“Perdita is exactly as you described her,” Evette said with a giggle, changing the subject. “Right down to the floral head wreath.”
“And all these years you thought I was exaggerating.”
In addition to the wreath, Star’s mum wore a floor-length velvet cloak embroidered with gold stars and moons. She wept openly despite Rene’s evident scorn.
“And how did Perdita meet your dad? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”
“It may surprise you to learn that Perdita was a leftover flower child from the sixties, drifting from commune to commune,” she said dryly.
“No.” Evette dripped sarcasm. “You don’t say.”
“They met at a Beltane festival in Ireland and wham, bam, thank you ma’am, nine months later Heavenly-Stargazer Rosehip was born in a yurt on the Isle of Man.”
“Does anyone ever call Star by her full name?”
“Only Dad. Or us when we wanted to annoy her.”
“It’s much easier to see the appeal between your dad and Star’s mum.”
Simone pressed her lips into a thin line. “She’s as ridiculous as her daughter.”
“Your sister.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Above their heads, electric heaters fastened to the stone pillars glowed orange but did little to heat the drafty church.
“You know, Star most probably had as difficult a childhood, being dragged from pillar to post, as you did being forced to strive for excellence. They were both extremes in their own way. I really do think that if you could acknowledge that, you might find you have more in common with Star than you think.”
“No amount of your well-meant therapy will make me believe that Star and I are kindred spirits.”
“Please just try to be friendly. If not for your dad or Maggie, then for me.”
All around them, long stained-glass windows depicted vivid tales of saints and sinners. Is it unholy to feel so much spite in a church? she wondered.
“It’s because of what she did to you that I don’t have anything to do with her,” Simone grumbled.
“I didn’t ask you to cut Star out of your life. She made a terrible error of judgment, for which she took full responsibility. Maybe today is the right time to let it go.”
Simone smiled at her wife and took her hand. “Maybe,” she said, knowing full well that she would do nothing of the sort. But she didn’t want to fight with Evette, not today. Things were hard enough at the moment. “I love you.”
Evette cupped Simone’s face in her hands. “And I love you.”
Simone put her arm around her wife and reveled in the comforting reassurance of Evette scooching in closer and resting her head on her shoulder. Guiltily, she thought it was a relief to have mourning to eclipse their own problems.
* * *
Maggie had finished settling an elderly magician in a top hat into a pew beside a man dressed in chain mail when her son, Patrick, met her in the aisle. He put his arm around her.
“You all right, Ma?” he asked.
“Yes, love, I’m fine, don’t you worry about me. I’ve saved you a seat next to me and Joe.”
“I don’t really know why Joe’s here; he didn’t even know Granddad. He could have stayed behind and opened the grocer’s.”
Patrick was wary of her friendship with Joe, though he’d never said as much. She suspected he thought Joe might be using her somehow. If only he knew.
“He’s here as my friend. And as for opening the grocer’s, look around, all our customers are here.”
Patrick’s eyes swept the room. “Blimey, you’re not wrong.”
“Go and sit down, I’ll be over in a minute.”
It took some fancy footwork to avoid standing on the cloaks of the Druids who had congregated in the north transept, but she made it over to Simone and Evette without event. Artemis trotted along beside her. Nobody batted an eyelid at a cat wandering the church; where there were Norths, there was Artemis.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
None of the mourners appeared to be using their “inside voices,” and the din echoed around the vaulted ceiling.
“You look like a children’s TV presenter,” said Simone.
Maggie had found a pair of bright green dungarees with a dancing elephant print online and thought they’d be just the ticket.
“I think Dad would have liked them.” She grinned.
“I think so too.” Evette smiled.
“You haven’t seen Star, have you?” she asked, checking her watch. “I don’t want her to miss the service.”
“You didn’t expect her to be on time, did you?” Simone sneered.
“We’ve been watching the awkward dowagers at the front of the church,” Evette blurted loudly, to hush her wife. She nodded toward Rene and Perdita. Perdita’s sobs were growing ever more exuberant to be heard above the noisy crowd.
Maggie laughed, but it was half-hearted, and Simone guessed she was thinking about her own mum. Lilibeth had died almost ten years ago, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hard for Maggie to see Rene and Perdita without her.
“Without Lilibeth here as the glue, they’ve literally got nothing to say to each other,” Simone said, trying to make her voice softer. “Your mum was always the middle ground between them. She’d have made a good diplomat.” It struck her that Maggie played a similar role between her and Star; without her, the sisters were worse than strangers.
“I think Mum would have loved all this.” Maggie smiled as she surveyed the packed church.
“Though not, perhaps, as much as Perdita does,” Simone added archly, just as the woman in question threw her arms toward the heavens and began to wail “Why?” while Rene looked on in appalled silence.
Heavenly-Stargazer Rosehip made it to the church just in time for the organ to strike up and the congregation to pipe down. For the first time in many years, all three North sisters were under the same roof, a fact which did not go unnoticed by the residents of Rowan Thorp.
Doreen turned to the woman dressed as Carmen Miranda to her left and said, “Can you feel it? That prickle in the air? Mark my words, there’s a storm brewing and it’s coming from the North.” She waggled her eyebrows at the woman with fruit on her head and pulled out her crochet, chuckling to herself as she did so. “Things are about to get interesting.”
3
Maggie and Joe slipped into an alcove behind the church away from the crowd. Maggie leaned back against the cold stone wall, not caring that the damp was soaking through her clothes. She welcomed the cool, needed something to take her mind off the day.
The service had ended to the sounds of R.E.M.’s “Shiny Happy People” blasting out of the speakers. It wasn’t customary for funeral services in the village church to end with dancing in the aisles, but this hadn’t been a customary funeral. The impromptu Morris dancing troupe in the vestibule had also come as a surprise.
In a few minutes Augustus’s coffin would be carried to his final resting place in the North family plot at the far corner of the graveyard. The mourners spilled out of the side doors of the church and were joined by those who had been standing on Holy Trinity Green.