Dusk by Edwards Eve

Author:Edwards, Eve
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780141969039
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2013-06-06T04:00:00+00:00

11

BRAMLEY, SURREY, 28 MARCH 1915

The little country church with its spring flowers nodding over the quiet graves was everything that Helen had imagined: achingly beautiful, England encapsulated. The ground was bare under the yew trees by the lychgate, the scent of fallen needles released as their feet disturbed the thick yellowing drift gathered at the edge of the path. Further on, the grass sprang with lush growth, dotted with primroses and daffodils, nature carrying on oblivious to the death that brought everyone here today.

Flora stopped suddenly, her fingers clawing at Helen’s sleeve. ‘I can’t do this. Let’s go home.’

Helen took a couple of deep breaths. Flora had been like this since she had broken the news of Des’s loss to her, distraught, unfixed, spinning like a seaside windmill on the top of a sagging sandcastle as the tide came in. ‘We’ll go if you want to. Just take a moment.’

Even Flora’s beauty seemed to have been dimmed by grief, her complexion taken on a greyish cast. She looked so frail in her severe black dress and hat, her blonde hair scraped back. The realization had dawned that her big sister, the one Helen had looked to for answers, was young too. Helen had taken Flora so much for granted. Whom did Flora have to lean on now if not her?

Flora bit her lip. ‘No, you’re right, I can do this.’

Helen had not said this, but that was hardly worth arguing. ‘I know you can.’

‘It’s what Des would have wanted. He must have mentioned me in his letters by now. They’ll be pleased that something of him has been left behind.’

A rook flapped by, heading for a nearby colony of nests at the top of a clump of elms. Harsh caws echoed like mocking shouts.

‘Perhaps you’d best wait to see how the land lies,’ Helen suggested tentatively.

The hollow clip-clop of heavy horses forewarned them of the arrival of the funeral cortège. With no body to bury, they were bringing only floral tributes and mourners to the church, but Helen did not want to get caught up in the close family group and have to explain their presence with Flora in this state.

‘We’d best go in.’ Helen tugged her sister’s arm gently.

Flora nodded and followed her, eyes glassy like a sleepwalker. They joined a stream of locals who had all come to pay their respects, women in Sunday best, working men in ill-fitting jackets and ties, big hands awkwardly clutching the hymnals. A photograph of Des had been set before the altar, flanked by jonquils springing from a pair of blue vases.

‘Oh God, I can’t do this,’ Flora whispered again, tears pouring down her cheeks.

‘Yes, you can.’ Helen’s reply was fierce. Her sister would never forgive her if she let her give in at this point. ‘No turning tail. Des would want you here.’

They took a place on the left-hand side of the church – bride’s side, thought Helen miserably. They garnered a few interested looks from the locals, but soon their entry was superseded by that of the family.

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