Nicci French - Secret Smile

It was still not fully light, and there was nobody on the Heath. No footprints, and as I walked mine were swiftly covered too. The ponds were frozen and covered in snow; the paths were discernible only because they were a smoother white than their surroundings.

I walked up the hill and stood there for a while. What was I thinking? I don't know. I just wrapped myself in my coat, turning up the collar and watching the snow fall all about me. Soon enough, there would be crowds here – walking, throwing snowballs, building snowmen, tobogganing down the hill with squeals of pleasure. But for now it was just me. I put out my tongue and let a flake catch on it. I tipped back my head and was blinded by the falling snow.

As I made my way back down the hill, I saw there were people now, like vertical smudges on a white canvas. And then I saw a figure, walking slowly along the path that crossed mine. As I drew closer I could make out that it was a woman. She had on a thick coat, a large hat pulled down over her eyes, a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. Nevertheless something about her remained familiar to me. I stopped where I was, with a tightness about my heart. Perhaps she felt my eyes on her, for she stopped too, and looked up. She turned her head towards me and then she took off her hat and put a hand to her eyes, to see better. Flakes fell on to her dark hair. For a few moments, she didn't move, and neither did I.

I wanted to call out her name: 'Laura! Laura!' I wanted to cover the distance between us so I could see her face properly. And she too seemed to be drawn towards me. She took an uncertain half step, her hat still dangling from her mittened hand. But she halted and still I didn't move.

Then Laura put on her hat and once more started walking along the path, away from me. I watched her as she became a shadowy figure. I watched until, like a lonely ghost, she faded into white.

Somehow, days passed. Weeks passed. Whatever you do, time always goes by. Then something happened.

I was dreaming that I was falling, falling through the air, and then I woke with a start that made my heart pound. The phone was ringing. I stretched out my hand instinctively, though I was still stupid with sleep. I half noticed, as I fumbled with the receiver, that it was dark outside.

I mumbled into the receiver and someone started singing into my ear. For a moment, I thought if this was part of my dream, a dream within a dream, then the words resolved. 'Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you

1 sat up in bed and clutched the phone. Behind the relentlessly cheery tune there was another noise: a rabble of voices; music and loud laughter.

'Happy birthday, dearest Miranda…'

'Don't,' I mumbled.

'Happy birthday to you!'

I twisted my head round to see the green glow of the numbers on the clock. 12.01 clicked into 12.02.

'I wanted to be the first to say it. You didn't think I'd forget, did you? I could never forget.'

'I don't want…'

'March the eighth. Did you know that was International Women's Day?'

'I'm going to put the phone down now, Brendan.'

'You're always in my thoughts. Not an hour goes by. And I'm always in your thoughts, aren't I?'

'You're drunk.'

'Just merry. And on my own now.'

'But Laura… ?'

'On my own and thinking of you. Just thinking of you.'

'Fuck off,' I said.

I put the phone down, but not in time to miss him saying. 'Sleep well, Miranda. Sweet dreams.'

Inconceivably, unforgivably, I arrived late at the church. I had a fistful of excuses. I'd been thinking what on earth I should wear, and whether it mattered, and suddenly I realized I'd been sitting on the edge of my bed staring at the wall for forty-five minutes and I didn't know what I'd been thinking about. The church was down in New Maiden, where Laura's parents lived, and it turned out to be much further than I thought, involving changes of train. And then I was in such a panic that I ran out of the station and took a wrong turning and found myself running along the edge of a golf course, unbelievably, with men in bright sweaters pulling their long leather bags on this bright spring morning.

There were two different doors to the church, both closed. I could hear people singing a familiar hymn inside, one I'd sung in school assemblies. I didn't know which door to take. I took the smaller entrance, down the side. I was worried I'd come out in some prominent place where I'd be stared at. I pushed at the door, but there was some resistance. As it opened, I realized that the small church was full and people were standing in front of the door. A bearded man in a dark trench coat moved along to allow me inside. I thought of the crowded underground train I'd come on. Move along inside, please.

I was halfway down the nave, stuck by the wall behind a pillar with a severely restricted view of proceedings. The hymn finished and someone I couldn't see started to speak. I looked around for familiar faces. It was a collection of strangers and I wondered for a horrible second if I had blundered into the wrong church, but then I saw someone who used to be at college with Laura and me. She caught my eye and I realized I couldn't remember her name. Someone to avoid afterwards. At the back I saw Tony, gaunt, harrowed, but weirdly embarrassed as well, as if he had sneaked in without paying. I hadn't been concentrating on the speech and now I made myself listen. It was like a radio slowly coming on. I found it hard to follow the sense at first. I just picked out phrases: 'happy young woman', 'first flush of youth', 'spring morning'. They seemed nonsensical to me. From the artificial tone, I assumed this must be a vicar who didn't really know Laura, who had only heard about her. 'Sometimes we want to ask God questions,' said the voice. 'We want to ask why bad things happen to good people. Why innocent children suffer. And now, why this beautiful, sunny young woman should die, so cruelly, so unfortunately, so unnecessarily. An accident of this kind would be horrible at any time, but for a woman like Laura, newly married, it is almost too much to bear.'

Through the fog of confusion and misery, I felt a steely jab. 'Newly married.' I hadn't known that. So they had got married. Laura had got married.

'And so,' the vicar continued. 'Our thoughts and our prayers must be with, not just Laura's parents, Jim and Betty, but with Brendan, her new husband.'

I could see him now. I leaned across and saw the front row of pews. I could only see them from the back. A grey-haired woman leaning forwards, a grey-haired man with his arm around her, and on her other side, sitting upright, facing forwards, Brendan. I could only see the back of his head, but I could exactly picture his expression. He would be the best mourner in the church. The world champion mourner. He would look sad but thoughtful. When the vicar mentioned his name, Brendan would have given him a glance, pursed his lips and given a modest nod of acknowledgement. I saw him turn slightly to Laura's mother. Exactly. In the midst of his suffering he would be helping others. What a star.

There was another hymn and then an uncle read a poem and the vicar said that the family would go out with the coffin and the other mourners should gather at the family house. It was a short walk. There was a map on the Order of Service. I didn't have one. I would have to follow the crowd. It was all rather like a school assembly, what with the hymns and the announcements and having to leave in a particular order. When the coffin was carried past me, I hardly connected it with Laura at all. I just thought about how heavy it must be and how they chose the men to carry it. I wondered if they were all relatives and friends or employees of the undertakers. Laura had been my best friend, but I had never met her parents. She had fallen out with them very badly about something to do with a boyfriend when she was in her last year at school. So when they followed the coffin out, it was the first time I had ever seen their faces. The funny thing was that Laura's mother, round-faced and fleshy, didn't look like her daughter. Laura had been the image of her father. She had been a beautiful woman and he was handsome. His face was gaunt, with prominent cheekbones. He looked ill at ease in his dark suit. Maybe he had borrowed it from someone.