celebrating her eighteenth birthday. They had drifted apart some since December, but that night they were tight again, and everything was the way it had been. Meryl Groober ordered takeaway, Celeste baked a cake and Sorrel’s father opened a bottle of champagne. Sorrel and her mother had a fight about something (which means it could have been about almost anything) while they were getting the glasses. Meryl stormed off to her room, leaving them all pretending that nothing had happened, so it was Orson Groober who brought out the cake with its twenty flickering pink candles, while Celeste, on her guitar, led them all in “Happy Birthday”, to which she’d added original lyrics appropriate to the occasion. Sorrel’s father took pictures of them on Celeste’s phone. Celeste, strumming; all of them singing; Sorrel blowing out the candles; and, finally, the four of them scrunched together, leaning into each other like meerkats, Celeste in the middle with Sorrel’s head against hers, Ruben and Orlando on either side. He didn’t have to tell them to smile, they already were. There was a lot of laughter that night. And now here they are, burying Sorrel under a relentless sun – and there are no smiles or laughter to be had.
Orlando and Ruben, who are acting as pall-bearers, stand on the nearby road, waiting for the hearse to arrive.
Orlando stares out at the army of headstones in front of him, keeping his back to the group gathered around the grave. It seems like most of the school is here. Even Cati Grear and her clique have turned up, as well as every boy Sorrel ever went out with (enough of them for a game of basketball), a number that includes Orlando. But all he sees when he looks at them is the absence of Sorrel – as if her image had been cut from the photograph. Orlando kicks a stone across the road and wishes the hearse would arrive. This is the last thing he thought he’d be doing this Summer, and he wants to get it over with. After the birthday party, he figured everything was back to normal between them, that the four of them would be hanging out together all the time like they used to. A slight breeze stirs the leaves, and Orlando sighs. Wrong again.
Only inches away from Orlando, Ruben faces the mourners. He sees them as a painting, noticing the way the light falls on the dark figures, the shades of green in the leaves, the shades of expression on their faces. Sadness, of course, but also fear and relief – fear that this could happen to anyone, to them – fear that it will – relief that it hasn’t happened yet. Ruben watches the gestures, the phones held high, the faces that forget not to smile. He’s aware of the low hum of voices, but the only voice he hears clearly belongs to Sorrel. He hears her the night of her birthday celebration saying, “I’m eighteen! Can you believe it? Eighteen! Now I can do what I want!” Ruben closes his eyes for a few seconds. Life has a way of changing your plans, and doesn’t he know it? Life and death.
Standing not with Orlando and Ruben but with the large gaggle of students from the high school is Celeste. She was both relieved and hurt not to be asked to carry the coffin. She would have said no – how could she bear Sorrel to her grave without throwing herself in after her? But she should have been asked. Was she overlooked because she’s a girl? Or because Sorrel’s mother doesn’t have to pretend to like her any more? Determined not to think the worst, Celeste opts for the first reason. Meryl Groober has very strong opinio
ns on what girls should and shouldn’t do.
Celeste may appear to be with the group, but she’s very much alone. Around her, schoolmates tap on their phones, take selfies and whisper to one another, but Celeste will never need a snapshot to remind her of this day, and has nothing to say to anyone but herself. For most of those gathered here Sorrel Groober’s is just another death – but that isn’t what it is for Celeste. For Celeste it feels like the end of the world. She wouldn’t have come today, but her mother, who stands on the other side of the hole in the ground in a huddle of adults, said it would look funny if she didn’t. Celeste wanted to wear the red dress Sorrel always said she looks great in, the one Sorrel had convinced her to buy, but her mother said she had to wear black. What would people think if she didn’t come, if she wore a bright colour? Celeste looks at the gathering, wondering what they’re thinking now. She wasn’t expecting such a large turnout. Sorrel preferred quality to quantity when it came to friends. In fact, most of the group surrounding Celeste were friendly with Sorrel, not friends; some probably never said anything more to her than “Hi” as they passed in the hallway – if they’d said that much. Some of them didn’t even like her, or were jealous of her, or would bad-mouth her every chance they got. Sorrel would have had plenty to say about them being here. Hypocrites. Phoneys. But Celeste, who is definitely to be counted as one of the peacemakers blessed by Jesus, doesn’t think any of that matters. Not any more. Even Cati Grear, who wouldn’t have said anything nice about Sorrel if you’d paid her, came up to Celeste, her eyes shining with tears, to say what an awful shock it was. To Celeste what matters is that they’re all here. Nobody forced them; they came because they wanted to come. Because they wished they’d known Sorrel better and because they wished they’d liked her more. Because they wished they’d been nicer to her when they had the chance – and who doesn’t wish that?
The hearse appears at the top of the road. The murmur of voices becomes even softer as the pall-bearers step forward to lift out the casket. Celeste watches Ruben and Orlando, stationed behind Sorrel’s twin brothers, walking as if to the beat of a slow drum. It’s odd to see them in suits and ties, looking so serious and grown-up. But not, of course, as odd as knowing that Sorrel is in the pink, gold-trimmed coffin and will never be grown-up. Celeste takes deep breaths to keep herself from bursting into tears. If she digs her nails into her hands any harder, they’ll bleed.
The family takes its place by the grave. Mrs and Mr Groober standing close together for a change, the twins positioning themselves on either side of their parents like bookends, the two of them wearing identical suits, identical sunglasses and identical solemn expressions. Meryl Groober, looking as if her face has been standing in the rain for a very long time and continuing to weep silently, leans against Orson, his expression less solemn than frozen.
Celeste can’t watch the coffin being lowered into the ground – not without breaking down – and turns her eyes to the sky. The fat clouds remind her of pictures she’s seen of Heaven. With no effort at all, she can imagine Sorrel sitting up there with the angels, smiling down on her as if to say that everything is okay. Despite her name, if this were any other day, Celeste would say that she doesn’t believe in Heaven, but this is not any other day. Today, believing that Sorrel is perched on a cloud, happy and safe and alive (even if she isn’t alive in Beaconspoint), is a comforting thought.
As the ceremony finally ends, almost everyone is wiping away a few tears – even those who liked Sorrel the least.
The one person who isn’t – who hasn’t shed a single tear since the accident – doesn’t sit on a cloud, looking down on her grieving family, friends and acquaintances with an angelic smile, but stands several yards away, unseen and unsought, watching them all with a thoughtful, if sour, expression on her face. Sorrel never shared Celeste’s pacific nature.
Sorrel sees Celeste cross the grass to where Orlando and Ruben wait for her. They don’t speak, but each boy reaches out for one of Celeste’s hands. It is only now that Sorrel’s expression changes.
The dead don’t cry. But that doesn’t mean that they might not like to.
Lilah Redwing borrowed her company’s people carrier (usually reserved for potential buyers and For Sale or To Let signs) to hold Celeste and her friends and any of their parents who needed a ride to Sorrel’s funeral. Now, as they leave the cemetery, she glances into the rear-view mirror and says to the two boys in the back seat, “It’s such a shame your folks couldn’t make it.” As if she doesn’t know that Ruben’s father is dead, and that both his and Orlando’s mothers have been to one too many funerals in their lives to attend another if it isn’t strictly obligatory. “It was such a lovely service.”
Celeste, sitting beside her mother, keeps her eyes on her phone, but Ruben and Orlando, who have been staring out of their respective windows, both look at the mirror.
“Yeah, well, you know,” says Orlando. “My dad had to work.”
“My mom is sorry, but these things are hard for her,” says Ruben.
Lilah Redwing, however, isn’t a woman easily distracted from her own thoughts, or burdened by the necessity of listening to anyone else. “Really lovely. The speakers. The music. The flowers. Everything was perfect. And such a touching tribute to dear Sorrel.” She sounds so moved and so sincere you’d assume that she’d liked her daughter’s best friend – though in this moment, of course, fresh from the graveside, she probably thinks that she did. Lilah smiles at the car ahead of them. “I do think Sorrel would be pleased.” Lilah glances over at Celeste, sitting beside her with her head bent over her phone, concentrating so hard she might be defusing a bomb. “Don’t you think so, darling?” Darling, who would rather be almost anywhere than on her way to the Groobers’ – a place she has never been or wanted to be without Sorrel – and who is trying not to show it, doesn’t look up, but nods. “It was so upbeat and young.” Like Sorrel, who now will be young for ever. “I felt it was very positive – very life-affirming.”
Ruben and Orlando had gone back to watching the passing streets, each of them thinking about the slow walk to the grave, the weight of the casket, how brightly the sun shone. At this statement, which makes where they’ve just been sound less like a funeral than a musical, they turn to each other and exchange a look. The only thing the funeral affirmed for them was death.
Orlando’s eyes are wide open, but he doesn’t see the charms hanging from the mirror or the back of Lilah Redwing’s head or the road in front of them. He sees Sorrel as she lay in the funeral home, wearing a dress intended for a prom, her blonde head on the pink pillow as if she was asleep. She looked so much like a fairy-tale princess waiting to be woken by the prince’s kiss that he was almost tempted to lean down and put his lips on hers. Which is why, instead of ignoring Celeste’s mother, as he knows he should (as they usually do), Orlando says, “You mean positive for a funeral, right, Mrs Redwing?”
Looking into the rear-view mirror, Lilah gives him the saint-like smile that is one of her specialities – that and the smile of a martyr. “You may not realize it, Orlando, but death is not the end. That’s why it’s important not to dwell on our temporary separation from the departed. On personal feelings. After all, it’s the body that ceases to exist, not the spirit. It’s only final if you’re not looking at the big picture.”
Orlando, of course, like most of the other mourners, wasn’t looking at the big picture but at that hole in the ground. And so, although normally scrupulously polite and respectful to adults, he now says, “You mean not the end in the sense that we come from stardust and return to it?”
Celeste lowers her head even further; Ruben turns to him again, looking wary.
“No, that’s not what I mean,” says Lilah. “I mean that it’s a beginning of the next phase. A continuation. It’s just another state of being. There’s the before you’re born. The after you’re born. And then there’s the after you’ve lived. They’re all part of the whole. Part of the circle. Sorrel may not be here
, but she isn’t gone. She’s just stepped into a different room.”
Orlando opens his mouth to point out that the room Sorrel’s stepped into is six feet under the ground, but before he can get the words out Ruben kicks him in the shin.
“And it was such a good showing,” Lilah Redwing sails on. “So many sympathizers. That’s important when something like this happens. People can feel pretty alone. Isolated. They need to know that they aren’t. That others understand and empathize.” The miniature dreamcatcher and the small Celtic cross that hang from the mirror sway as they take a turn. “But even so, her poor parents. Imagine. Such a terrible thing. And the guilt they must feel. I mean, the grief, that goes without saying, but, on top of that, the guilt. No matter what. The guilt must be overwhelming.”
“Guilt?” It’s the “No matter what” that finally makes Celeste raise her head. Her mother has a talent for implying things she won’t come out and say. And for saying one thing when she actually means something else. (Lilah has been known, for example, to suggest that some people might think Celeste had put on weight, or that some people might think Celeste could do more to help her mother, or that some people might think Celeste spent too much time with her best friend and was too influenced by her. But if Celeste confronted her mother about saying those things, Lilah would immediately deny it. “I never said that,” she would say – and, of course, she never had…) “Why should they feel guilty?” Celeste goes on. “They weren’t driving the car.”
“No one said they were, darling. But they’re parents. What parents wouldn’t blame themselves? I mean, we all know it wasn’t anything they did or didn’t do. These things happen.”
Ruben, who has personal experience of these things that can happen, leans forward. “Accidents,” he says. “Accidents happen. Sorrel getting run over like that had nothing to do with the Groobers. Or even the driver. She’s a victim, too. It was a bad night and Sorrel stepped into the road for some reason. That’s the whole story.”