The morning of Katie’s funeral is unbearably sunny and bright. The grass is being mowed at the church and it feels like we’re heading to a friend’s barbecue, not a friend’s burial. I asked mum to arrive as close to the start time as possible, so we’re not early enough to have to sit next to Katie’s family and can sit at the back of the church, hopefully unnoticed. I spot loads of kids from school. They’re all in school uniform. I don’t know why but I didn’t expect that. I’m not in uniform. I didn’t get the memo, as mum says. As I walk passed them, trying to hide behind mum’s biggest sunglasses, they all stare at me. Some snigger. Then I hear one of them say, ‘I bet she pushed her.’
This stops my body from moving any further. Mum must have heard it too because she pulls me roughly by the arm, away from them. She guides me to the front of the church and makes me sit on a bench on my own while she goes to mingle. Before the service starts I switch my mobile on to check my Facebook page. Those kids are worrying me. I haven’t looked at my Facebook page since the morning of Katie’s death, over a week ago. Mostly because I couldn’t face to read what people are saying about it, but also because I don’t want to see Katie’s profile picture. It’s of me and her in Newquay last summer, on the beach. It was the best holiday ever, even though we’d gone with our families. Most of the time Katie and I had been hanging around surfers trying to pull. Eventually it worked but we’d both wanted the same boy. It caused a massive argument until, as usual, I gave in and went for his mate instead. We had a great time with them, without our parents knowing. Mum wouldn’t have minded too much but Katie wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend. Her dad had even threatened to move her to an all girl’s school if he ever saw a boy ‘sniffing around her’. Luckily, on this holiday he was too busy trying to win back Katie’s mum after cheating on her with one of his work colleagues. This gave Katie, and therefore me too, our first taste of freedom.
As Facebook loads, I think about how different life was last time I was on-line. I literally didn’t have a care in the world and the summer holidays seemed full of potential. If only I could go back in time and send myself a message to warn me of what was about to happen. I would never have gone to that quarry to hear more about Katie’s ‘plan’. The plan that would stop what her dad was doing to her. I would’ve spent the morning telling my mum about what Katie had confided in me. She said she’d been getting ideas from some sick websites that were set up for that very purpose. Just thinking about that makes me shiver. As my Facebook page opens, my eyes are drawn to the top of the page where the red notifications tell me I have forty-eight messages and seventy-six new friend invites. How sick. It was the same when I switched my mobile on for the first time. I had loads of texts asking me for the gossip. I ignore the messages and invites for now. I’ve got to start by visiting Katie’s page. I click on our photo and struggle for breath as it brings up the familiar sight of Katie’s musings. Her last post is devastating in hindsight.
‘Life starts now! Me and Hannah Walker against the world!’
She meant the start of the school holidays, which seemed so full of promise. I remember I had clicked ‘Like’ on it just as she arrived to meet me that day. What’s even sadder than her post are the comments people have made about it.
‘You mean life ends now!’
‘I heard she killed you. Some friend!’
‘Murdered in cold blood. RIP.’
‘Suicide pact gone wrong?’
‘Watch your step!’
They’re mostly horrible, with a few RIP’s thrown in from friends. But my eyes keep going back to the murderer comments. How come people are saying I murdered her? Who’s spreading that? My hands shake as I click back onto my page to read my messages. I skim the list of senders and subjects until I see one that makes me stop and cry out.
‘I was there, I saw you.’
My heart starts thumping loudly in my head and my chest. I don’t recognise the name of the sender. Is this a sick joke or was someone really there? I didn’t see anyone. My body trembles at the thought of being caught. My breathing intensifies so much that I have to switch my phone off. Oh God, this just keeps getting worse. Just as I’m about to get up and leave, Katie’s mum approaches me. I won’t be able to hold it together in front of her. I won’t be able to look her in the eye. She looks like she hasn’t slept for weeks. Her hair isn’t washed and this is the first time I’ve ever seen her without make-up. She moves at a scary speed.
‘Oh, Hannah!’ She hugs me tightly and just cries. People are looking at us. The kids from my school are whispering to each other. Katie’s dad looks over briefly from the front of the church. Then, she pulls away and fixes her probing eyes onto mine like she’s trying to find Katie in me.
‘Hannah. Tell me honestly. Was she happy?’
I feel panic as I consider my appalling options. I can either lie by saying yes which would give this woman some peace in such a terrible time, or I can tell her the whole sordid truth about what Katie said her life was really like, and make things a million times worse. Finally, my eyes are drawn to Katie’s coffin. What do you want me to do?
‘I’m sorry but can I talk to you later? Everyone’s watching us.’
She looks kind of grateful, like she’s looking forward to sitting down with me and talking about her dead daughter.
‘Yes, of course. Find me after the service and we’ll sit down and have a chat.’ She takes my hands in her deathly cold grip. ‘Thanks for being such a good friend to her. She loved you so much.’
That’s too much for both of us and we burst into tears. Mum comes back and hugs me and then pulls me down next to her as the vicar asks everyone to be seated. A hush comes over the church and the vicar takes a deep, theatrical breath. The next thirty minutes are a living hell while Katie’s relatives talk about how amazing she was and how she had so much to live for. They remind me of all the things I’m going to miss about her. Her brother Josh struggles the most. I can tell he wants to show how he’s feeling, but he’s holding it in. His hands are clenched as he tells us what an annoying sister she was and how their dad always took Katie’s side in their arguments. He’s being a typical boy by focusing on the negatives. Probably to help himself get through this. He’s in the year above us in school, so he’s just finished his GCSE’s and will start college after the holidays. I used to get on with him until Katie told him I fancied him. Since then I haven’t been able to look at him without blushing. He actually didn’t get on well with Katie; he was always calling her a liar. She could be a liar at times, but mostly it was just white lies to get attention, or, as she put it, for ‘comedic affect’. She sometimes took it too far though, which always resulted in us falling out in spectacular fashion. We would go weeks without sitting next to each other in class or without messaging, skyping or seeing each other. Sometimes it was nice to have a break from her, but only because I knew we would always make up in the end.
When Josh sits down, it’s their mum’s turn. She moves so slowly, like she’s afraid of falling. Either that or she’s trying to delay what she has to do. I’m sure she makes eye contact with every single one of us in the church before she eventually starts to speak. I have to look down at my hands.
‘Katie was the perfect daughter. She’d do anything for anybody. She babysits, sorry, she babysat for all of our neighbours. She loved children so much and wanted to be a social worker to help those in need. Those NSPCC adverts made her cry every time she saw them because she has, or had, such a big heart. She always said she wanted lots of children herself. Our house is so empty without her. There’s no loud music at all hours or magazines and make-up strewn across the living room. The house is actually tidy for once. I hate it.’
She tries to control herself but everyone in the church is crying with her.
‘Thankfully, we still have Josh. But boys are much less trouble than girls, so I don’t know how I’m going to fill my days now. There will be no more slamming doors and arguments going on upstairs while I’m tr
ying to watch EastEnders. They loved each other really. Josh always let her in his room when she needed information about how boy’s minds worked. I’m sure half the things Josh told her weren’t true though. He liked to tease her.’ She takes a minute to compose herself. I can’t help but look up at her. Her nose is running and her cheeks are bright red. ‘Katie was also a good listener and gave really good advice to her friends. But she wasn’t good at taking advice, as Hannah will probably tell you. I haven’t just lost Katie, because you see, they came as a pair. Where Katie was, there also was Hannah.’
Oh no, everyone looks at me again.
‘Hannah, it would mean the world to me, Martin and Josh, and obviously Katie, if you would remember her through your eyes? You probably knew her better than any of us.’
Oh my God. Please don’t ask me that. Don’t make me stand up in front of everyone. I’ll cause a scene. Mum gently prods me and whispers, ‘Go on love, you’ll regret it later if you don’t say anything. It might make you feel better.’
There’s absolutely no way out of this. If I don’t do it people will accuse me of being a heartless bitch. But surely my legs won’t hold me when they’re shaking this much? I attempt to stand up but my knees are buckling under the pressure. I stumble to the front of the church and try to avoid looking at her coffin. But I have to stand next to it. The vicar leans into my ear as he pins a tiny mic onto my black jacket.
‘Take your time and don’t worry about getting upset.’
What do I say? I can’t organise my thoughts enough to focus on the living Katie. All I can picture is what she looked like dead. She’ll probably have that same far away stare on her face right now as she lays there, behind me. I wonder if they’ve closed her eyes. I wonder what they dressed her in. Mum tried to get me to go and see Katie’s parents, to help them pick out her clothes. But how could I do that? How could I help dress my dead best friend? She’s so close I can feel her presence, even though she’s not breathing anymore. Minutes are passing without me saying anything. Then, I hear my own voice, but I’m not controlling the words.
‘Katie’s my best friend. She’s here, I know she is, I can feel her. She’s probably laughing at us all for being so miserable. I don’t believe she’s dead, not really. Just because her body isn’t working anymore doesn’t mean she won’t be with us all the time.’ My voice cracks, ‘But not having her around physically is unbearable. I miss her so much. I miss her texts, her funny stories and her laugh. The silence scares me. I miss seeing her and looking at her face. I miss straightening her hair.’ My face is covered with snot and tears and my legs give way, ‘Oh God, I wish I’d helped her.’
I hear sniggering from some of the kids at the back. I have to touch her coffin to hold my weight up. I want to open it and see her but mum and Katie’s dad have got hold of me now and are walking me back to my seat. Her mum is sobbing and the vicar is trying to comfort her. He then asks us all to pray with him, to try to calm everyone down. His voice booms loudly across the church.
Eternal God and Father,
we praise you that you have made people
to share life together
and to reflect your glory in the world.
We thank you now for Katie
for all that we saw of your goodness and love in her life
and for all that she means to each one of us.
As we too journey towards death
may we do so in the company of Jesus,
who came to share our life
that we might share the life of eternity.
To him be glory with you and the Holy Spirit
for ever and ever.
Amen.
After the service, comes the burial. I stand next to an open grave. Katie’s coffin has been placed on top of this, held up with support. It’s unbearably hot. Is it wrong to wear sunglasses at a funeral? My mind is all over the place. I’m trying to avoid looking at the grave.
When I was younger, I suffered with night terrors and sleep walking. I would be certain that my whole family was dead and I was the only one who had survived. My mind tricked me into believing that I was somehow the reason they were all dead and so I worried that anyone who got close to me would die, which meant I thought I would have to live alone for the rest of my life. This was such an awful realisation that I would wet the bed and it would take at least an hour for mum and dad to coax me back into consciousness. I often wonder if dad left us because of the stress of dealing with my nightly interruptions. But mum always insists he left us for his current wife. How I felt during an attack of night terrors is how I’m feeling now. Hopeless. With nothing to live for. But most of all; guilty. Things have gone so far now that it’s too late to turn back and tell the truth. The police believed me when I told them I wasn’t there, and the Coroner gave a verdict of accidental death, which is why Katie can now be buried. But if the person who emailed my Facebook account is telling the truth and they did see what happened, I could still be caught.
My eyes are clenched shut and my hands are gripping mum’s arm. How tears are escaping from my closed eyes is a mystery. Katie’s dad has been unreadable all day. He hasn’t spoken to many people and he won’t look at me. His behaviour is so different to Katie’s mum’s. He must know that Katie would have confided in me. He probably thinks she committed suicide. I wonder if he even feels half as guilty as I do. This is all his fault, yet still he keeps quiet. I’m as bad as him because I’m doing the same. For the first time, I consider killing myself. Thinking about it brings an unexpected wave of relief. A way out. I feel a bit stupid for not thinking of it sooner. I consider my options whilst Katie’s white wooden coffin lowers and the vicar prays.
We now commit her body to the ground;
earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust:
in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life…
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Josh’s face finally crumples and he breaks down for the first time today. He covers his face with his arm and turns his back on her coffin. His dad reaches out to him but Josh pulls away and leaves the crowd. I wonder out of everyone here who will feel the loss of Katie the most. Seeing Josh break down makes me want to comfort him. I haven’t said how sorry I am. I’ve been so focussed on myself throughout all this that I wasn’t thinking about how awful it must be for him. I gesture to mum that I’m going over to see him. He’s under a big willow tree.
It’s cooler under here. As I approach, he turns his back on me to hide his face and wipe away his tears. I touch his arm and he turns around. His fringe hangs in front of his eyes. His hair is dyed jet black because he went through a bit of a Goth stage recently. According to Katie he’s over that now. He’s wearing a red and black striped t-shirt under a black jacket, with black jeans. Although he’s wearing navy converse trainers, he looks smarter than I’ve ever seen him. He’s so cute. But I really shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of thoughts. God, I’m sick. I was planning to say something to him but when I look up, into his blue eyes, I see Katie staring back at me. He mistakes my horror for grief and puts his hand awkwardly on my shoulder.
‘You should come over and help sort her stuff. Most of it’s probably yours anyway.’
‘Okay.’
‘See you.’
He walks away. I feel something that I haven’t felt for ages. I feel weirdly flattered that he’s invited me over. I’ve known him since primary school but we’ve never really been alone together. He was always just Katie’s brother, nobody special. All the time I’ve spent at Katie’s house over the last few years was mostly in her bedroom. Even when I stayed for dinner, Josh usually ate in his room. If we did bump into each other in the house he would just say ‘Alright?’ and carry on. I did recently tell Katie that I thought he was quite cute now, but I didn’t expect her to tell him. She was a bit evil like that, she liked embarrassing people. I watch him walk back to her open grave. I feel so sorry for what I’ve done to him.
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When it’s my turn I throw in a single red rose, a photo of us together and my favourite gold necklace. It’s a tacky retro name necklace. We bought one each on the market. Apparently, Katie’s wearing hers. I don’t even want to think about that right now. But I want her to have mine too. I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll ever be this close to her. Is her body really in there? Has she really got to sleep in this cold, scary graveyard forever? I’m still hoping there’s been a mistake and she’s not really dead.
‘I’ll come and visit you every single day, I promise.’
I can hear someone causing a scene, it’s distracting. Eventually, I look around and realise from everyone’s stares that it’s me who’s causing the scene. I’m on my knees by the side of her grave making noises that don’t sound right. Tears are streaming down my face and I have dirt all over my hands and knees.
Two of Katie’s male relatives lift me away and put me into mum’s car. I lie on the back seat and try to stop shaking. My teeth are grinding painfully. It feels as if every muscle is clenched and I don’t know how to unclench them. Mum reaches over to me, makes me sit up and puts what I assume are some sleeping tablets in my mouth. Then she makes me drink some water from a bottle. It’s only then that she lets me lie down in peace. She closes the car door but through the window I hear the Vicar tell her to ring the doctor if I get any worse. He says this is normal for people suffering from grief. But what’s normal for people suffering from guilt?
Chapter 3
I’m trying to hit someone. I’m trying as hard as I can but my arm is so heavy that it makes me miss them every time. I’m shouting at the top of my voice. I’m so annoyed. Their face is in shadow but I just know that I have to hurt them. Screaming so much is wearing me out. I’m so tired. I can barely lift my arm so I start throwing myself at them instead, but it’s like they have an invisible force field around them which is making me bounce off. I’m not making any impact on them at all. I can’t stop crying and shouting and thrashing. I need to make them pay. Then, I hear something shatter, which makes me sit up fast. I slowly realise I’m in my bedroom, soaked in sweat. I lie back down and close my eyes quickly. I don’t know whether I’m awake, asleep, alive or dead.
The Girl Who Died: A Young Adult Novel Page 2
