It's finished as in it's got a beggining, middle and an ending, but it's not in it's final form yet. It hasn't got a name either, so if you've got any suggestions... And be honest. I don't know you, so you can't hurt my feelings. Not much anyway. On the morning of the funeral the sun had decided on being defiantly warm. Brian, Luke’s father, was to be buried later that day. It was an open casket affair and the body had been placed in a room where wide French windows opened out into the garden. A broad band of light decorated the coffin. With the shade on either side, it made it look as if someone had laid a length of ribbon across the lacquered box with the intent of tying it up with a bow – like a Christmas present – when it was shut. When Lizzie went to look at the corpse she pictured Brian as could remember him from the visits and pictures that she’d experienced and seen. He was only sixty-five, and had been retired for not even a year before he died of a heart attack. His hair was, unsurprisingly, short, and stuck somewhere between brown and grey, and his face was marked with the unmissable landmark of a proudly maintained moustache. Kitty, the second half to the couple, was always trying to get him to shave it off, but he refused. It was the one bit of him it seemed she couldn’t touch. A little island of independence. Lizzie remembered one time at dinner with them, when Harry was in hysteria relating a story about the time Kitty had tried to cut it off, and Brian stubbornly went around with a lopsided moustache for an age. Little sister Gemma had sat there looking left out. She hadn’t been born yet. The dog, Poppy, was wondering about freely, and she went up to Lizzie and rubbed against her leg. It had been washed, and the fur felt soft under Lizzie’s fingers. She wondered who had been thoughtful enough to prepare her for such a solemn day. The dog was getting old, and going grey. Lizzie hadn’t really thought that dogs went grey before she met this one, but she’d never seen a dog grow old; she was more of a cat person. She was surprised to see it as a puppy in photographs, pictured with a young Tom and a vibrantly coloured coat. Lizzie patted it, and it looked lovingly into her eyes in the way dogs always seem to do when you give them a tiny piece of comfort. Lizzie forced herself to leave the company of the dog. She walked across the light filled room to the casket and looked down into the face of a stranger. She stood in shock for a moment, wondering if she’d got the facts right, wondering if it wasn’t an uncle of Luke’s instead of a father. The look of confusion melted into that of vague comprehension. She guessed that Kitty had had him shaved; a last victory for the woman, and a nice, clean-cut husband to display to the world. Lizzie turned around and scanned the room for Luke, but he was nowhere to be seen. She set out to find him, but somehow managed to bump into Kitty. This was the last person Lizzie wanted to see right now, which she was ashamed to say under the circumstances, but in her opinion, what Kitty had done was unforgivable. Kitty was, as everyone else, dressed in black, but she liked to think that hers was a slightly darker shade, as is befitting of a widow. She had noticed her daughter-in-law wondering about on her own, silly girl, and couldn’t bear to see the disorder of a loose guest, especially at a funeral, where everything has a duty to be naturally solemn and ordered. To be honest, Lizzie wasn’t strictly her daughter-in-law, but Kitty thought she should be. Though she wasn’t sure whether she approved of her as a potential relation or not, this thing of Luke’s about being ‘modern’ and not marrying was silly. It turned out that Lizzie was just looking for Luke, so Kitty directed her out into the garden. Luke’s first instinct was to hide his cigarette when he saw Lizzie coming through the French window, but instead he took another drag on the white stick. She looked meaningfully at the cigarette in his hand, unspoken accusations running rife. Despite the decision not to make excuses, Luke couldn’t help but retort to this with an irritable ‘I’m stressed, alright?’ ‘You don’t smoke,’ said Lizzie, a fact since two and a half months after she met him. Luke said nothing, but then gestured inside to the casket framed in the doorway. She mentioned the killing affects of fags. Luke gave her a sharp look, but then softened he saw her face fall with the realisation of the insensitivity of using that line of argument. He reached out for Lizzie’s hand and loosely held her fingers, turning a ring round and round her right ring finger. ‘I’ll finish this one and stop,’ he said. They heard a screech around the side of the house and found Gemma leaning against the wall and standing on one leg with her other foot clasped in one hand. She turned around on hearing Lizzie and Luke approaching her and gave them a pathetic look. ‘My heel broke,’ she whimpered, slipping off the raised shoe and showing it to them along with a surprisingly long heel. ‘It came clear off.’ Lizzie opened her mouth slightly and raised her eyebrows at Luke. He didn’t return her look. He was all too used to his sister’s mishaps and silly mistakes. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked. ‘You have other shoes, don’t you?’ Gemma looked at him and nodded miserably. ‘I’ll… I’ll go now, then,’ she half stated half asked, and then hobbled off inside, sneaking upstairs without anyone noticing her. ‘I’m not experienced when it comes to funerals,’ said Lizzie, looking at the empty space where Gemma had disappeared out of sight. ‘But were those shoes appropriate?’ Luke shook his head, finished the cigarette, dropped it and crushed it under his foot. Lizzie gave him a look and he picked up the fag end, walked to the bin, and dropped it in. Lizzie took his arm and patted it. ‘Good boy,’ she said quietly. Kitty immediately spotted them as they entered the house, and gestured frantically, though solemnly, for Luke. ‘Mum needs me,’ he said. ‘You’ll be alright?’ ‘Yeah,’ said Lizzie. ‘I need the toilet anyway.’ It turned out that the hearse that was due to pick up the body been delayed, and wasn’t going to be there for at least a half hour after it was expected. After Luke had been on the phone to the funeral parlour, Kitty instructed Harry to get everyone out of the room with the coffin.
Lizzie didn’t make it to the toilet. She heard a small snuffling sound as she passed the study, and turned her head to see Gemma sitting at the desk. ‘Hey…’ she said. Gemma looked up and sniffed. Her eyes were puffy. ‘I did a really bad thing,’ she said quietly. Lizzie hesitated at the doorway, then entered the room and sat down next to Gemma. The shoes were sat on the desk and the broken heel was laid down beside them. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. ‘The shoes thing isn’t that bad.’ ‘Oh, it is,’ said Gemma. She blew her nose and looked at her feet. ‘I wore them because a boy I fancy was coming.’ Lizzie was quiet for a moment. ‘Well, we can’t do anything about that,’ she said finally. ‘Do you have any other shoes?’ Gemma let out a little sob. ‘I can’t wear my other shoes because I told mum that they were worn out and too small,’ Gemma said in a rush. ‘And I can’t borrow Mum’s because I’m a size five and she’s a size seven.’ ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Lizzie after a pause. ‘Do you have any pop socks?’ Gemma nodded. ‘Well, I’m a size six,’ said Lizzie. ‘So you can have my shoes and put on an extra pop sock so it’s not too big, and then I’ll do the same and wear your mum’s shoes. I’m sure she won’t mind. How’s that?’ Gemma looked up and smiled. ‘That sounds good,’ she said, brightening up. ‘Okay,’ said Lizzie. ‘You go get the socks and the shoes, and I’ll deal with this heel. Where’s the superglue?’ ‘It’s in the draw on the right,’ said Gemma and she hurried off. Gemma rummaged in her draw for the socks and found the shoes in her mother’s cupboard. Back in the study she exchanged shoes with Lizzie and they solemnly put them on. ‘All set?’ asked Lizzie. Gemma nodded quickly. ‘Okay, you’d better go see your mother.’ As Gemma walked away, trying not to hop from the happiness of relief, Lizzie unscrewed the top from the tube of glue and picked up the heel. She left the shoe on the desk with an elastic band holding the shoe together while it dried. She met Luke closing the door to the coffin at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Are we going already?’ she asked, looking at her watch. ‘No not yet,’ said Luke. He explained about the hearse, but had to break off to stop some old biddy from going into the closed off room. ‘Will you do me a favour and keep a lookout so no one goes inside?’ Luke asked Lizzie, placing his hand on her lower back. ‘Yeah, of course,’ said Lizzie. She opened the door. ‘You go on and see to your mum and Gemma.’ Luke squeezed her arm and walked down the hallway and Lizzie slipped through the doorway. The hearse finally arrived, and Lizzie was relieved of her guard post as the guests were allowed back into the room before the Brian was to be shipped away to the cemetery. Luke was to be one of the pallbearers, along with his uncle, Daniel, who walked next to Kitty, his arm in hers. He walked her over to the coffin before it was to be carried out and she took a last look. Kitty baulked. Her eyes bulged. She raised her hand, shaking, to her mouth and a shrill noise escaped between her fingers. Oh, the horror of it. There. There on his face…the moustache had reappeared. Daniel put his arms around her shoulders, but she pushed him away. She stood for a few seconds, frozen to the spot and swaying slightly as whispers swept through the room. Then she threw herself at the corpse, sobbing and ranting, all decorum forgotten. People rushed forwards, trying to calm her, but she became wilder, pulling at Brian’s clothes and pounding his chest. Daniel and Luke took her shoulders and tried to restrain her but she squirmed out of their grips. A cousin finally grabbed her by the waist and Daniel and Luke stopped her flailing arms from flying left and right. As they pulled her off, Kitty grasped the moustache tightly and tugged with all her might, a primordial screech exploding from the depth of her throat. There was a sickening ripping noise and Kitty and the room fell still and silent. Lizzie saw the small, dark object saw across the room in a graceful arc and fly over her head, but all eyes were on the pale and trembling Kitty. She was swept from the room by a crowd of relatives and Luke took the initiative to herd the others from the room. Lizzie quickly took up his lead. He looked almost as shaken up as Kitty. ‘I don’t understand how that happened,’ he sighed as the last of the mourners shuffled out of the front door to drive to the church. ‘And I don’t want to.’ Lizzie rubbed his arm and slipped her arm through his. ‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘Let’s just get this over with.’ Luke smiled and kissed her on the cheek. He agreed that it would be easier once today was over. He went outside to find the other pallbearers and Lizzie walked towards the coffin. For the second time that day Poppy, the dog, pressed up against her leg, and Lizzie couldn’t help but admire the dog’s new haircut, even though she doubted anyone else would notice. She scratched her behind the ears and went upstairs to put the superglue back in the draw in the study.
to tell you the truth weaselpop, the way it was written was much better than the plot itself. the character development of lizzie was great for a short story. i would've liked to know more about her and luke. although, i wasnt sure of the relevance of the shoe-swapping scene. and who's Thomas? he seems to be an unexplained character. but i think i'd like to read more of your stuff. altho the plot itself didnt excite me i found myself reading until the end because of the way you wrote it. i think you write really well thumbs up. got any more?
Thanks! It's my first proper short story, so I'm quite proud of it. Any suggestions? Can you think of a way to make the plot more interesting. The shoe thing was to get the super glue into the story. Errr... Thomas doesn't exist, it was another name i decided not to use. I'll edit that out.
Hey Weasel, I thought the use of language was excellent and it didnt come off as amateurish. I also enjoyed the image of the opening and the way it was presented, but felt like the rhythm was a little tedius. I didnt finish it however, the development of the story didnt grip me. Cheers and good luck. mkc
