Chapter Eleven
The following morning, I creep into the kitchen to find my mother standing at the sink staring out of the window.
That woman is out there again. The woman from yesterday who saw me crying with Myfe. She hovers for a minute by the fence, and then walks away quickly. There is something familiar about her.
‘Hey,’ I greet Celeste softly, not wanting to scare her. She doesn’t move or react so I clear my throat. ‘Hey!’ I try again, a bit louder. Her head twitches a millimetre of acknowledgement in my direction. ‘Are you OK?’ I ask, moving towards the kettle.
She turns now, pasting on this weird, grimacey smile I’ve never seen before.
‘Very well, thanks!’ she says chirpily, like I’m a journalist harassing her on the red carpet about who made her dress and whether it’s a sustainable brand.
She is a shadow of herself, which is funny because I’ve always thought of all of the rest of us as living in Celeste Bretherton’s shadow. My dad especially. He sometimes feels like an outsider in this family; this quiet man, so rarely here in the country. He even has a different surname – Lundin – while the rest of us are Brethertons. My mum not only insisted on keeping her name when they got married but also on her children taking that surname. She said she did all the hard work in bringing us into the world, so why should he get all the credit.
That was a different woman. I never thought I’d be missing her overbearing, difficult side, but now it’s not there, I have to admit, I’m a bit frightened.
The front door bell goes and I open the door to find Sonali and Myfanwy, dressed in leggings and T-shirts, holding yoga mats.
‘What…?’ I begin but Myfanwy cuts me off.
‘We’re going to a yoga class!’ she announces. I glance back into the hallway to find Celeste looking off into the distance, pale and limp.
Down the stairs behind me, I hear Toni stomping down to join us.
‘I’ve got a mat for you and Mum,’ she chirrups, smiling excitedly. ‘And what you’re wearing is perfect.’
I glance down at my Stranger Things pyjamas and start to protest. ‘I’m really not in the mood, you guys, and…’
Myfanwy waves her hand. ‘No one is. That’s when it’s most important to do something. And exercise is the best something to do right now. It’ll be good for you. My Reiki healer recommended this place.’ Her tone is firm and final as she nods at Celeste. She means it’ll be good for me – and for my mum.
I look again at Celeste, who is staring off into the distance, somewhere past my shoulder. She is barely there.
I go grab a jacket.
Twenty-five minutes later, rolling around on my mat as a shouty teacher at the front yells about being calm and controlled, I have to admit I’m feeling a little bit better. The endorphins are kicking in and it feels good and important to be surrounded by so many of the people I love best right now. This is heaven.
‘This is hell,’ Myfanwy mutters on my right and I snort. ‘I should’ve made you all go to a spa or something.’
‘I’m enjoying it,’ Toni beams on my other side. ‘It’s inspiring me! I’m going to do Dry January and Veganuary next month.’
‘But it’s not January,’ I point out, perplexed. ‘Not even close.’
‘Oh…’ Toni looks baffled. ‘I thought they were just internet terms. Are you only allowed to do it in January? That’s a bummer, I really wanted to do it.’
‘You know you could just not drink or—’ I begin and Myfanwy puts out a hand to stop me.
‘Don’t explain.’
Now seated, the shouty teacher tells us to roll forward towards our toes. As my face arrives way too close to my bits, I hear my mum gasp.
She mutters something that sounds like but surely can’t be: ‘She didn’t even like yellow,’ and then sits up straight, looking over at me fearfully.
‘Huh?’ I ask, untwisting myself.
‘She didn’t like yellow!’ she says again and this time I’m sure.
Two mats down, Sonali leans over. ‘Who didn’t like yellow?’ she hisses and Myfanwy shrugs.
‘My sister!’ Celeste looks at me, stricken.
Diane, she’s talking about Diane.
‘Diane didn’t like yellow?’ I try to keep my voice soft and understanding. Celeste shakes her head, looking down again into her lap.
‘We’ve ordered yellow flowers for the funeral and I picked out this yellow dress for her to wear. I was thinking about how it was like sunshine – about how she was like sunshine – but I’ve just remembered her telling me once that she hated yellow. She said it always made her think of lemons and sick.’ She looks up again and her face is bright red now. ‘And lemons made her sick!’
At this moment, after weeks of waiting for this to happen, Celeste bursts into silent sobs. I scramble off my mat and over to hers, where I encircle her with my arms as we rock back and forth. She feels so fragile and small in my arms and I have to hold back tears of my own. From their mats, Toni, Sonali and Myfanwy all watch, eyes wide and sad. I nod at them to stay where they are. I don’t want anything to distract Celeste from this moment. I think this is the first time she’s cried – properly cried – and she needs it so badly. She needs to let it all out; she needs to fall apart; she needs to accept this horrible thing has happened. She needs to cry.
‘I miss her so much,’ Celeste whispers into my hair. ‘She was so much better than me – so kind and fun. How could something like this happen? Why?’
As she asks this, a small voice from somewhere in me wonders briefly if the answer to Celeste’s question is me. If it’s my fault.
The prediction said there would be a death. Was this always going to happen or did it only happen because of me and this stupid – I don’t know what to call it – prophecy? Should I have taken it all more seriously? Maybe if I’d warned everyone around me, they could’ve been more careful. Maybe Diane would’ve taken those symptoms more seriously; made it to the hospital before it even happened. What if I could’ve saved her?
The shouty teacher approaches, staring openly at my mum’s tears. ‘This is actually a very normal reaction in my classes,’ she tells us smugly. ‘People often cry out their inner turmoil. It just leaks out of them! My teachings are very cathartic and healing.’
Myfanwy snorts derisively at this but the teacher ignores her. She leans over, closer to my mum’s tear-stained face and whispers, ‘You’re welcome.’
With that, Myfanwy lets out a defiant, unapologetic fart.
Sonali bursts out laughing as Celeste sits up straighter.
Myfanwy eyeballs the teacher. ‘I bet that happens a lot in your classes too, right? It’s a very normal reaction, isn’t it? It felt very cathartic and healing.’
The woman looks disgusted as she stomps off back to the front of the class.
Myfanwy smirks as the rest of us – Celeste included – start to giggle uncontrollably.
‘I don’t understand people who don’t think farts are funny,’ Myfanwy says proudly. ‘If you disapprove of farts, you’re ruining so much joy for yourself. Like, we’re all doing them and we’re not going to stop just because Karen over there doesn’t think they’re funny. So you might as well enjoy them. That, or stop farting and literally die.’ She does it again and this time it’s even louder. ‘Plus,’ she tells us authoritatively, ‘as a woman, farting – or any bodily function really – is a feminist act. A feminist statement. Men have had the monopoly on farting as a funny thing for far too long. It’s high time women reclaimed fart jokes!’
At this, Celeste lets one rip herself and we all start laughing again as the room’s occupants divide themselves between disgust and amusement. Through my watery, can’t-stop-giggling eyes, I meet Celeste’s. Her face is swollen from crying and there are mascara stains everywhere, but she no longer looks like a shadow. She has colour in her cheeks and sparkle in her eyes.
She looks like Celeste again.