Twenties Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

gestures at the photo with an understanding smile—“and I see a woman who, despite her infirmity, led a beautiful life. Who found solace in small things. Knitting, for example.”
    “Knitting?”
the girl echoes incredulously.
    “So.” The vicar has obviously finished her speech. “Let us all bow our heads for a final moment of silence before we sayfarewell.” She steps down from the podium, and some organ Muzak begins.
    “What happens now?” The girl looks around, suddenly alert. A moment later she’s by my side. “What happens now? Tell me! Tell me!”
    “Well, the coffin goes behind that curtain,” I murmur in an undertone. “And then … er …” I trail off, consumed by embarrassment. How do I put it tactfully? “We’re at a crematorium, you see. So that would mean …” I wheel my hands vaguely.
    The girl’s face blanches with shock, and I watch in discomfiture as she starts fading to a weird, pale, translucent state. It almost seems as if she’s fainting—but even more so. For a moment I can almost see right through her. Then, as though making some inner resolution, she comes back.
    “No.” She shakes her head. “That can’t happen. I need my necklace. I need it.”
    “Sorry,” I say helplessly. “Nothing I can do.”
    “You have to stop the funeral.” She suddenly looks up, her eyes dark and glittering.
    “What?”
I stare at her. “I can’t!”
    “You can! Tell them to stop!” As I turn away, trying to tune her out, she appears at my other side. “Stand up! Say something!”
    Her voice is as insistent and piercing as a toddler’s. I’m frantically ducking my head in all directions, trying to avoid her.
    “Stop the funeral!
Stop it!
I must have my necklace!” She’s an inch away from my face; her fists are banging on my chest. I can’t feel them, but I still flinch. In desperation, I get to my feet and move back a row, knocking over a chair with a clatter.
    “Lara, are you all right?” Mum looks back in alarm.
    “Fine,” I manage, trying to ignore the yelling in my ear as I sink down into another seat.
    “I’ll order the car,” Uncle Bill is saying to Aunt Trudy. “This should be over in five.”
    “Stop it! Stop-it-stop-it-stop-it!” The girl’s voice rises to the most penetrating shriek, like feedback in my ear. I’m going schizophrenic. Now I know why people assassinate presidents. There’s no way I can ignore her. She’s like a banshee. I can’t stand this any longer. I’m clutching my head, trying to block her out, but it’s no good. “Stop! Stop! You have to stop—”
    “OK! OK! Just… shut up!” In desperation, I get to my feet. “Wait!” I shout. “Stop, everybody! You have to stop the funeral! STOP THE FUNERAL!”
    To my relief, the girl stops shrieking.
    On the downside, my entire family has turned to gape at me as if I’m a lunatic. The vicar presses a button in a wooden panel set in the wall, and the organ Muzak abruptly stops.
    “Stop the
funeral?”
says Mum at last.
    I nod silently. I don’t feel quite in control of my faculties, to be honest.
    “But why?”
    “I… um …” I clear my throat. “I don’t think it’s the right time. For her to go.”
    “Lara.” Dad sighs. “I know you’re under strain at the moment, but really …” He turns to the vicar. “I do apologize. My daughter hasn’t been quite herself lately.
Boyfriend trouble”
he mouths.
    “This is nothing to do with that!” I protest indignantly, but everyone ignores me.
    “Ah. I understand.” The vicar nods sympathetically. “Lara, we’ll finish the funeral now,” she says, as though I’m a three-year-old. “And then perhaps you and I will have a cup of tea together and a little talk, how about that?”
    She presses the button again and the organ Muzak resumes. A moment later, the coffin starts moving creakily away on its plinth, disappearing behind the curtain. Behind me I hear a sharp gasp, then—
    “Noooo!” comes a howl of anguish. “Nooo!