Siobhan's Sporking: Billy and Me, Chapter 25

I was going to ask Carter to review this chapter, but I realised he might get a bit arsey with me. Okay, it’s Carter, he would tear me a new one and then sulk, and since his chapter is coming up in my writing, I’m going to make nice with the boy.

So, we’re at chapter 25, and the first chapter in part four! Because of the amount of book we have left, I’m going to guess we either have four chapters left to go, all fair-sized, or else these are almost drabbles, small chapters making up the last part. Like how I tend to write.

I think I’m going to post the whole chapter, and analyse paragraph by paragraph. It’s a fairly short chapter, but there may be a bit to say. Who knows?

Black. That is all I see looking in the mirror on the day of Molly’s funeral. Black, black, black. Black dress, black tights, black coat, and a black ribbon holding my hair in the plaited style Molly loved.

First of all – I wear this outfit for work. Occasionally, I’ll add a colourful scarf (all the girls on my section wear scarves, I like that, feels like a team thing). Second of all, I know black is a colour, but you’re making the word lose all meaning. Try and mix it up a little, without sounding like a knob. If you can’t, rephrase. ‘My clothes blend into one another, tights into dress, dress into coat, all of them black to show my grief. I’ve even included a ribbon in my hair, matching the outfit, which I’ve used to secure the plaited style that Molly had suggested for the BAFTA awards. It felt like an appropriate gesture, given the circumstances.’ I just upped the word count again.

But it’s not just my clothes that ooze the darkness. It’s everything. I can see the blackness under my eyes from the lack of sleep and the general doom that surrounds my existence.

Trust me, I definitely want to sit her and yell at her to get the fuck over herself. But I’ll hold back. And I just kinda did. This whole imagery … it sounds like she badger-eyed her make up and is blaming it on lack of sleep. When did Sophie have trouble sleeping? All she’s done is mope in bed! I know there’s a difference between moping and sleeping, but still … and general doom? Really? Doom surrounds her existence? Because she knows two people have died? Oh, honey, you’d never survive a George R R Martin novel. You wouldn’t function.

“Are you ready, love?” my mum asks, as she knocks on my door.
“Yeah,” I say, fiddling with my coat buckle as I try to do it up. “I don’t think I can face seeing everyone, Mum. I want to say my goodbyes but-“ I stop, choking on my own words.

Why is she choking on her words? She’s not crying, she’s fiddling with her coat buckle. She’s performing basic tasks, and not applying emotion to them. Seriously, all she had to do in this part is write ‘I say, as I fumble on the coat buckle. I was trying to do it up, but my hands are shaking and my vision is blurring through the film of tears.’ And then continue with the dialogue. And it’s true, no one says funerals have to include crying. The funeral I’ve written, Carter describes himself as feeling numb, and Lambrini is confused because she’s worried about Carter and Curtis, but happy for the time she can spend with them at the wake. So I wouldn’t hold it against Giovanna if she didn’t want Sophie to be upset at this particular moment, but I get the feeling she is actually trying to tell us that Sophie is sad and on the verge of tears.

“It’s OK, darling,” she says, walking in as she takes the buckle from my hand and fastens it up for me, holding my hand once she’s finished.

This might have had more impact if Sophie hadn’t had everyone hand her everything on a freaking platter for the rest of the book. It’s not the poignant moment it should be, because who doesn’t do shit for Sophie in this book?

Not only will the whole village be out in force today at the church, but they’ll also be gathering at Tea-on-the-Hill for Molly’s wake, something peter and Molly’s friends at the WI have grouped together to organise. All I had to do was give them my permission to use it now that I’m it’s new owner. It’s a lovely idea, and one that Molly would have loved, but I din’t think I’ll be able to cope with being in the shop yet without Molly’s presence.

Did you see it? The thing that smacked me in the face? The thing that made my jaw drop? Guesses in the comments, please!

Seriously, this is her BEST FRIEND and she hasn’t had a hand in her FUNERAL and mentions that Molly’s SON and actual FRIENDS who give a shit about her have arranged it all. And Sophie’s smug about the fact that she ONLY has to hand over a key. She’s not even going to pay her respects and celebrate Molly’s life at the wake. THIS IS HOW LITTLE SHE CARES ABOUT THE PERSON WHO APPARENTLY STARTED HER HEALING PROCESS AFTER HER FATHER DIED!

I can’t rant enough.

“It’s too much, Mum.”
“I know,” Mum says, as she pulls me in for a hug. “Why don’t we go to the church and wait until everyone is seated and busy before going in? Hey? We can sneak out before the end if you like?”
I nod. Going unnoticed is exactly what I want to do today.

I feel sick. I wrote that into my funeral scene. The big difference is, that the person sneaking in late was friends with the deceased person’s relative, and barely knew them. They barely have a connection to this dead person. And the other motive for coming late is to avoid their own relatives, because things are crazy awkward in their own situation and they don’t want to make a scene out of respect for the grieving family. They still stayed for the wake, to make sure the key people who needed to know they were there did, and they paid their respects the best way that they could. What, exactly, is Sophie’s excuse?

We sit at the back of the church and are the first people to catch a glimpse of Molly’s coffin as it is carried in. The sight is heartbreaking.
Suddenly, the realization that this is all very real hits me.
Molly is in there.
She’s gone.
I’m never going to see her again.

Again, she hasn’t described anything to make me believe Sophie is in shock, numbed to the pain in anyway. She never says anything to that effect. I haven’t posted it up on the writing blog, but I’ll show you a scene I’ve written between Carter and Curtis over Callum’s death:

'You're not playing music.'
'So?'
'So, I know you like music. It's just weird, that's all.'
I took a deep breath in, questioning why I decided to come out with him after all.
'And you've got one of the last games of the season tonight, aren't you meant to have practice?'
He stared out the window, and I concentrated on the road.
'Do you miss him?' He started again, out of the blue. He didn't have to explain himself to me, but I couldn't answer that, not with Curtis asking the question. 'I'm not sure I do.'
I wasn't expecting that.
'I know I don't.' He whipped his head around to stare at me. 'Come on Curtis, we barely saw him.'
'You barely saw him. I saw him every week.'
'And it still didn't make a difference, did it? Do you even know what he liked? If he even liked anything? Or was he as blank with you as he was with everyone else? Because I promise you Curtis, he played you. He played everyone.' I could feel myself getting mad, but I was on a roll, and I had to get these thoughts out that have been plaguing me.
'And you just knew that from all the time you didn't spend with him?' Curtis bit back. I parked up first chance I got, too angry to carry on driving.
'Think about it, you spend every week there, trying to show him someone cares, that there's a point to being alive and he doesn't even try to stay alive for you.'
Curtis' face went pale, and he bit his lips together. It took me a moment to realise that he was trying not to cry, because these were all the thoughts he'd been having about it too. I tried to calm the fuck down.
'Sorry.'
'No, you're not.' Curtis had gone scarily quiet. 'Because you think it's true, so why would you be sorry?'
'Sorry I hit a nerve.' I felt exasperated. I wish I'd never bumped into him.
'No you're not.' He shook his head. 'Because you never are. You think hitting a nerve is like, free therapy.'
'You don't know that I'm never sorry.'

That’s the day after their brother kills himself, so yes it’s a little different, but at the same time, this is proceeding the funeral and they’re talking about blame, and shame, and not feeling sad like they should and regret that they didn’t do enough. So when it comes to the funeral and they’re not responsive, you can see the foundations for that in this scene. My point is, Giovanna hasn’t planted enough in the previous chapters to show any changes. As far as this read to me, she’s disrupting her angsting over breaking up with Billy to make a show for five minutes at the funeral of some lady she used to work for. And so it’s tough to say goodbye to a friend! It’s tougher to always regret that you never took the chance when it was there. Man the fuck up!

The service goes by in a blur as questions and thoughts fill my brain. Why Molly? Why now? She’ve given so much to everyone she’d ever met … how could such a slow and painful death happen to someone like her?

Yes, she’s given so much, and yet you can’t spare her a day in her honour. And slow and painful death? She got half a chapter out of twenty-three chapters!

It’s not long before Mum is leaning into me, saying we should leave if we want to get out before being stopped.
I nod and allow her to guide me out of the wooden doors of the church.
We walk home in silence – both absorbed in our own thoughts.

I can’t even, guys. You want more of Departed for comparison? I’ve tried not to give too much away, but apologies for other spoilers:

The Fennigans' weren't home when we got to their house. I overheard one of their aunts saying how the burial was private and they were going to the cemetery straight away. And then I saw my mom coming, and hid my face behind my hair, scooting out of the way and heading for the back yard. Maybe it was a stupid mistake to come, as cool as it was to hang out with Lisa and Becki, and see Foster; today there's no one I know really well, and everyone seems really tense.
I was almost at the door to the backyard when I noticed Carter and Curtis' door was open a little. I stuck my head in, but there was no one around. So I snuck in, sitting on Curtis' bed and looking around at all their stuff. Carter's CD's piled everywhere at the end of his bed, Curtis' wall covered in sports memorabilia, the pictures Carter has of Thomas, Fearn, Becki and me up on the walls. I've not been in here much, but I still feel comfortable here, like I've come home properly.
I don't think I'd been sat there for very long, maybe ten minutes, when the door creaked open again and they walked in, Carter ripping off his tie and Curtis shedding his jacket. They both stopped when they saw me.

Okay, that’s after the funeral, going into the wake, but first off, we get Lamb’s thoughts. Second off, she’s playing the avoiding game too, but she is not leaving. She wants to see people, just not her mother. Sorry, I didn’t write her leaving the church, that was in Carter’s viewpoint. Still, Lambrini’s paying more respects to a guy she felt creeped out by than Sophie is to her best friend. And in fact, Lambrini’s there because of her best friend, so she pwns Sophie even more.

I hope you’re not expecting anything else. That was it for Molly’s funeral. We have to get the focus back on Sophie and all, you know?

When we get home we notice colin in the garden, bending over a firepit lighting some wood. Unsure what he is doing, we both go out to him.
“Colin?” calls Mum.
“Oh!” he says, startled. “I thought you’d be a bit longer.”

You and me both, Colin. You and me both. This is what you’re trying to shag your way in to. You lucky fictional character, you!

“What are you doing?” Mum asks, gesturing towards the fire.
“I erm …” He turns to the fire and then back at us sheepishly. “When my wife Pauline died I wasn’t too sure what the best way was for my kids to be able to say goodbye. I wanted them to be able to express what they felt, but thought going to her funeral would be too hard on them.” He stops and picks up a stick, poking the burning wood, making the flames dance wildly. “So I lit a fire in the garden and we all sat round and spoke about their mum. Talked about all the little things that made her the wonderful woman she was. I wanted them to remember the good times. We ended up writing these letters to her, which we read out and then threw onto the fire – the smoke taking the words up to her in heaven. I … I thought we could do that for Molly.”

I think this is a nice gesture, but at the end of the day, I really hate the phrasing of ‘taking the words up to her in heaven’ – newsflash chump, you’re all adults in this situation. What’s with the laments terms? But seriously, the guy her mother is dating is thinking more about gestures for Molly than Sophie or her mother. Because it’s for someone else and not for Sophie, I guess? I feel so fucking cynical reading this book.

What a remarkable man, I think, as I take in this thoughtful gesture.
“That’s lovely, Colin,” says Mum.
“I mean, we don’t have to read them out if you don’t want to,” says Colin, looking at me. “I don’t want any of us to feel uncomfortable. I just thought it would be nice to send up our thoughts.”

I somehow doubt that Molly would give a flying fuck about Sophie feeling sorry for herself that HER best friend died after HER boyfriend was caught not-cheating on her and now Sophie has NO ONE to worship her properly.

“Thank you,” I say.
“Let’s get out of these clothes first, shall we? Get into something more comfortable,” says Mum, as she starts to walk towards the back door.
I smile at Colin and then follow Mum inside.

The perverse asshole in me just went ‘Sophie’s Mum wants to what?” is she doing this note burning naked? They’re smiling a little too easily as well, Sophie just seems happy, and unbothered, and I hate her. Her message/poem is tripe too. And Sophie hasn’t shared any of the following sentiments at any point whatsoever in the other 92% of this novel.

My dearest Molly,

I wake up and I think of you.
I see a teacup and I think of you.
I see a cake and I think of you.
I see a flower and I think of you.
I taste a scone and I think of you.
I see a smile and I think of you.
I hear a laugh and I think of you.
I feel a hug and I think of you.
I go to sleep and I think of you.
I will never forget you, Molly, for you are part of everything around me – every object, every thought, every feeling, everything I do – EVERYTHING.
I hope that one day I am able to touch the lives of others in the way that you have touched mine. You turned my life around and put the sunshine back into my world.
I will love you forever.
Your girl Sophie. Xxx

Remember this poem. Because she is about to shat over every teacup, every scone, every object – EVERYTHING. And once again, this is all about Sophie, and barely about Molly. She mentions herself twenty-seven times in that poem, ignoring the sign off. She mentioned Molly fourteen times, ignoring the opening. She thought of herself nearly twice as much as she thought of her best friend. Lamb and Carter, do you want to round this off with some of your own thoughts about each other? Since you’re the bestest best friends to ever best friend, and all?

Carter: Anyway, the short story? I think Lamb and I are pretty golden. Like, beyond her spilling her guts and me feeling all protective of her. There's a genuine friendship there despite that. I'm glad she moved in next door. She feels a little bit like all the things that were missing in the rest of my friends, which sounds really shitty yet really cutesy at the same time. Like, she's adventurous in a way Thomas isn't, she can snap back to focus much better than Becki when she starts to drift, and she knows pep isn't always the answer. If only Fearn could catch on.

Lambrini: He's always full of ideas, to the point where mum has asked more than once if he has ADHD or something. Dad tries to use the buddy-buddy thing to remind him that we both have homework and that comes first which does work on him, but it means afterwards we have to do something. But I like his ideas, which might be invading Lisa and Becki's house to use their massive pool, or us trying to skateboard and failing miserably. When he can't be bothered to do anything, I get dragged into their garage and he'll mess about on his guitar.

Okay, he's like, the coolest person I've met in a long time but honestly? Carter's not brilliant at playing the guitar. Unless the songs he plays are meant to sound like that. I try very hard not to wince when he plays, but he must know I'm not impressed. And that I'm too polite to say he's crap.

Yeah, that’ all from the first book, Uprooted. It’s really not hard to take the focus off the primary character for a second to have them think about someone else. You get the added bonus of your main character not looking like a complete asshole for five seconds, because they care.

7% left. The next chapter has Sophie ‘renovating’ the shop and proving that she knows nothing about business, or the time-consuming business of vintage craftwork. Eat me.