Free Dead of Light by Chaz Brenchley Page A

laying umbrous sweetness on the day, there was little chance of that.
    Our civic neighbours glanced at us, awkwardly askance, who is this girl? Doesn’t she know what’s right, what’s fitting at a funeral?
    I wasn’t worried about them, though. What bothered me was the heads turning from further forward, the attention we were surely attracting from the graveside and the grim and certainly untearful mourners grouped there.
    Might just as well push my way through to join them, hi Mum, Dad, Uncle James. Hullo, Hamish.
    Hullo, Hazel.
    o0o
    Close my eyes and I could feel Laura’s singing, pulsing through her fingers into mine, beating into the very bones of me.
    So I did that for the last hymn, closed my eyes and felt, felt closer almost than ever before; but as soon as Hamish had pronounced the blessing I shifted my hand in hers, from a linkage to a firm grip. Tug and turn, and let’s get out of here...
    I tugged and we turned, and it was too late already.
    With my eyes closed, of course, I hadn’t been watching our neighbours; hadn’t seen someone else shuffling sideways, shuffling silently between the civics, drawn like any predator to the sound of innocence, the sound of Laura’s voice.
    Jamie smiled at me, from barely two feet away.
    Pale in his black suit, inevitably shaken at his brother’s funeral, it wasn’t too striking a smile, but it did the job. It held me, for the time it took to think no , to think no, can’t just nod and push by, not here, not today. He’s burying his brother, how can I not give him what he wants?
    So I stood still, drew Laura a little closer, did my best to smile back.
    â€œBen,” he said. “I’m glad you came.”
    â€œHow could I not?”
    â€œYeah,” he said. “Right.” and then his eyes shifted, me to Laura and back to me. His face quirked a question, teasing even here as if to show me how far he’d come, how much better he was than he had been, how much more himself: who’s the girlfriend, Ben boy?
    â€œUh, Laura, this is Jamie,” I said reluctantly. “My cousin, James Macallan. Junior,” because I could tease too, even in this situation, even doing the one thing I’d always sworn to avoid, introducing Laura to my family. “Jamie, Laura.”
    â€œHi, Laura,” Jamie said, seeming not even to register how little I’d given him there, barely a name and nothing more.
    â€œHullo.” And she slipped her hand free of mine, to shake his; and she didn’t need to do that, he wasn’t offering. I saw the tingle hit her, saw her eyes stretch briefly in surprise. She recovered quickly, though, didn’t even pull her hand back till he released it. Then, remembering her manners like the nicely-brought-up girl she was, “I’m sorry about, um,” and she glanced at me for help and didn’t get it fast enough, because I was off on another track altogether, remembering girls at parties, girls at discos, Marty and Jamie deliberately touching them up just for the shock value, just to see how they reacted. In comparison, Laura had come out pretty well. Naturally.
    Meanwhile, she was having to busk. “Your cousin?”
    â€œMy brother,” Jamie said; which doubled the reproach in the glance Laura shot at me, you could have told me that.
    â€œOh, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry; but I don’t suppose that helps, does it?”
    He shrugged, wordlessly agreeing: yes, it was terrible and no, the sympathy of a stranger didn’t noticeably help. Then he turned to me again, said, “You should go and say hullo. Let them know you’re here, at least.”
    No. “Why?”
    â€œThey’ll find out anyway.”
    And he was right, of course they would. The cousins on the gate knew already; they’d tell someone, even if Jamie didn’t. Even if I hadn’t been spotted already, if Laura’s voice hadn’t attracted