Chapter Four
The days loom ahead like tall grey mountains I have to climb. I wake each morning with the same agonising realisation and it takes every ounce of willpower to drag myself out of bed. Ma’s mountains must be even taller than mine because she rarely makes it out of bed at all.
On the morning of Skye’s funeral I feel a mixture of terror and relief. This is the day I’ve been dreading, but it’ll soon be over. I shower, dress and go downstairs. Pa says little, walking around with red-rimmed eyes and a translucent pallor to his normally healthy bronzed skin.
‘Where’s Ma?’ I ask.
‘Where d’you think?’
‘She can’t still be in bed. It’s today. She has to…’
‘I know,’ he interrupts. ‘We have to wake her up, get her dressed.’
‘God.’ The thought of dealing with Ma makes the funeral seem like a walk in the park. I force myself back up the stairs and into my parents’ bedroom. She’s lying curled up under the covers.
‘Hi, Ma. You have to get up.’
‘I mean, how could I not have known?’ she says, without opening her eyes. ‘How could I not have known my fourteen-year-old daughter wasn’t upstairs asleep in bed where she should have been? What kind of mother am I?’ Her eyes snap open.
‘Come on, Ma, you have to get up.’ I swoosh back the curtains and open the window, letting a warm summer breeze dilute the stale bedroom air.
‘Never mind she was only with Lucas Donovan!’ she continues. ‘He’s a hormonal boy and she’s a young girl.’
It’s not your fault, Ma,’ I say uselessly, knowing my words won’t stop her from berating herself over and over. She keeps ignoring my attempts to reassure her. ‘Come on, you really have to get ready. I’ve put your clothes on the chair.’
‘Come on,’ Pa echoes. ‘We can’t let Skye down today. We have to be strong.’
But she goes on and on, repeating the same things. Blaming herself, making Pa and me want to scream. We coax her out of bed and between us manage to get her dressed.
To my relief, Grandma and Grandpa finally arrive by helicopter. Grandma pays extra special attention to me and, although she hugs Ma close and kisses and strokes her hair, I can tell that she’s also cross with her for leaving me to fend for myself in my grief. Grandma’s appalled at the state Ma is in; by that I mean her drinking. They conduct all their conversations in rising whispers but I can hear them perfectly well.
It’s wonderful to have such gentle attention lavished upon me after the barrenness of the past few days and, in amongst my sorrow, I feel safer and calmer. I’m dreading my beloved Grandparents going back home.
Grandpa chides Grandma for being too hard on Ma.
‘She’s just lost her baby you know,’ he reminds.
‘Oh darling, I know. I‘m so sorry,’ cries Grandma and holds Ma close. Ma cries some more and clings onto her parents like they’re Skye come back from the dead. Grandpa just stands solidly there, looking very old and very sad.
The funeral service takes place beneath the fruit trees at the bottom of our garden. Close to three hundred people come to mourn and the whole day is slow moving and surreal. I don’t remember much of the service. Only that there were people talking about me as if I wasn’t there, which I don’t suppose I was really.
In bed I weep for Skye. I cry and cry until finally sleep dries my tears.
The days drag on like stubborn weeds that refuse to be pulled and everything seems fuzzy and disjointed. Even our Collie-cross, Woolly, lies dejected at the back door, with his black nose resting on his paws and his eyes cast downwards.
A few days after the funeral, I answer the front door to see Luc standing there with a carrier bag in his hand and a nervous expression on his face.
‘Hi, Riley. How you doing? Stupid question. Can I come in?’
‘Course.’
He follows me into the kitchen and sits at the breakfast bar while I make us a cup of tea. We don’t say much but it feels comfortable and natural. I put our mugs on the counter top and he passes me the carrier bag.
‘What’s that?’
‘They were Skye’s. Her DVDs. She lent me them a while back. I thought you’d…’
‘S’okay, you can keep them.’ I know I’ll never want to watch them.
‘No, no,’ he starts to protest and holds them out for me to take.
‘Please… I can’t… I don’t want them.’
He realises I mean it and dumps the bag on the floor by his feet.
Luc and I have known each other since forever. Whenever he was at a loose end he would always make time for my little sister. She would bug the hell out of him and he always gave in and paid her some attention. Ma always thought Luc was an angel.
He and Skye were constantly laughing and mucking about together but I was never included in their games, or rather, I chose to exclude myself and then found it too hard and undignified to let myself back in. The stupid thing was, I knew they would have had me in their little gang in a heartbeat. But I always felt too nervous. I thought I wouldn’t be enough fun, I’d be dull and boring and I wouldn’t know how to act around him.
Now Luc has come to see me.
We sit in awkward silence for a minute and then do that hideously embarrassing thing of talking at the same time, apologising and then asking the other person to carry on.
‘God, how lame are we?’ I say and we smile at each other.
Skye’s name hangs in the air between us like a great big invisible banner. I don’t want to say it aloud in case I start to cry, but then I guess Luc doesn’t want to bring up the subject either. He’ll be too wary of upsetting me. Eventually the need to find out more overcomes my reticence.
‘D’you think you could tell me what happened? When you last saw her.’
Luc looks at me, working out whether or not I’ll be able to handle what he has to say. I steel myself and it takes all my strength not to let any tears fall. I know he won’t say anything if he sees me getting upset.
‘Well you know she came round the night before… before she…’
‘Before she died,’ I say, shocking myself at the baldness of the words. Luc’s eyes bore into mine, assessing the damage, but I stare back, dry-eyed. He judges it safe to go on.
‘It was about two in the morning. She could’ve just rung the doorbell but, typical Skye, she threw some stones at the window to wake me up. She’s a nightmare sometimes!’ Luc smiles, then sucks in his breath and looks down when he realises he’s just used the present tense. I touch his arm to reassure him and prompt him to continue. We both take a sip of tea.
‘She always liked to be a bit of a rebel and kind of show off in front of me. But I didn’t mind. I think waking me up at two in the morning was her way of telling me she wasn’t a little kid anymore, that she was cool. Do you know what I mean?’
I do know what he means. It’s just the sort of thing Skye would do. Anything fun and off limits had instant appeal for her. Visiting Luc at two in the morning fell into both these categories.
‘She woke me up from a really deep sleep and I wasn’t in the mood. I got a bit annoyed. But then she guilt-tripped me with her cute face and sad eyes.’
‘I know what that’s like.’ We flash knowing grins at each other.
‘She said she was bored. Bored! At two in the morning! So she persuaded me to come down for a swim. We swam and mucked around for about half an hour. But then it got a bit weird and awkward and it looked like… it looked like she was going to kiss me.’ Luc’s face flushes and he looks at me, embarrassed.
‘Well, she did have the most massive crush on you, so I’m not really surprised. What did you do?’