AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘I don’t need fingers crossed,’ Nola said icily. ‘I’m not completely without talent, you know.’
‘I think what she meant was break a leg, you know, or whatever you showbiz people say,’ Iris said quickly – she tried to do jazz hands, but they just didn’t work – before looking nervously at Georgie, who’d never liked to have words put in her mouth. ‘Anyway, of course you’ll get it,’ she went on, more assuredly than they all knew was merited, but Nola was grateful for it.
‘We’ll see.’If only, but the truth was, there were no auditions and there wouldn’t be any, not without an agent.
The more Nola took in her surroundings, the more she realised that someone had cared for this house in her absence. Her father had kept it as a place to welcome them. It certainly made a pleasant change from the creeping odours of mould and mildew that had been eating away at her flat in London for as long as she’d lived there. Still, there was no getting away from the fact that they were here for their father’s funeral and every time Nola thought about that, she felt new waves of grief well up inside her.
They managed to stay out of each other’s way for the rest of the day, which suited everyone. Nola spent the day walking on the beach. Her sisters had taken off in opposite directions and later each had pleaded exhaustion in an effort to escape having to spend time together. But there was no avoiding seeing each other again at dinner. They muddled through until dessert, and Nola could practically see the finish line.
‘So,’ she said as they were finishing their dessert. ‘When is Myles getting he—?’
‘He’s not.’ Georgie cut her off, and Nola glanced at her, baffled.
‘Ahm, he’s actually really busy at work.’ Iris fidgeted with her napkin. ‘I’m bushed. I think I’ll turn in for the night, if nobody minds.’
‘Absolutely.’ Georgie’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. ‘Leave the washing-up to me, both of you.’
‘Thanks.’ Nola slipped away from the table before Georgie could change her mind.
That night, it was actually a relief to sink into the narrow single bed that had been hers so many years before. This room, like all the others in the house, felt as if it had been preserved, wrapped up in a prism of nostalgia and soaked in pale memories so everything felt as if it had been washed to a shade more welcoming than she remembered.
She yawned widely. It had been a hell of a long day – hellish, even, when she thought about it from the very start. But lying here, on the cusp of sleep, she sighed because in all the anxiety about meeting her sisters and hiding from them the reality of her car-crash of a life, only now as she lay drained and empty she thought again of her father. And all of a sudden, she was sobbing, shaking with great convulsive gulps, drenching her pillow and emptying her out so she felt as if she’d never be whole again.
As she eventually drifted off to sleep she imagined her mother kissing her goodnight and whispering in her ear just as she had when she was a little girl…
The following morning, lemony light slid through the narrow slit in her curtains and woke her. She stretched her legs and arms the full length of the bed and yawned with the delicious feeling of having slept soundly. Downstairs, she heard the radio on. One of her sisters – or perhaps both of them – had evidently already risen and were up for breakfast.
She slumped back onto her pillows and closed her eyes, thinking of the day. It had gone off quite well, considering. Of course, it was obvious that they were all measuring every word each of the others said, each of them doing their best not to step on one of the many tripwires that could detonate the explosive row that had marked their last time in this house together. But at least they were making an effort.
Georgie especially would be finding all this hard. She’d always been so close to their father – not that he had favourites, per se, but it was as if she’d connected with him in a way that neither Nola nor Iris had ever quite managed.
She heard Iris’s voice downstairs, and her thoughts turned to her second sister. It was strange having Iris here without Myles; she’d hardly even mentioned him. It used to be she couldn’t manage a sentence without slipping his name into it. It was Myles this and Myles that. Maybe nowadays, he wasn’t the catch he had been all those years ago.
Nola closed her eyes. Who was she to judge Iris? After all, wasn’t she the one lying through her teeth from the moment she’d set foot on Irish soil? She sat up in the bed, picked up the hairbrush from where she’d dropped it on the locker the night before and began to mindlessly pull it through her hair.
All she had to focus on for today was her father’s funeral and keeping a lid on the fractious emotions that would surely surface as the day wore on. She drifted from her bed to her unpacked travel case and pulled out the neat black jersey dress she’d picked up in Camden Market a few years earlier. She’d bought it for an audition when she’d been going for a stage production ofBreakfast At Tiffany’s. It hadn’t been lucky then, but it still looked good and her wardrobe didn’t extend to a huge choice for formal occasions. She held it up to her now; it would just have to do.
‘Knock, knock.’ Iris’s voice at the door surprised her.
‘Come in,’ Nola called, turning from the mirror.
‘I just brought you coffee. Thought you might,’ then she looked at Nola and Nola could almost see the thoughts churning about her brain. Iris had long believed that all her younger sister thought about was preening herself in front of a mirror. ‘For goodness’ sake, Nola, it’s a funeral, not a fashion show.’ Iris turned on her heels and closed the door with a bang.
*
Funerals in Ballycove could go on for days. Granted, Nola was only seven when her mother died, but the wake alone stretched out over five days and then there was the burial and a get-together for the mourners afterwards. At least her father had been considerate enough to contain the affair to two parts. This afternoon, he would be laid out in the little sitting room that had once been a small library at the front of the house. Tomorrow, after a short ceremony at the local church, he would be buried next to her mother in Shanganagh Cemetery.
The undertaker arrived with just an hour to spare. He worked quietly while they sat about the hall, each lost in their own thoughts. Nola tried hard not to think about what was actually going on behind that closed door. Instead, she focused on the flamboyant pattern of the wallpaper that ran along the stairs. The bright pink peonies on their glistening green stalks and rich navy background that felt like silk in her childhood had gently faded so now it had a velvety, comforting feel to it.
‘Ladies, if you’d like to follow me.’ Nola caught Iris’s eye, and saw that there were tears brimming on her lashes, but she rubbed them fiercely and her mouth drew up into a thin, tight line. Georgie stood back, respectfully letting them through the door before her, but Nola had a feeling she too was only putting off this moment for as long as she could. The undertaker opened the door; the room was darker than in Nola’s memory. Two wax candles flickered at each end of an array of photographs on the narrow fireplace behind the casket. ‘It’s important to take a little time with him, before the village turn out. It’ll be a big crowd, so…’ He trailed off softly and gave them a sad little smile.
It seemed their places were already written in the sand. Nola stood at her father’s feet, Iris in the middle and, of course, Georgie at his head. Suddenly Nola felt like a complete outsider in this strangely familiar place. She kept her eyes pinned on the pristine white polyester that was arranged across her father’s legs and feet. She knew she would have to look at his face but she wasn’t ready for that yet. Instead, she worked her way along the line of photographs. Her father was in every image, across many years, from a toddler wearing what looked like a dress coat, sitting on a stool at the front of Soldier Hill House, to his instantly recognisable smile among the baritones in the local choir. Then there was one of him as a young man, standing in the distillery. God, he was so vital then. Iris touched her arm, her earlier outburst forgotten about. Now she pointed to a photograph second from the end. Their parents’ wedding day. They looked so happy, their father dapper in the black-and-white print, their mother almost lost beneath billowing lace. He was gazing at her, as if she was the sun, the moon and every star in the galaxy and he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to call her his wife.
Nola felt a tremor run through her. Beside her Iris was heaving great big sobs, each one felt as if it was harpooning her own resistance. She had promised herself she would not cry. She stole a glance at Georgie. Nola felt as if she’d been punched, deep and unexpectedly from behind, taking her breath away. Georgie’s composure had finally crumbled, the façade collapsing, so she looked almost inconsequential beneath crushing anguish. Deep furrows lined her forehead, and her lips trembled as though she was holding in her grief so it didn’t dare make a noise. And then, Nola spotted her hand, Georgie’s fingers, lovingly caressing their father’s cheek, as if she was wakening him gently from some deep, distressing dream.
Their father.
‘Oh, God.’ The words escaped Nola before she could pull them back. She felt her legs buckle at her knees; her limbs had decided to give up on her. She was literally giving at the seams, and so the only thing she could do was stumble backwards, her head spinning with the enormity of it all. Her father was dead. Both her parents were gone now. She felt Iris’s arm at her waist, gripping her, propping her up so she wouldn’t drop down into the coffin before them. Then Georgie moved to the other side, a strong arm about her shoulders, so she was yanked back on balance.
