Secret Smile (24 page)

'Don't you dare say I'll find someone
better,' she whispered, her eyes burning.

'All right.'

'Everything's ruined,' she said softly.
'It was ruined already, when Troy killed himself. Brendan's just knocked over
the last few stones. There's nothing left.'

I thought of Brendan trampling over my
family, grinding his boots over all our hopes. I put my arm around my elder
sister, her bony body that smelt of sweat and powder and flowers. Her red
velvet dress hung in the corner of the room. I hugged her to me and kissed the
top of her head. I felt her eyelashes prickling against my skin, and I felt tears
on my cheek but couldn't work out if they were mine or hers.

Some things, when you look back
on them, seem like a dream. But this wasn't a dream, although later I
remembered it like a moment snatched out of time and haunting my memory for
ever.

I woke and, although it was
still dawn, a soft light filled the room. Climbing out of bed, I opened the
curtains on to a world of snow. Large flakes were still falling, floating and
spinning down on the other side of the glass. I hastily pulled on warm clothes
and opened the front door on to the unmarked street. Snow lay thickly on the
cars, dustbin lids, low garden walls, its pristine thickness occasionally
blemished by cats' paw prints, the claw marks of small birds. It weighed down
the trees and as I walked small flurries fell at my feet with a muted thump;
flakes caught in my lashes and melted on my cheek. The world was monochrome,
like an old photograph, and foreshortened. There was no horizon, just the
steady flicker of falling flakes. There was no sound, save for the slight creak
of my shoes against the snow. Everything was muffled, mysterious, beautiful. I
felt entirely alone.

It was still not fully light,
and there was nobody on the Heath. No footprints, and as I walked mine were
swiftly covered too. The ponds were frozen and covered in snow; the paths were
discernible only because they were a smoother white than their surroundings.

I walked up the hill and stood
there for a while. What was I thinking? I don't know. I just wrapped myself in
my coat, turning up the collar and watching the snow fall all about me. Soon
enough, there would be crowds here — walking, throwing snowballs, building
snowmen, tobogganing down the hill with squeals of pleasure. But for now it was
just me. I put out my tongue and let a flake catch on it. I tipped back my head
and was blinded by the falling snow.

As I made my way back down the
hill, I saw there were people now, like vertical smudges on a white canvas. And
then I saw a figure, walking slowly along the path that crossed mine. As I drew
closer I could make out that it was a woman. She had on a thick coat, a large hat
pulled down over her eyes, a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face.
Nevertheless something about her remained familiar to me. I stopped where I
was, with a tightness about my heart. Perhaps she felt my eyes on her, for she
stopped too, and looked up. She turned her head towards me and then she took
off her hat and put a hand to her eyes, to see better. Flakes fell on to her
dark hair. For a few moments, she didn't move, and neither did I.

I wanted to call out her name:
'Laura! Laura!' I wanted to cover the distance between us so I could see her
face properly. And she too seemed to be drawn towards me. She took an uncertain
half step, her hat still dangling from her mittened hand. But she halted and
still I didn't move.

Then Laura put on her hat and
once more started walking along the path, away from me. I watched her as she
became a shadowy figure. I watched until, like a lonely ghost, she faded into
white.

Somehow, days passed. Weeks
passed. Whatever you do, time always goes by. Then something happened.

I was dreaming that I was
falling, falling through the air, and then I woke with a start that made my
heart pound. The phone was ringing. I stretched out my hand instinctively,
though I was still stupid with sleep. I half noticed, as I fumbled with the
receiver, that it was dark outside.

I mumbled into the receiver and
someone started singing into my ear. For a moment, I thought if this was part
of my dream, a dream within a dream, then the words resolved. 'Happy birthday
to you, Happy birthday to you

1 sat up in bed and clutched
the phone. Behind the relentlessly cheery tune there was another noise: a
rabble of voices; music and loud laughter.

'Happy birthday, dearest
Miranda...'

'Don't,' I mumbled.

'Happy birthday to you!'

I twisted my head round to see
the green glow of the numbers on the clock. 12.01 clicked into 12.02.

'I wanted to be the first to
say it. You didn't think I'd forget, did you? I could never forget.'

'I don't want...'

'March the eighth. Did you know
that was International Women's Day?'

'I'm going to put the phone
down now, Brendan.'

'You're always in my thoughts.
Not an hour goes by. And I'm always in your thoughts, aren't I?'

'You're drunk.'

'Just merry. And on my own
now.'

'But Laura...
?'

'On my own and thinking of you.
Just thinking of you.'

'Fuck off,' I said.

I put the phone down, but not
in time to miss him saying. 'Sleep well, Miranda. Sweet dreams.'

CHAPTER 27

Inconceivably, unforgivably, I arrived
late at the church. I had a fistful of excuses. I'd been thinking what on earth
I should wear, and whether it mattered, and suddenly I realized I'd been
sitting on the edge of my bed staring at the wall for forty-five minutes and I
didn't know what I'd been thinking about. The church was down in New Maiden,
where Laura's parents lived, and it turned out to be much further than I
thought, involving changes of train. And then I was in such a panic that I ran
out of the station and took a wrong turning and found myself running along the
edge of a golf course, unbelievably, with men in bright sweaters pulling their
long leather bags on this bright spring morning.

There were two different doors to the
church, both closed. I could hear people singing a familiar hymn inside, one
I'd sung in school assemblies. I didn't know which door to take. I took the
smaller entrance, down the side. I was worried I'd come out in some prominent
place where I'd be stared at. I pushed at the door, but there was some
resistance. As it opened, I realized that the small church was full and people
were standing in front of the door. A bearded man in a dark trench coat moved
along to allow me inside. I thought of the crowded underground train I'd come
on. Move along inside, please.

I was halfway down the nave, stuck by the
wall behind a pillar with a severely restricted view of proceedings. The hymn
finished and someone I couldn't see started to speak. I looked around for
familiar faces. It was a collection of strangers and I wondered for a horrible
second if I had blundered into the wrong church, but then I saw someone who
used to be at college with Laura and me. She caught my eye and I realized I
couldn't remember her name. Someone to avoid afterwards. At the back I saw
Tony, gaunt, harrowed, but weirdly embarrassed as well, as if he had sneaked in
without paying. I hadn't been concentrating on the speech and now I made myself
listen. It was like a radio slowly coming on. I found it hard to follow the
sense at first. I just picked out phrases: 'happy young woman', 'first flush of
youth', 'spring morning'. They seemed nonsensical to me. From the artificial
tone, I assumed this must be a vicar who didn't really know Laura, who had only
heard about her. 'Sometimes we want to ask God questions,' said the voice. 'We
want to ask why bad things happen to good people. Why innocent children suffer.
And now, why this beautiful, sunny young woman should die, so cruelly, so
unfortunately, so unnecessarily. An accident of this kind would be horrible at
any time, but for a woman like Laura, newly married, it is almost too much to
bear.'

Through the fog of confusion and misery, I
felt a steely jab. 'Newly married.' I hadn't known that. So they had got
married. Laura had got married.

'And so,' the vicar continued. 'Our
thoughts and our prayers must be with, not just Laura's parents, Jim and Betty,
but with Brendan, her new husband.'

I could see him now. I leaned across and
saw the front row of pews. I could only see them from the back. A grey-haired
woman leaning forwards, a grey-haired man with his arm around her, and on her
other side, sitting upright, facing forwards, Brendan. I could only see the
back of his head, but I could exactly picture his expression. He would be the
best mourner in the church. The world champion mourner. He would look sad but
thoughtful. When the vicar mentioned his name, Brendan would have given him a
glance, pursed his lips and given a modest nod of acknowledgement. I saw him
turn slightly to Laura's mother. Exactly. In the midst of his suffering he
would be helping others. What a star.

There was another hymn and then an uncle
read a poem and the vicar said that the family would go out with the coffin and
the other mourners should gather at the family house. It was a short walk.
There was a map on the Order of Service. I didn't have one. I would have to
follow the crowd. It was all rather like a school assembly, what with the hymns
and the announcements and having to leave in a particular order. When the
coffin was carried past me, I hardly connected it with Laura at all. I just
thought about how heavy it must be and how they chose the men to carry it. I
wondered if they were all relatives and friends or employees of the
undertakers. Laura had been my best friend, but I had never met her parents.
She had fallen out with them very badly about something to do with a boyfriend
when she was in her last year at school. So when they followed the coffin out,
it was the first time I had ever seen their faces. The funny thing was that
Laura's mother, round-faced and fleshy, didn't look like her daughter. Laura
had been the image of her father. She had been a beautiful woman and he was
handsome. His face was gaunt, with prominent cheekbones. He looked ill at ease
in his dark suit. Maybe he had borrowed it from someone.

Behind them was Brendan. He almost made me
gasp, he looked so handsome. Everything about him was right. He was holding his
hands together in front of him, slightly clenched, as if he were in pain but
trying not to show it. His black suit was beautifully brushed, without even a
hair or a speck of dust on it. He had on a white shirt and a rather gorgeous
crimson tie with a large knot. His hair was tousled, which clashed slightly
with the care and precision of his dress, but that was appropriate too, as a
signal of his grief and his passion, a note of elegant disarray. His face was
very pale, his dark eyes were fixed in front of him, so he didn't see me.

The parade passed by and out through the
door. There was some awkward shuffling and murmuring while we waited to be sure
that the family members were gone and safely away. Last in, I was one of the
first out, blinking in the sunshine. My eyes were dazzled and I realized that I
was crying. In the church it had all been too intense, but outside I saw the
acres of graves. For some reason the obvious thought that they had all been
people once and that they were gone and that my friend Laura had now gone with
them — it just made me cry. Crying again. My eyes were getting used to this. I
felt a touch on my shoulder.

'Miranda?'

I turned to discover that it was the woman
whose name I'd forgotten. Laura had shared a house with her in her first year
at college. Lucy. Sally. Paula.

'Hello,' I said.

She came forwards and gave me the warmest
of hugs. Kate. Susan. It was something quite common. Tina. Jackie. Jane.

'It's so good to see a friendly face,' she
said. 'It's so long since I've seen Laura. I thought I wouldn't know anybody.'

Lizzie. Frances. Cathy. Jean. Alice. No.

I couldn't manage much more than a shrug.

'Isn't it unbelievably sad?' she said. 'I
just can't believe it.'

'I know,' I said. I should have asked her
name straight away and apologized. It was too late now. Julia. Sarah. Jan.
Maybe someone else would come up and address her by name. As long as I didn't
have to introduce her to anyone.

'Are you coming along to the house?' she
said.

'I don't know,' I said.

'You must come,' she said. 'Just for a
bit, at least. I want to talk to you.'

'All right,' I said, and we set off. She
had a card with the instructions written on it. I had a moment of inspiration.
I asked her if I could have a look at the instructions and she handed me the
card. I turned it over. Written in pen in the corner was the name 'Sian'. Of
course. How could I possibly have forgotten that? What a relief. Finally something
in my life had gone right.