Verbal Magazine

The Girls

The Girls never did anything singly.

When Hester, aged 94 fell and fractured her wrist Cissie, who was six years younger, slipped as she went to her aid and sprained her ankle. They ended up recuperating at the Sacred Heart Rest Home. Within the week Hester broke her neck by falling down a flight of stairs she had not expected to encounter on her way to the bathroom. Her body was brought home for burial and a round the clock rota of watchers was employed to keep a strict eye on Cissie in case disaster befell her.

Cissie’s life had been devoted to an unsuccessful mission not to be outdone by her older sister. The fear now was that only death would satisfy her as a way of deflecting attention from Hester. Nothing untoward happened until the coffin was carried out of the house and laid on trestles for a final blessing. Danny Boyd, who had insisted on being one of the pall bearers, dropped like a stone beside it and the thump of his head on the concrete path carried through the hushed silence like the clap of doom. The mourners were paralysed by the unexpectedness of what had happened. Then Tom took charge.

‘Get the body indoors’, he shouted.

For a few moments they looked at each other. Did he mean Hester or Danny? Then the funeral director wheeled the trestle back into the hall. The women who had gathered to see the coffin off scattered and nervously began setting up the tables for the slap up feast that was required for the men when they returned from the graveside. Nothing led to more demand for cholesterol rich food and alcohol laced gallons of tea than a funeral. A group of ghouls gathered round Lila Green who was administering mouth to mouth resuscitation in a vain attempt to revive Danny. An ambulance arrived within ten minutes but by the time it wailed its way down the drive it was obvious to everyone that it would be hardly worthwhile putting the funeral clothes back in the wardrobe.

As the cortege finally made its way to the cemetery the women muttered about the bad luck incurred by bringing a coffin back into the house once it had been removed. It was then that they noticed that Cissie was missing.

The accusations started immediately.
‘You said you would look after her.’
‘I was till Danny dropped, what happened after that’s anybody’s business. Sure Lila was calling for people to phone the ambulance, get a blanket, boil the kettle – we were all over the place.

Freda sat down and put her hand over her chest, massaging her rib cage.

‘Who saw her last?’

‘She was pushing her way to the front to see Hester carried out. I remember because she said there was a decent crowd of walking men to follow the coffin. Hester was always well liked. It would have been a great funeral if it hadn’t been for all that trouble with Danny. He’s a pushy wee man. In the forefront in everything and him not even a relative.’

Gertie Barnes was just getting into her stride and Freda knew she would keep on indefinitely if no one interrupted.
‘Did anyone see Cissie after that? Did she come back into the house?’

They shook their heads. All attention had been focussed on Danny.
‘Sylvia and Martina - upstairs and look in the bedrooms and the bathroom. Gertie and Maureen - out and scour the yard and the stables. Surely somebody would have seen her if she’d gone down the drive or over the field. She must be about here somewhere. What did she have on – just that wee white blouse and the black cardigan Hester knit her for her birthday. Did she put on her jacket when she went out to see Hester off?’

Freda shivered and fingered the locket Hester had given her when she started to distribute her valuables round friends and relations.
‘What need have I for jewellery now I’m 90’, she’d said. ‘You can’t take it with you and this way there’ll be no argument over who it’s meant for.’
When Freda had opened the locket she’d found it empty – the photos of Hester’s parents that had been round her neck since she was given it on her 21st birthday had been removed as had the locks of hair placed in the locket when they died. Freda had put photos of Hester and Cissie in the locket, but she had balked at taking a lock of Hester’s hair. Some traditions should be allowed to lapse. She had no time for morbid thoughts or practices. She squared her shoulders. The main thing was to find Cissie before harm came to her. The family couldn’t face another tragedy on the heels of so much misfortune. The grave was only 15 minutes from the house and the service would be short on such a cold day.  Father Bates rushed through his homilies at the best of times and he’d want back to a wee hot whiskey before the cold settled into his bones or sobriety brought him face to face with mortality. He hated funerals almost as much as he hated christenings. Cissie must be found before the funeral party returned.

Freda tried to gather her thoughts. Cissie was famous for her tendency to wander and to lose things. It was a wonder that it wasn’t her instead of Hester that had fallen down the stairs and broken her neck. Freda pushed back the thought that it would have been better if it had been Cissie in the coffin. Hester was never any trouble. Cissie was always trouble. Her possessions dropped in her wake like confetti. On several occasions she had come home with only one shoe and no recollection of what had happened to the other one. Forty years ago a very distinctive silk blouse belonging to her had been found on the Christmas tree at the village green. She had given no explanation of how it got there. Her mind was as clear as it had ever been but that was no guarantee of rational action. Hester had been the sensible one, the one who kept Cissie in check.
Sylvia came down the stairs.

‘No sign of her anywhere. The bathroom’s empty, there’s no one in the bedrooms, in the beds, under the beds, in the wardrobes, behind the curtains.’
It was beginning to sound like hide and seek.

Freda shook her head. ‘Go and look round the parked cars. She might have slipped and be lying where we can’t see her. Hester would never forgive us if we lost her.’

Freda got up and looked in the broom cupboard and in the downstairs cloakroom and the utility room. There was no knowing where Cissie would go if she was distracted. For a moment she was tempted to wander off herself, to just walk down the lane and keep on going, leaving Tom’s family to sort themselves out.

Gertie came in.
‘She’s not in the outhouses, nowhere round the yard, nowhere to be found. Should we call the police? Dear knows what could have happened to her. She could be kidnapped, held for a ransom, murdered by a madman like that wee woman in County Cavan.’
Gertie watched too much TV. Freda could see she was already speculating on what to say when she was interviewed for the Six O’Clock News as a witness to the abduction of her dear friend Cissie.

Freda went to the door. Her car keys were rattling in her pocket. She knew she would not find Cissie at the farm. Cissie had taken off and she had a sudden wild notion of where she’d gone. Sammy Bradley had been standing at the back of the crowd of mourners as befitted someone who was not sure of his welcome. Freda had nodded to him but his eyes had been fixed on Cissie. She had not seen him in the crowd of men who followed the coffin to the grave and she had not seen Cissie since that moment.

Sammy and Cissie had had a fling in their teens but Hester had put a stop to it, Sammy being the wrong religion, the wrong class and worst of all having a brother who had spent all his life in the Asylum suffering from what Hester referred to as lunacy. ‘Bad blood’, Hester had said and that was the end of the matter. Sammy had never married. He’d lived a blameless life, tending to his small farm and building a reputation as a breeder of much sought after Fresian cattle. After the death of his mother and his brother he’d kept to himself. He was a confirmed bachelor and the few women who tried to catch his eye were politely ignored. As far as she knew he and Cissie had never done more than pass the time of day with each other since Hester had put an end to their romance. Hester was unwavering once she made her mind up to something. She never admitted to being wrong and there were few who would have contradicted her when she laid down the law.

Freda put the car into gear and drove down the lane towards Sammy’s house. She heard Cissie’s laughter before she opened the door. They were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table with a half empty bottle of Bush between them. Cissie had kicked her shoes off and the buttons of her white blouse were open at the neck. Sammy’s jacket hung on the back of his chair and his hair was tousled and his cheeks reddened either with the whiskey or the excitement of being with Cissie. They started guiltily when they saw her and their eyes went to the open door of the range where Freda glimpsed the sleeve of a black hand-knitted cardigan before it flared with a malevolent blue and green flame. Sammy picked up the poker and pushed the door of the range shut.

‘Will you join us Freda’, he said, ‘We were just toasting Hester.’

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