Finding Love at Hedgehog Hollow. Jessica Redland
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circulating round Bella’s family about her sexuality. Agnes, being Agnes, hated that and you can imagine the sort of homophobic tripe she spouted at Bella.’
I nodded. Hateful woman.
‘Bella hadn’t come out back then although she knew she was gay. We were coming up to our A levels and Bella was desperate for good grades so she could go to university and get away from her mum. Agnes kept going on at her about dating boys and it was getting Bella really anxious. I wasn’t seeing anyone and had no desire to get into a relationship before leaving for university so I agreed to be her fake boyfriend to give her a break.’
‘That was sweet of you,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘Although you shouldn’t have had to do that.’
‘I know. I felt really sorry for her. I still do, having a mum like Agnes. Anyway, there was a family wedding for another cousin. Bella asked me if I’d be her plus one so I went along. And, much to Agnes’s disgust—’
‘That’s where you met Mum.’ I remembered him telling me they’d met at her cousin’s wedding.
‘Exactly. Even though I didn’t want any ties back home, I fell for your mum and, while I was studying to be a vet, we made the distance work. Bella also headed off to university, found her freedom, found a girlfriend and never returned home. They moved to Florida but split up after a year or so, then Bella met Chanise and they’ve been together ever since.’
‘I don’t understand what this has to do with you, though, and why she hates me.’
Dad raised his eyebrows. ‘Because I supposedly broke Bella’s heart by running off with your mum, which made her hate men and seek solace with another woman.’
‘No way! She thinks you turned her?’
‘I told you it was stupid.’
‘Wow! This day gets stranger and stranger. So you’re really saying that Great-Aunt Agnes hates me because she blames you for her own prejudices in not being able to accept a gay daughter?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Well, no wonder Bella was desperate to escape and no wonder she’s barely spoken to her mother since.’ I shook my head and sighed. ‘Thanks for filling me in, Dad, but I think it’s time you went back to the party.’
‘I don’t like to leave you.’
‘Go. I’ll be fine.’
He slowly stood up and glanced towards the untouched food on the dressing table, the drop of his shoulders telling me exactly how devastated he was that I was hurting. ‘I’ll check on you in another hour,’ he said.
‘I might go to bed so I’ll see you at home at some point tomorrow.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he opened the door.
‘I know. Good night.’ I slipped off the bed and locked the door behind him, pulled the chain across, then leaned against it, shaking my head. Poor Bella. And what a fool Great-Aunt Agnes was for behaving like that. Her husband – Bella’s father – had died when Bella was fourteen so Great-Aunt Agnes had no other immediate family. Couldn’t she have found a way to work beyond her prejudices to stay in Bella’s life? But people were often like that: quick to make decisions or jump to conclusions and too stubborn to say sorry and ask for forgiveness. Would Chloe be like that?
I sat on the edge of the bed, replaying the evening over and over. I’d get over James one day, hopefully, but I wouldn’t get over the loss of my cousin. Why had Great-Aunt Agnes done that? She’d lashed out at me, but she’d also hurt her favourite in the process.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen, perhaps. I didn’t even have the energy to remove my dress. Sighing, I lay back, staring at the deep pink roses on the wallpaper, wondering how it had come to this: me banished to my room on my cousin’s wedding day. I was her only bridesmaid, I was her best friend and we’d been through so much together. We should be on the dance floor right now, giggling, hugging, toasting her future. I’d have been thrilled to do that for my cousin, even though her future was the one I’d hoped for myself.
12
Fourteen Months Earlier
Gramps left detailed written instructions with Auntie Louise – the oldest daughter by twelve minutes – about what he wanted for his funeral. He’d insisted the envelope only be opened on his death so neither Auntie Louise nor Mum knew what to expect. Most of his requests were fairly traditional including a service at Whitsborough Bay crematorium and for his ashes to be scattered among the trees at Meadowcroft, just like Nanna’s had been. He listed the songs to be played before and after the service and provided a poem to be read out, but his overriding wish was a surprise. He wanted those he loved to celebrate his life rather than mourn his death and he therefore banned black, asking that everyone wear his favourite colour blue instead, in a shade or quantity of their choosing.
I bought a cornflower-blue calf-length wraparound dress especially for the occasion.
‘What the hell are you wearing?’ Mum cried, eyes widening as I walked into the kitchen ten minutes before the funeral car was due.
I misinterpreted her tone as shock at seeing me out of jeans. ‘A dress. I know. It’s been a long time…’
Her jaw tightened. ‘I can see that it’s a dress. What I’m questioning is the colour.’
‘It’s blue like Gramps wanted.’
‘Where’s your respect, Samantha? It’s a funeral.’
Dressed all in black, she stormed past me and into the lounge, slamming the door shut behind her.
‘What was that all about?’ Dad asked pulling on his navy suit jacket as he stepped into the kitchen.
‘I’m wearing the wrong colour,’ I muttered.
He frowned. ‘But the dress code is blue and any shade goes.’
‘Not this one, it seems.’
When the funeral limousine arrived, the three of us piled in and sat in uncomfortable silence.
A few minutes later, we picked up Auntie Louise, Uncle Simon and Chloe, all of whom were wearing blue.
‘You look amazing, Chloe,’ Mum gushed as Chloe sat beside her wearing a short, lacy powder blue dress. ‘That dress is so pretty. Your Gramps would be so proud of you.’
‘I miss him so much,’ Chloe said.
‘So do I, sweetheart.’ Mum took her hand and held it all the way to Whitsborough Bay Crematorium. Swallowing hard on the constriction in my throat, I turned to look out the window. I would not let her make me cry. It was a celebration for Gramps. No tears.
James met us at the crematorium. He shook hands with Dad and Uncle Simon, then kissed Mum and Auntie Louise on the cheek, expressing his condolences for their loss. He did the same to Chloe and I didn’t miss him lingering a little longer than necessary, or her looking at him with longing in her eyes when he stepped away and took hold of my hand.
When I shuffled into the front row pew beside James, I didn’t miss how closely Chloe sat against his other side, despite there being plenty of room to spread out.
I didn’t miss how, when he handed her a tissue, their fingers brushed and they exchanged gentle smiles.
And I didn’t miss the sparks flying between them throughout the wake. The smouldering looks across the room. The discreet touches. The whispers. The laughter.