Black Feathers: Dark Avian Tales: An Anthology(104)

Children. For all the carelessness of my affections there’s never been a child.

“I told you at the start that I’m not like other people. You promised me that you understood completely.”

“There’s more to us than just sex.”

I can’t believe he’s doing this.

“Don’t you get it?” I should be angry but a column of coldness is solidifying inside me. “There is no more. I’m not broken, so you can’t fix me. I don’t love you because I can’t love anyone.”

“Julie, please . . .”

I hang up and bar his number.


There’s never been so many people in the house. I don’t like it. I wanted it to be just us, but Elsa went on so much that I relented. I wish I hadn’t now.

I forgot to pack a black dress so I had to buy one in a hurry. I took Pippa with me, there being nothing suitable in her wardrobe either. The shop assistant stared at her while she touched the expensive silks. The woman’s tune changed when it was clear that I didn’t have to look at the price tags.

I picked out a neat black dress myself and a black tunic, leggings and ankle boots for Pippa. On impulse, I took her to a salon to get her hair dyed and styled. She was more patient than I expected. She liked being somewhere new. My favourite part was Pippa’s smile when the shampoo was massaged into her scalp.

It was a nice day.

Today isn’t. When we went out to the funeral car, Elsa said, “Look at the two of you. Pippa, you look so grown up. And Julie, wonderful. Black suits you more than any other colour. You should wear it more.”

Grief fucks people up.

The mourners come in, folding up their umbrellas like wings, dripping rain on the parquet floor.

“Elsa, are any of the neighbour’s coming?”

“God, no. All the one’s you’d know are dead or moved away.”

I don’t know the people here. Some used to work with Dad, apparently, others knew him from Pippa’s day centre or through Elsa. They all greet her like she’s long lost family.

It’s unnerving that they line up to speak to me, something more suited to a wedding than a funeral.

The first is a tall, broad man, dressed in a shiny tight suit and winkle pickers. Spiv’s clothes but he’s gentle, paternal even. He takes my hand and looks right into my eyes, searching for something.

“My name’s Charlie.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“I’m so very pleased to meet you, my dear. You’re as lovely as I thought you’d be. I understand you’re a smart lady too.” Then as if he’s just recalled why we’re here, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

A pair of elderly ladies are next. They’re twins. Both have the same bob, cut into a bowl shape at the front, hooked noses and dowager’s humps that marks their identically crumbling spines.

“Do you have children?” says the first one, which isn’t the opener I expected.

The second one tuts and pushes her sister along. They’re followed by a couple who call themselves Arthur and Megan. A first I think they’re brother and sister as they’re so alike, but the way he hovers around her suggests their relationship is more than familial. Her arm’s in plaster.

“How did you know Dad?”

“Through my father.” The man waves his hand in a vague gesture that he seems to think explains everything.

Young men, a few years younger than I am, come next. They’re all in designer suits. Each is striking in his own way. They stand close to me as they introduce themselves. One even kisses my hand. The last one interests me the most. He’s not the tallest or best looking but I like his quiet confidence and lively face. There’s a yearning in his voice when he says my name that tugs at me. To smile at him seems weak, so I nod.

“My name is Ash.”

“Ash.” The word coats my tongue with want.

A woman edges him along.

“I’m Rosalie.”

She has the manner of entitlement that only certain hard, beautiful women have. Her fingernails are painted black. The lacquer’s like glass. She looks me up and down as she passes.

I sip my drink as more people introduce themselves, then go off to decimate the buffet and the wine boxes. I try not to look at Ash’s every movement. It’s a lovely agony. I close my eyes, the tannin in the red wine shrinking the inside of my mouth.

“How is Julie settling back in here?” It’s Charlie.

“Well, she’s here for now.” I don’t like Elsa’s tone. She must be drunk too.

I open my eyes. Charlie’s suit can’t settle on a single shade of black.

“I’m sorry Elsa. You must be missing Michael.”

I turn away a fraction, not wanting them to know I’m listening. From the periphery of my vision I see him embrace Elsa.

The young men congregate by the hearth. Rosalie’s berating them for something. I catch her final words: “I don’t see what’s so special about her anyway.”

I know she’s talking about me because Ash looks over and keeps on looking even though he’s caught me eavesdropping. “Don’t you?” he replies with a smirk.

“I’m Stephanie.” A woman gets in the way, just when I think he’s going to walk over and join me. “You’re Julie, yes?”