Flowers for the Dead by Barbara Copperthwaite

thinking of the fun times they had together. She should have been remembering the way they lived, not the way they died.
    Laura has been grieving all wrong, she realises.
    But she needs to do this once more before she can move on. One more time in order to say goodbye to the pain, bitterness, and gnawing guilt.
    Leaning against the wall, she holds the last photograph she has of all four of them together, their four faces crammed into the frame, cheeks pressed against each other, grinning. A selfie she had taken and posted on Facebook with her new phone, just days before That Night, and which her aunt had printed for her, thinking it would be a nice thing. Laura had almost torn it up when she had been given it on the day of the funerals.
    Now, she crumples over it and sobs as the memories wash over her; less waves, more a tsunami. She cries until her stomach hurts, until her eyes hurt, until she can barely breathe. Finally, exhausted, she curls up on her nest of photos and dreams…
    The whole family stood in the hallway laughing at one other, each looking like an impression of the Michelin Man because they were wearing so many layers. Cheeks rosy red in the heat of the house.
    “Are you almost done?” chivvied Seamus. “I’m going to pass out from heat stroke if we don’t get out soon.”
    “Just a sec, I want my thermal hat,” Laura told her dad, searching through the chest of drawers in the hallway. “Got it!”
    “I’m not sure I’ll fit through the door; I’ve got my whole wardrobe on, I think,” sighed Jackie. Then she cast a stern eye on her son. “Go get a hat like your sister.”
    “Mu-um! It’ll flatten my hair!” groaned the 16-year-old.
    “Marcus, get on with it. We’ll be late at this rate,” Seamus said.
    Finally they were all ready, and bundled into the car. It was a freezing cold night, a heavy frost making everything as white as snow. The car glittered under the house’s security light, and Seamus had to scrape the windscreen and let the engine run for a couple of minutes before the windows had cleared enough for him to drive. Normally they would not be out on a night like this, choosing to stay in in the warmth instead, but it was bonfire night, Laura’s favourite night of the year.
    Marcus got in behind the driver’s seat, and whipped his hat off, preening his hair back into shape. Laura took her usual seat behind her mum, teasing her little brother even as she clipped her seatbelt on and they set off.
    “Take it Lily’s going to be there tonight? That why your hair’s got to be all perfect?”
    “I’m perfect enough, I don’t need to try,” he countered.
    “Er, ducking the question! Look at you, you’re blushing.”
    “Am not.”
    “Are too.”
    “Am not!”
    “How old are you two?” laughed their mum.
    Laura grinned and lowered her voice a bit. “So…is Lily going to be there?”
    Marcus’s face screwed up like a paper bag, wrestling with himself about how much to say. Then nodded. “Yeah.”
    “You really like her don’t you?”
    He nodded again, face earnest this time. “She’s cool. I mean, cool because she doesn’t even care about being cool. She loves drawing, and-and she’s shy but once you get talking to her about art she lights up. I….well, I’ve liked her since I was 14, when I used to see her walking down the school corridors or down the street, with her arms folded, head always down, lost in thought, hair up in a ponytail that shows off her ears. They stick out just that little bit, you know, and it’s so cute…”
    “You have got it bad,” Laura smiled gently, genuinely touched. Her little brother was growing up. She wished that Dean Matthews would think that kind of thing about her; she had had a crush on him for years, but her former classmate did not seem to realise she was alive.
    Lily was a lucky girl. Marcus was a genuine good guy – even if he was annoying sometimes.
    Brother and sister were close now, the arguments they had had when