Short Story: Sian's Song

The church is packed. People spill outside, even though a gale is blowing, lining the road. Black coats flap, hats are clutched.

I think about how Sian loved the wind. All summer we've gone down to the beach on our bikes without the grown ups. Mam said we could, if we were careful. Sian let her hair fly out behind her. No helmet, no shoes, we screamed with laughter to freewheel down the long hill. I’ve not been there since that last time. Maybe I won’t, again. Mam has put my bike away.

“I couldn’t bear it, if you...” she said, choking.

I walk down the aisle, and the lace on my new dress scratches my neck. Try not to fidget. Hundreds of eyes are watching me, our whole community. They are waiting for my song. I take a deep breath, and begin.

The high notes sparkle in the rafters, dancing with the dust motes and the wooden angels.

When I’m done, I catch Sian’s father’s eye. He’s dabbing his face with a tissue, and he nods. I wonder if she can hear my song, up there.