The Forget-Me-Not Sonata

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Isla, are you in pain?’

  Isla shook her head. ‘I feel drunk,’ she replied then smiled. ‘It feels nice.’

  ‘Oh, Isla, I’m so pleased. You’re going to be all right. You’ll feel well again in the morning and we’ll laugh about it.’

  ‘I’m going to die,’ she replied without sentiment. Audrey was shocked.

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘Oh, I am.’

  ‘Isla!’

  ‘I want a big funeral. No expense spared. Tears, wailing and gnashing of teeth.’

  ‘Isla, please . . .’

  ‘I’ll be watching, so make sure you all give me a good send off. I’ll know if you don’t.’

  ‘This is ridiculous, Isla. You’re being horrid. You’re not going to die.’ Then her voice cracked. ‘You can’t die. I need you.’

  ‘You’ll be fine without me. You’ll have Louis.’

  ‘I don’t want Louis if it means sacrificing you.’

  ‘Just promise me one thing.’

  ‘What? I’ll do anything.’

  ‘Have the courage to follow your heart, Audrey,’ she said, enjoying the melodrama of death. She was aware that she sounded like one of the heroines out of the novels Audrey read and would have liked those to have been her last words. But to her disappointment she didn’t die. So she had to continue finding suitable last words to utter until she finally slipped into unconsciousness, distracted by the bright white light and her grandmother who walked towards her with her arms outstretched, radiating a love she knew didn’t exist on the earthly plane.

  When Rose and Henry entered Isla’s room at dawn Audrey was asleep on the bed, curled up behind her sister, her arm wrapped around Isla’s waist. Their long corkscrew curls fanned out over the pillows like golden halos that shone through the pale morning light and the gentle rise and fall of their bodies betrayed no sign of the battle they had fought. Audrey’s cheeks glowed like ripe peaches but Isla’s were grey. The fire had been extinguished and Isla’s small body was no longer tormented but at peace. Rose was suddenly struck with fear and she clutched her neck with a cold hand. She hastened to the bedside and fell to her knees, blinking at her younger daughter through eyes misted with tears. ‘Isla,’ she choked. ‘Wake up, Isla.’

  Audrey awoke at once and leapt from the bed in panic. Isla showed no sign of life except the shallow breaths that seemed to enter and leave her body like a random wind whistling through the aisle of an empty church. When neither parent managed to resuscitate her, they realized to their horror that she had lost consciousness.

  The good doctor was called once again and after examining the patient with a grave face and leaden heart he declared that she had sunk into a coma. As the whole family stood around the bed waiting for the ambulance to arrive, only Albert had the courage to say what was on everyone’s mind. ‘No one’s ever died of flu,’ he said then raised his swollen eyes to his mother, silently demanding an explanation. Rose turned to her husband who sighed heavily and drew his lips into a thin line of despair.

  ‘It’s not flu, son,’ he replied, shaking his head that felt as heavy and solid as if filled with lead.

  ‘Then what is it, Daddy?’

  ‘The doctor says it’s meningitis.’

  ‘Why didn’t he say that last night?’

  ‘Because he didn’t know then. Meningitis has the symptoms of flu, Albert. He couldn’t have known.’ Henry was unable to look at his wife. They both knew what meningitis meant.

  ‘But she’ll be all right?’ he asked, remembering the time he flicked a peanut down her throat, she had been all right then.

  ‘She’s not going to die, is she?’ asked George, one of Henry and Rose’s smallest sons. Everyone stared at the little boy who was too young to understand about death.

  ‘No, no,’ said Henry bravely. ‘Not our Isla.’ He patted George on his shoulder reassuringly.

  ‘No, George,’ Rose interjected. ‘She’ll be fine, you’ll see.’

  ‘The doctors will make her well again, won’t they?’ said Albert hopefully.

  Then Audrey spoke. ‘Isla’s gone,’ she said in a small voice. She hadn’t spoken since the early hours of the morning when she had begged her sister not to leave her and her voice now sounded far away and strange. But Isla had wanted to go. Death had no longer frightened her but welcomed her into its breast like an old, familiar friend.

  They all stared at the bed where Isla’s body was now still. The random wind had moved on leaving behind an empty shell. No one spoke. A shocked silence descended upon them all. Rose cried quietly, the tears cascading down her cheeks and she held out her hand for her husband to hold. There is no grief like a parent’s grief for their dead child and Rose and Henry stood alone with their pain, their fingers entwined, silently struggling with their faith. Little George and his younger brother, Edward, wept because their mother was weeping; they were too young to comprehend the finality of death. Albert would have liked to cry, but his fear froze his emotions and robbed him of his voice so that only his chin wobbled, silently conveying his anguish.

  ‘We never said goodbye,’ whispered Rose. ‘We never even told her how much we love her.’

  ‘She knew,’ said Henry.

  ‘I was the last person to speak to her,’ said Audrey softly, without taking her eyes off her sister. ‘She knew she was going to die, yet she wasn’t afraid. She was happy to go, impatient even. It was as if she was aware that she was delivering her final words. She told me to tell you all that she loves you and always will and that she was sorry she didn’t have time to tell you herself. Then she said she had to go.’

  Rose shook her head and brought her hand up to her lips to stop them from trembling. ‘Go where?’ she asked in a raw whisper.

  Audrey shrugged. ‘Most unlike Isla.’ She smiled at the recollection of her sister’s departure. It had been serene. A gentle slipping away. ‘She stared into the far corner of the room and her whole face lit up. Then she said, “So that’s where you went to, Granny, I’ve always wondered what Heaven’s like.”’

  ‘She said that?’ Rose asked in amazement. Suddenly her daughter had transformed in her mind from a fallible human being to a saint or an angel at the very least.

  ‘Yes, and I mustn’t forget, she also said she wants a big funeral with a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth.’

  ‘Really, Audrey!’ said her father in disbelief. It was hardly the moment for jokes.

  But Rose pulled a fragile smile and sniffed.

  ‘Of course she did,’ she said sadly. ‘So like Isla!’

  Chapter 9

  28th June 1948

  News of Isla’s death slashed the community to its very backbone. Few could speak, so consumed with grief were they, and those who could were unable to speak of anything else. Perón’s acquisition of the British-owned railways, fulfilling his promise in his election campaign to diminish foreign influence in the economy, suddenly seemed so unimportant in the midst of this very human tragedy. Her death was so unexpected. Unexpected and unthinkable. The school closed its gates for the day in mourning and everyone filed into the Hurlingham church hall for the afternoon funeral, filling the rows of chairs like black bats. Everyone remembered Isla for her sense of fun and mischief, for her laughter and her own unique magic. Even the Crocodiles remembered only the good in a child who hadn’t had time to be tainted by the temptations of adulthood. She was an innocent and above criticism.

  Rose hid her sorrow behind a black veil and led her four weeping children to their pew where they sat staring in awe at the small coffin that was placed beneath the nave under an abundance of white lilies. Isla had always seemed so much taller in life. Henry, who had left his tears behind with his childhood, found them again and made up for the years of restraint by shedding enough for a small puddle. He did his best to comfort his family; after all, one mustn’t forget the living, but he felt hopelessly inadequate beneath the weight of such a heavy loss.

  Audrey was numb. She barel
y felt the legs that carried her, out of habit, up the aisle and settled beneath her seat, one foot over the ankle of the other. She gazed transfixed at the coffin and tried to imagine the irrepressible Isla lying in submission within such a small space. It didn’t seem possible that the girl who had more life in her than an entire family was no longer living. But then she focused her thoughts on the waxy features of her sister as she had lain on her bed in death and knew that however impossible it seemed, Isla was dead. Extinguished. Audrey suddenly felt all alone in the world and she began to cry, as much for herself as for Isla, who couldn’t benefit from anyone’s tears. She was in a far better place, a place where she could leap about with her long, corkscrew hair bouncing in the heavenly winds and her mischievous mouth twisted into an eternal smile. She remembered Isla’s request but was too aware of the congregation to wail out loud.

  For Audrey much of the funeral was a blur. She listened to her father read the lesson and watched him fight against the overwhelming urge to break down with an effort that caused his knuckles to turn white as they gripped the sides of the pulpit. Rose’s shoulders shook throughout; Henry had never before looked so vulnerable and she loved him all the more for it. She loved him so much it hurt. The hymns were sung with unsteady, weak voices accompanied by an organ that was played with too much vigour and afterwards the vicar read the prayers before a congregation awed by the volume of their own silence.

  Audrey glanced across at Aunt Hilda and Aunt Edna who sat together in the midst of Hilda’s daughters, insipid now to the point of disappearing altogether. Hilda’s mouth was thinner and more bitter than ever; she was obviously blaming the Lord for striking at the heart of her family once again, whereas Edna just sat with her sad face tucked into her chins, remembering her beloved Harry with gratitude and silently praying that he find Isla and look after her wherever they all were.

  Audrey didn’t have the courage to glance at the rows behind her. She was sure Cecil and Louis were both there. She had expected to want to be with Louis. But she didn’t. If she couldn’t have Isla then she wanted to be left alone with her thoughts. Louis seemed unimportant. Cecil seemed unimportant too. Isla’s death had taught her a lesson or two about life. Nothing was more important than family.

  It was during the final Grace that Audrey noticed Isla’s presence in the church. It came as no surprise. After all, she had said she would come. At first she felt a tingling in her bones, a light fluttering across her skin, the presence of someone so close she could feel the breath on her neck. The blood rushed to her cheeks making them burn with amazement. She hastily glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. They hadn’t. They were all concentrating on the vicar’s closing prayers. Then she raised her eyes and rested them upon the altar where she intuitively sensed the spirit to be. As hard as she looked she couldn’t see anyone. She bit her lip and tried harder. She knew her sister and what she was capable of. Then as if exasperated by Audrey’s lack of vision the spirit performed a small miracle. Audrey caught her breath and for a long moment she was unable to move. She just stared at the altar, her mouth agape. Finally, without averting her eyes she gently nudged her mother and whispered into her ear. ‘Did you notice, two candles have just gone out on the altar,’ she said, clutching her mother’s hand with hot fingers.

  Rose shook her head. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look.’

  Rose looked. Audrey was right. The first and the sixth candle in a row of twelve had simply gone out. They smoked away in triumph.

  ‘What are you talking about, Audrey?’ her mother hissed between snivels.

  ‘Isla,’ she gasped.

  ‘Good God!’ Rose exclaimed in amazement. ‘You don’t think . . .?’

  ‘Yes! Isla was sixteen. What else could it be?’

  They both stared at the altar. But although they couldn’t see her they were both sure that Isla’s spirit was there somewhere.

  Once the funeral was over Audrey helped her mother to her feet. ‘Darling Audrey, you’re such a comfort to me,’ she said, smiling at her daughter with tenderness. ‘If it wasn’t for you I don’t know what I’d do. You’re my only little girl now. You were my first; I never thought I’d ever love another child as much as I loved you. But then Isla arrived and I realized that children come into the world bringing their own love and I loved her as intensely as I loved you. But now it’s you and me again. I prayed for you today. I prayed that Cecil will look after you and see that no harm comes to you.’ Audrey cast her eyes to the floor in shame. If only her mother knew who she really loved. ‘I feel your future is safe with Cecil,’ she said, patting her daughter’s hand. ‘Now go and find him, my dear, and ask him back to the house for tea. Everyone’s invited, Maria Sol’s made empanadas.’ Audrey watched her mother walk up the aisle with her father and felt a tremendous wave of sadness.

  Slowly the church was drained of its mournful congregation. The hushed voices retreated until Audrey found herself alone at last with the invisible spirit of Isla. Quietly she crept up to the altar where the first and the sixth candle still smoked in proof that a miracle had taken place. Isla had spoken in death in the only way she could. She had always had a keen eye for drama and trickery. With trembling hands Audrey reached up and pulled the two candles out of their silver candlesticks and brought them down to eye level where she could see them better. Then she knelt down and closed her eyes and in the silence of the empty church she believed she could feel her sister’s presence as intensely as if she were alive.

  ‘Oh Isla, I hoped you’d come. I’m so lost without you. I feel so afraid, so rootless. How could you leave us all so quickly, without any warning? We didn’t even have time to tell you how much we all love you and how special you are. But then you know, don’t you? You always knew and now you know better than ever before, because you can see everything clearly from where you are. I wish I were there with you. I don’t want to go on living without you. Life suddenly seems so long and so arduous. Where will I be without your friendship, your support, your laughter and your love? I don’t think I have the will to go through with it.’ She was no longer aware of where she was. The words spilled out without restraint. She wasn’t even aware of her tears or the sound of her voice that had ceased to be a whisper. ‘You were so vibrant, Isla,’ she continued. ‘Where did your life go? Why didn’t you fight harder? I’ll never stop missing you or loving you. None of us will. And one day we’ll be reunited. Oh Isla, I can’t help but long for that moment.’

  When she had finished she kissed the candles before placing them back in their silver candlesticks. Then she turned to leave, wiping her eyes with her gloves, adjusting her small hat and sweeping the hair off her face. To her surprise someone sat in the shadows at the back of the church. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks, embarrassed that someone might have heard her or, worse, seen her kiss the candle sticks. When she got a little closer she realized it was Louis.

  ‘Louis!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing there?’

  ‘Waiting for you,’ he replied, getting up. When he came forward into the light, Audrey noticed that beneath his hat his face was as grey as ash and his eyes swollen and sore.

  ‘Oh, Louis, I can’t believe she’s dead,’ she sniffed, blinking up at him awkwardly. Louis wanted to fold her into his arms and yet something prevented him from acting spontaneously. Audrey seemed to have withdrawn her love. Instead of the warm aura that usually surrounded her, a coolness kept him at a distance. Isla’s death had shifted the dynamic. He swallowed his anguish and attempted to speak, but only a rasping hiss escaped his throat. ‘She was my dearest friend in the world,’ Audrey continued as if oblivious of his pain. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to live without her.’ He watched her, small and vulnerable and pale as if all the colour had been leached out leaving her deflated and waxen. His long fingers twitched nervously at his side as the music grew louder in his head. A feverish, tormented melody. He shook his head to free himself of it, yet it persisted until he could ba
rely hear what she was saying. Then, just as he was about to break down she threw her arms around his neck and sobbed against him. Louis staggered forward and drew her to him, breathing the perfume on her skin as if it was the oxygen he needed to live. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. The music quietened with the frantic beating of his heart until only the tears revealed his hurt and they were shed in silence. They both clung to each other, Audrey for support, Louis for survival. But they both knew that Isla’s death had shattered their dream.

  ‘What happens now?’ he said after a while. He knew instinctively that it was the wrong thing to say, but he couldn’t help himself. His impatience was overwhelming. Audrey pulled away and sank onto a chair. She remembered the scandal that Emma Letton had caused and the venomous Crocodiles rose in her mind like shadowy judges sentencing her to live as an outcast because she had hurt the people she loved the most. Then she saw the gentle face of her mother already scarred with grief and knew that she wasn’t strong or selfish enough to swim against such a formidable tide. Louis sat beside her. He looked into her gaunt face and his shoulders slumped with disappointment. He knew what she was going to say by her expression. ‘We don’t have to discuss this now,’ he added hastily, desperate to retract his question, but it was too late.

  ‘Oh, Louis. Don’t you see? I can’t risk hurting my parents. Isla’s death has destroyed them – it’s destroyed all of us. I can’t think of myself alone. I can’t think only of my own happiness. You do understand, don’t you?’ She looked at him with sad eyes. ‘I need time,’ she added huskily.