‘Perhaps we should pop in and wish Lily and George a Happy New Year?’ Charlotte suggested tentatively.
‘I think perhaps not.’ Rosie took a sidelong look at her sister. The light from the full moon enabled her to just about see her sister’s expression.
‘Why?’ Charlotte said. ‘I’m not at all tired.’
‘Well, you mightn’t be, but I jolly well am,’ Rosie said. Her words were followed by a slightly exasperated laugh. ‘Besides, I told you, Lily and George are having a party.’
It wasn’t an outright lie. Lily was having a party. A very profitable one. Something to draw the punters in on New Year’s Eve. Not that they needed much persuading. This was always the busiest night of the year and was why Lily and George had left so promptly after the church service.
‘If they’re having a big party, then that’s exactly why we should pop in to see them,’ Charlotte argued.
‘No, that’s exactly why we shouldn’t. It’s a grown-up party. Not for children.’
‘But I’m not a child.’
‘I’m afraid you are, Charlie. The last time I checked, a person is a child until their eighteenth birthday. You were very lucky that Bill allowed you in the pub this evening.’
‘It’s legal as long as I’m accompanied by an adult,’ Charlotte informed.
‘Only if the licensee says so.’ God, she could be hard work.
They walked on.
‘Anyway, you saw Lily and George today at the church. It’s not as if you haven’t seen them.’
‘I know, but I’ve been back for two and a half months now,’ Charlotte moaned, ‘and I’ve still not been round to theirs for tea. And Lily did invite me. Remember? The first time I met her at the Maison Nouvelle.’
‘Well, Lily does work a lot, you know,’ Rosie said. ‘She might seem like a gadabout, but underneath that rather colourful exterior lies a serious, hard-working businesswoman. She works pretty much round the clock. She’s not got the time for having people round for tea.’
They walked on. The occasional burst of laughter and flash of light could be seen as revellers bade farewell to those with whom they’d welcomed in the New Year before now heading back to their own homes.
Charlotte looked up at the big Victorian houses they were passing. They were like Lily’s – only she’d bet they weren’t half as amazing. Dorothy and Angie’s description of Lily’s hallway alone had sounded incredible. If she had a New Year’s resolution, then it was to see inside Lily’s fantastic house – and sooner rather than later.
Rosie and Charlotte walked for a while without chatting.
Charlotte was thinking about Lily’s. Her imagination running riot.
Rosie was thinking about the funeral. And their mam and dad. It was a topic she had avoided since Charlotte had been back. This was the perfect opportunity, especially after the day they’d had.
Walking down Tunstall Vale, Rosie took a deep breath.
‘So, how are you feeling – after the funeral?’
‘All right.’ Charlotte’s voice was defensive.
‘Charlie, you can talk to me, you know. About how you feel.’ Rosie paused. ‘About Mam and Dad.’
Charlotte still didn’t say anything, but Rosie persevered.
‘Arthur’s funeral made me think about Mam and Dad’s funeral, and I think it did you too.’ Rosie looked at Charlotte as she spoke.
Still, Charlotte didn’t say anything.
‘Can you remember much about it?’
‘Not really.’
Rosie thought about Charlie taking her hand today at the burial. She had done the same when they were at their parents’ open grave. God, had it really been six years ago? It felt like another lifetime.
They carried on walking in silence.
Finally, Charlotte said, ‘I remember the vicar saying the same words as the vicar today.’
Rosie smiled and put her arm around her sister, but she could feel her unease and let her go again.
‘I remember the bit about “A time to be born, and a time to die”,’ Charlotte said. ‘Back then, I didn’t understand how it could be Mam and Dad’s time to die. Still can’t.’
‘No,’ Rosie agreed. ‘Neither can I.’
Charlotte looked deep in thought before suddenly perking up. ‘I remember people had been going on about us not having any family.’ She looked at Rosie. ‘But just before the funeral a man turned up. He said he was our uncle. Can you remember?’
Rosie felt her skin prickle. Her heart started to thud loudly in her chest.
‘Yes, I can remember. He was Mam’s brother.’
‘Uncle …’ Charlotte dug deep in her memory. ‘Raymond. Uncle Raymond. That was his name, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’
They reached the turning into Brookside Gardens.
‘I remember being puzzled,’ Charlotte continued, ‘because he was meant to be staying overnight, but when you woke me up in the morning, he’d gone.’
‘That’s right.’ Rosie hoped her voice sounded normal. ‘He got up early and left.’
Charlotte opened up the little five-bar gate that led to their home. They walked through and Rosie let it clatter shut, for once hoping that it would alert Mrs Jenkins so that she would come out and chat to them, putting an end to this conversation, which was making her feel ill.
But of course Mrs Jenkins didn’t make an appearance; nothing ever happened the way you wanted it to.
Why, oh why did Charlotte have to have such a bloody good memory?
Rosie opened the front door and went into the house.
‘So, what happened to him?’ Charlotte took off her coat and hung it up.
‘I don’t know, Charlie.’ One day perhaps she would tell her. ‘He left and never came back.’ If only. Rosie’s hand instinctively went to the scars on her face.
‘Hot chocolate?’
Charlotte’s face lit up. ‘Yes, please … I’ll do it!’
Rosie followed her sister into the small kitchen.
Raymond might have left his mark, but at least he’d never be back.
She thought once again about the words the vicar had spoken today – a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
Raymond’s death had certainly given her cause to dance.