Twenties Girl Read Online Free Page A

never even met her.
    The vicar looks at the print dubiously, then pins it onto a big notice board, where it looks totally sad and embarrassing all on its own.
    “Would any of you like to speak about the deceased?”
    Mutely, we all shake our heads.
    “I understand. It can often be too painful for close family.” The vicar produces a notebook and pencil from her pocket. “In which case I’ll be glad to speak on your behalf. If you could perhaps just give me some details. Incidents from her life. Tell me everything about Sadie that we should be celebrating.”
    There’s silence.
    “We didn’t really know her,” Dad says apologetically. “She was very old.”
    “One hundred and five,” Mum puts in. “She was one hundred and five.”
    “Was she ever married?” the vicar prompts.
    “Er…” Dad’s brow is wrinkled. “Was there a husband, Bill?”
    “Dunno. Yeah, I think there was. Don’t know what he was called, though.” Uncle Bill hasn’t even looked from his BlackBerry. “Can we get on with this?”
    “Of course.” The vicar’s sympathetic smile has frozen. “Well, perhaps just some small anecdote from the last time you visited her … some hobby…”
    There’s another guilty silence.
    “She’s wearing a cardigan in the picture,” ventures Mum at last. “Maybe she knitted it. Maybe she liked knitting.”
    “Did you never visit her?” The vicar is clearly forcing herself to stay polite.
    “Of course we did!” says Mum defensively. “We popped in to see her in…” She thinks. “In 1982, I think it was. Lara was a baby.”
    “
1982?
” The vicar looks scandalized.
    “She didn’t know us,” puts in Dad quickly. “She really wasn’t all there.”
    “What about from earlier in her life?” The vicar’s voice sounds slightly outraged. “No achievements? Stories from her youth?”
    “Jeez, you don’t give up, do you?” Diamanté rips her iPod speakers out of her ears. “Can’t you tell we’re only here because we have to be? She didn’t do anything special. She didn’t achieve anything. She was nobody! Just some million-year-old nobody.”
    “Diamanté!” says Aunt Trudy in mild reproof. “That’s not very nice.”
    “It’s true, though, isn’t it? I mean, look!” She gestures scornfully around the empty room. “If only six people came to my funeral, I’d
shoot
myself.”
    “Young lady.” The vicar takes a few steps forward, her face flushing with anger. “No human on God’s earth is a
nobody.”
    “Yeah, whatever,” says Diamanté rudely, and I can see the vicar opening her mouth to make another retort.
    “Diamanté.” Uncle Bill lifts a hand quickly. “Enough. Obviously I myself regret not visiting Sadie, who I’m sure was a very special person, and I’m sure I speak for all of us.” He’s so charming, I can see the vicar’s ruffled feathers being smoothed. “But now what we’d like to do is send her off with dignity. I expect you have a tight schedule, as do we.” He taps his watch.
    “Indeed,” says the vicar after a pause. “I’ll just prepare. In the meantime, please switch off your mobile phones.” With a last disapproving look around at us all, she heads out again, and Aunt Trudy immediately turns in her seat.
    “What a nerve, giving us a guilt trip! We don’t
have
to be here, you know.”
    The door opens and we all look up—but it’s not the vicar, it’sTonya. I didn’t know she was coming. This day just got about a hundred percent worse.
    “Have I missed it?” Her pneumatic drill of a voice fills the room as she strides down the aisle. “I just managed to scoot away from Toddler Gym before the twins had a meltdown. Honestly, this au pair is worse than the last one, and that’s saying something. …”
    She’s wearing black trousers and a black cardigan trimmed with leopard print, her thick highlighted hair pulled back in a ponytail. Tonya used to be an office manager at Shell and boss people around all day. Now she’s a