Helena
The Music Stopped Two Weeks Later
I’d always thought it was warm in the church, with all the candles burning and so many people packed together. But now it seems colder, wind sweeping down the isle from the back door as more of our relatives arrive. I’m squashed between my brother Lucas and an auntie I’ve never seen before in my life, and yet I’m covered in goosebumps and shivering.
“Keep still” the auntie tells me, “the service is about to start”
I stare straight ahead at the coffin, and wonder if it’s any warmer in there. That’s where I want to be, curled up inside the coffin, hidden from everyone and with Helena forever. The auntie has her hand on the sleeve of my new suit jacket, but I know it’s not for reassurance. She wants to make sure I stand when I’m supposed to and kneel when the priest tells us. I stare at the stained glass windows stretching for miles above me. They all remind me of Helena. There’s one of some sort of tree, with swans and doves flying around it. For some reason it makes me think of the tree I used to climb with Helena and Lucas at our Gran’s house. There’s another one of a man who I think is a saint. He’s got a book in his hands and a halo around his head. I lean back in my seat and wonder if Helena has a halo too.
“Stand up” the auntie hisses as the priest steps onto the alter.
I scramble too my feet feeling sick. The priest is an old man, and he says good morning to us in a slow voice that sounds as though he is using every ounce of his energy to keep his
false teeth in.
“Thank you all for coming” he says in the same dull tone, “It is wonderful to see so many people here to celebrate Helena’s life”
He said exactly the same thing at Gerard’s funeral. I rack my brains, trying to remember if he’s said it at every funeral I’ve been to.
Apart from his slow, monotone speeches, it is very quite in the church. The auntie is wiping her eyes silently, even though she hasn’t seen Helena since she was four years old. I wonder how Gerard would react if he’s been here. He’d have done a better job of arranging the music; all the auntie could manage was a couple of boring songs on the organ. Each one sounds the same as the last, as slow as the priest’s voice.
Helena and Gerard spent all their time listening to music, either up in her room or in the underground venues the visited at night. She had a shirt Gerard gave her for her birthday with some band who scared me half to death on it. She wore it all the time.
I stare at the coffin again, wondering if they buried her in it. If the auntie had anything to do with it then probably not. I turn around and see that almost everyone is wearing black. I know that would have pleased her, it was the only colour I ever saw her in.
The service is fairly short, around forty-five minutes. Gerard’s funeral was almost two hours long because Helena was supposed to be making a speech but had to be carried away sobbing. She died two weeks later, from a broken heart, Lucas said.
It’s starting to snow when we go outside to the cemetery, the flakes settling on the headstones. The auntie still has a hold of my sleeve, steering me this way and that to avoid the worst of the mud. It’s not making much difference, my feet are sinking into sticky muck, my newly polished shoes coated in the earth their going to bury Helena in.
Another relative has joined us; she’s talking to the auntie about the funeral.
“Lovely service” she says, “Beautiful music too, how on earth did you get it all organised so quickly?”
The auntie looks pleased with herself, smiling behind the net that’s covering her face. A lot of the women have them, but I don’t really know why.
“What a terrible shock it was” the auntie is saying “Finding her like that, poor little Lucas. So suddenly too”
I turn to look at Lucas, but his face is hidden by his long hair. I didn’t know that; that he’d found her. To be honest I hadn’t thought about it. I suppose I’d taken it for granted that someone must have discovered her body. It wasn’t sudden though, the auntie was wrong about that. I’d known, from the moment Gerard’s mother had came to tell us he was dead, that Helena was going to die as well. I’d looked into her eyes that night, and known that she couldn’t live without Gerard. She’d gone to her room, after Lucas had called a taxi for Gerard’s hysterical mother, and played the songs they’d always sang together.
The music stopped two weeks later.
“I know, it’s just dreadful” the relative is saying, “Like you said, so sudden”
I don’t see what’s so dreadful. I’m looking at the plot now, neatly dug in the limp grass and thick mud. It’s dark at the bottom, but Helena loved the dark. There was only one small window in her room and it was so thick with grime that no light got through anyway. She and Gerard would sit in there for hours, their music blaring. Lucas called it their Bat Cave.
I can see worms in the plot now, but I don’t think Helena would have minded that. She was very into animal rights, going on marches and protests with Gerard. There were always animals in her Bat Cave, orphaned hedgehogs and cockroaches who’d lost a leg.
The coffin being lowered down now, and the auntie has let go of my suit. Lucas has gone, ran away in tears at the sight of the plot.
I am alone
I stand and watch the coffin drop into the earth.
My sister, Helena.
“Keep still” the auntie tells me, “the service is about to start”
I stare straight ahead at the coffin, and wonder if it’s any warmer in there. That’s where I want to be, curled up inside the coffin, hidden from everyone and with Helena forever. The auntie has her hand on the sleeve of my new suit jacket, but I know it’s not for reassurance. She wants to make sure I stand when I’m supposed to and kneel when the priest tells us. I stare at the stained glass windows stretching for miles above me. They all remind me of Helena. There’s one of some sort of tree, with swans and doves flying around it. For some reason it makes me think of the tree I used to climb with Helena and Lucas at our Gran’s house. There’s another one of a man who I think is a saint. He’s got a book in his hands and a halo around his head. I lean back in my seat and wonder if Helena has a halo too.
“Stand up” the auntie hisses as the priest steps onto the alter.
I scramble too my feet feeling sick. The priest is an old man, and he says good morning to us in a slow voice that sounds as though he is using every ounce of his energy to keep his
false teeth in.
“Thank you all for coming” he says in the same dull tone, “It is wonderful to see so many people here to celebrate Helena’s life”
He said exactly the same thing at Gerard’s funeral. I rack my brains, trying to remember if he’s said it at every funeral I’ve been to.
Apart from his slow, monotone speeches, it is very quite in the church. The auntie is wiping her eyes silently, even though she hasn’t seen Helena since she was four years old. I wonder how Gerard would react if he’s been here. He’d have done a better job of arranging the music; all the auntie could manage was a couple of boring songs on the organ. Each one sounds the same as the last, as slow as the priest’s voice.
Helena and Gerard spent all their time listening to music, either up in her room or in the underground venues the visited at night. She had a shirt Gerard gave her for her birthday with some band who scared me half to death on it. She wore it all the time.
I stare at the coffin again, wondering if they buried her in it. If the auntie had anything to do with it then probably not. I turn around and see that almost everyone is wearing black. I know that would have pleased her, it was the only colour I ever saw her in.
The service is fairly short, around forty-five minutes. Gerard’s funeral was almost two hours long because Helena was supposed to be making a speech but had to be carried away sobbing. She died two weeks later, from a broken heart, Lucas said.
It’s starting to snow when we go outside to the cemetery, the flakes settling on the headstones. The auntie still has a hold of my sleeve, steering me this way and that to avoid the worst of the mud. It’s not making much difference, my feet are sinking into sticky muck, my newly polished shoes coated in the earth their going to bury Helena in.
Another relative has joined us; she’s talking to the auntie about the funeral.
“Lovely service” she says, “Beautiful music too, how on earth did you get it all organised so quickly?”
The auntie looks pleased with herself, smiling behind the net that’s covering her face. A lot of the women have them, but I don’t really know why.
“What a terrible shock it was” the auntie is saying “Finding her like that, poor little Lucas. So suddenly too”
I turn to look at Lucas, but his face is hidden by his long hair. I didn’t know that; that he’d found her. To be honest I hadn’t thought about it. I suppose I’d taken it for granted that someone must have discovered her body. It wasn’t sudden though, the auntie was wrong about that. I’d known, from the moment Gerard’s mother had came to tell us he was dead, that Helena was going to die as well. I’d looked into her eyes that night, and known that she couldn’t live without Gerard. She’d gone to her room, after Lucas had called a taxi for Gerard’s hysterical mother, and played the songs they’d always sang together.
The music stopped two weeks later.
“I know, it’s just dreadful” the relative is saying, “Like you said, so sudden”
I don’t see what’s so dreadful. I’m looking at the plot now, neatly dug in the limp grass and thick mud. It’s dark at the bottom, but Helena loved the dark. There was only one small window in her room and it was so thick with grime that no light got through anyway. She and Gerard would sit in there for hours, their music blaring. Lucas called it their Bat Cave.
I can see worms in the plot now, but I don’t think Helena would have minded that. She was very into animal rights, going on marches and protests with Gerard. There were always animals in her Bat Cave, orphaned hedgehogs and cockroaches who’d lost a leg.
The coffin being lowered down now, and the auntie has let go of my suit. Lucas has gone, ran away in tears at the sight of the plot.
I am alone
I stand and watch the coffin drop into the earth.
My sister, Helena.