hair, it brought out the dark strands of color in her royal blue eyes, gave her a regal air. Her beauty brought a lump to my throat instead of a smile to my lips because she wasn’t going to wow people at a party but was attending her mother’s funeral.
Since we didn’t need to be in town anymore, the day after Adele…the day after it happened, Tegan and I packed up and moved to my parents’ house in Ealing, the outskirts of west London. The plan was to return to Leeds a few days after the funeral. After today.
Tegan had reverted to the fearful silence that had shrouded her when I’d taken her from Guildford. This silence, however, was splintered with sadness and the worry of what would happen to her now; what she would do without her mum.
Despite not speaking to me, I always had to be in her sight and if I left her company for too long, she’d seek me out, apprehension smudged onto her face, until she could touch me. A brush of her short fingers on the back of my hand, a slight stroke of my hair, a nudge against my abdomen, just to make sure I was real. Solid. There. I’d find her sitting outside the bathroom if I went for a shower. The day I nipped down the road for a bottle of water and to make some calls, I’d returned to find her sitting beside the front door, clutching her knees to her chest, her eyes like two chips of dark sapphire on a snow plain as they stared into the distance. She’d curled her arms around my thigh and rested her head against it when I walked in, and I accepted that I couldn’t leave her alone again.
We slept in the same bed. If we were watching TV she’d climb into my lap, put her arms around me and rest her head against my chest; she’d often fall asleep like that. We were virtually inseparable. The silent duo, because I didn’t feel much like speaking either. My usual way for dealing with things was sleeping, and right now all I felt like doing was escaping into another realm, especially when I was arranging a funeral. A funeral for my best friend. For the woman I couldn’t remember saying a proper goodbye to. Every time I thought of that, my stomach would clench in on itself until it was a tight, solid ball of pain. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I couldn’t remember the last expression on her face—did she smile? Did I smile at her? When I’d looked at Adele in the hospital, I didn’t see the ill person; she was transformed into a cream-skinned, curly blond stunner with steel-blue eyes and a killer smile. Had I seen that smile before I left? I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t hold on to the image of her because I’d not been seeing Adele as she was, but simply a memory of the woman she used to be.
In the here and now, Tegan stood in the corner of the room, leaning her right shoulder against the wall, staring at me, waiting for me to finish getting ready. My dress wasn’t anywhere near as beautiful as hers—it was a simple, straight, ankle-skimming linen creation with a V-neck and short sleeves that I’d grabbed in a dash to Ealing Shopping Center. I hadn’t brought enough clothes with me for a long spell in London and I certainly hadn’t been prepared for a funeral.
“I like your dress,” I said to her.
Tegan said nothing, although her impassive blue eyes remained on me.
“And I like your hair bunches. My mum used to put my hair in bunches too. But I had three—two at the front, one at the back.”
Her eyes never left my face.
“I used to have different colored ribbons tied to each bunch. So did my sister, you know, Sheridan. My mum would plait them and then tie a ribbon around them. Remember how I used to plait your hair?”
Nothing. Her blue eyes watched me but her mouth didn’t move to reply.
I looked down at my shiny black shoes, trying to control the expression on my face. It was hard enough coping with everything else, and the funeral would be a nightmare, but it’d be a million times worse if Tegan continued her campaign of silence against
Since we didn’t need to be in town anymore, the day after Adele…the day after it happened, Tegan and I packed up and moved to my parents’ house in Ealing, the outskirts of west London. The plan was to return to Leeds a few days after the funeral. After today.
Tegan had reverted to the fearful silence that had shrouded her when I’d taken her from Guildford. This silence, however, was splintered with sadness and the worry of what would happen to her now; what she would do without her mum.
Despite not speaking to me, I always had to be in her sight and if I left her company for too long, she’d seek me out, apprehension smudged onto her face, until she could touch me. A brush of her short fingers on the back of my hand, a slight stroke of my hair, a nudge against my abdomen, just to make sure I was real. Solid. There. I’d find her sitting outside the bathroom if I went for a shower. The day I nipped down the road for a bottle of water and to make some calls, I’d returned to find her sitting beside the front door, clutching her knees to her chest, her eyes like two chips of dark sapphire on a snow plain as they stared into the distance. She’d curled her arms around my thigh and rested her head against it when I walked in, and I accepted that I couldn’t leave her alone again.
We slept in the same bed. If we were watching TV she’d climb into my lap, put her arms around me and rest her head against my chest; she’d often fall asleep like that. We were virtually inseparable. The silent duo, because I didn’t feel much like speaking either. My usual way for dealing with things was sleeping, and right now all I felt like doing was escaping into another realm, especially when I was arranging a funeral. A funeral for my best friend. For the woman I couldn’t remember saying a proper goodbye to. Every time I thought of that, my stomach would clench in on itself until it was a tight, solid ball of pain. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I couldn’t remember the last expression on her face—did she smile? Did I smile at her? When I’d looked at Adele in the hospital, I didn’t see the ill person; she was transformed into a cream-skinned, curly blond stunner with steel-blue eyes and a killer smile. Had I seen that smile before I left? I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t hold on to the image of her because I’d not been seeing Adele as she was, but simply a memory of the woman she used to be.
In the here and now, Tegan stood in the corner of the room, leaning her right shoulder against the wall, staring at me, waiting for me to finish getting ready. My dress wasn’t anywhere near as beautiful as hers—it was a simple, straight, ankle-skimming linen creation with a V-neck and short sleeves that I’d grabbed in a dash to Ealing Shopping Center. I hadn’t brought enough clothes with me for a long spell in London and I certainly hadn’t been prepared for a funeral.
“I like your dress,” I said to her.
Tegan said nothing, although her impassive blue eyes remained on me.
“And I like your hair bunches. My mum used to put my hair in bunches too. But I had three—two at the front, one at the back.”
Her eyes never left my face.
“I used to have different colored ribbons tied to each bunch. So did my sister, you know, Sheridan. My mum would plait them and then tie a ribbon around them. Remember how I used to plait your hair?”
Nothing. Her blue eyes watched me but her mouth didn’t move to reply.
I looked down at my shiny black shoes, trying to control the expression on my face. It was hard enough coping with everything else, and the funeral would be a nightmare, but it’d be a million times worse if Tegan continued her campaign of silence against
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