Chapter 11

As neither of my parents had ever learned to drive and my car was only a two-seater, my brother had offered to take us all to the funeral, which was being held in Stephanie's home town in Worcestershire. My parents gladly accepted but preferring my own company I elected to drive down myself.

I was at the old Norman church early enough that under different circumstances I would have explored the old architecture. This time I just hung, morosely around the perimeters, not prepared to make inane conversation with strangers. I saw my family arrive and go straight into the church. When the coffin arrived I watched from a discrete distance as four burly young men lifted it onto their shoulders. I recognised two of them as her cousins and could see their parents milling around too. I felt a cold anger when I saw the man who had started the saga as he led a weeping woman, whom I presumed was Stephanie's mother, behind the coffin.

I stayed in the background, only entering the church after everyone else. As a total atheist I deplore the whole idea of religion but funeral services are the worst. Stephanie was gone, not to somewhere greater, just gone; not because it was a god's wish but because I was jealous and petty. In many respects I should not have attended but knew that had I not my mother would have been very disappointed. I also needed some sort of closure and hoped that this could help provide it. Another attack of anger surged through me for entirely different reasons, when I saw Susan with her mother. This was the first time I'd seen this woman since she'd sent me that awful letter. Although many years had passed I still felt something akin to hatred towards her. The rage I was already feeling ensured that there would be no chance at forgiveness. I was grateful that Susan didn't see me because I was not sure how she would view the events leading up to the death of her best friend.

For the burial I again retreated into the background, trying to stay away from everyone, including my own family. This was something I felt that I could not share, even with them. As the vicar droned on I became lost in my own thoughts and failed to notice Stephanie's mother approach.

"You bastard!" She yelled. "You stole my little girl and murdered her."

Following the first two words she began to hit me. I made no attempt to defend myself, in fact I felt a little gratitude. I was being punished for what I did. What she was doing to me was trivial in comparison to what I'd done, but someone besides me felt that I was to blame. I deserved whatever this grieving mother could give me. She continued to hit me and scream, although her words never reached my consciousness. I felt that this was a penance that I must serve. Vaguely I became aware that the physical attack had stopped and became aware that her brother, whose name I'd forgotten, had pulled her away. Strangely, I felt cheated, I had not yet received sufficient punishment.

"Go!" He whispered in a very surprisingly friendly tone.

I nodded and retreated out of sight. Naturally enough my mother wasn't far behind to make sure I was okay. I confirmed that I was fine and shooed her back.

"Are you alright David?" A voice asked a few moments later.

I looked up, angry at being disturbed.

"YES! I am alright, although I shouldn't be." I said sharply as I turned to face an attractive woman.

She had called me by my name, intimating that she knew me. Even, given how I was feeling, I thought that I would surely remember meeting her before.

"You don't remember me, do you?" She said sadly.

Just as I was about to concur, it suddenly hit me. "Anita!" I exclaimed excitedly.