49
On an island with fewer than a thousand inhabitants, even a funeral is a red-letter day. On the day of Donatella’s funeral, the whole of Kastellana Town turns out. Nothing says ‘break out your best black dress’ like the death of someone young and beautiful. Even if it is a suicide. Even if less than a week ago you were shunning her for her sins.
They are a small party when they set off. Sergio and Larissa, Hector and Paulina Marino, Felix and Mercedes. The fishermen who hauled Donatella from the water wait at a respectful distance by the boats, hats pressed to their chests, then fall into step behind.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a veil?’ asks Paulina.
Larissa walks on, head held high, face pale, tears long dried. Something’s happened in the night. Yesterday she was almost comatose in her bed, face to the wall, a creature made of tears. Today, she is angry.
‘No,’ she snaps. ‘I want them to see my face. I want them all to see my face. I want them to know what they’ve done. I want them to know I’m not ashamed.’
Larissa walks at the head of the progress to the church. Mercedes feels a perverse rush of pride at the sight of her. She’s so strong, she thinks. She won’t let them break her. Her father catches the eyes of friends, throws them nods and watery smiles, but Larissa is having none of it. She hates her neighbours now.
You killed her, thinks Mercedes as she looks around her. All you weeping women. You’re weeping because you know you killed my sister. Where were you? Where have you been? We saw you cross the road. Talk behind your hands. Shun her. We saw you. What are your tears worth now? You drove her to her death.
And I could have saved her. I didn’t tell, because she asked me not to, and now she’s dead and I will never be the same.
I hate you, she thinks, as Beata Vinci joins the walkers. As Ximena Vigonier tries to give her a sympathetic smile, she answers with a glare. I saw you, she thinks. While she was crawling on the flagstones. I saw you turn your face away. As sure as she is dead, I know who killed her, and every one of you has played your part.
And she thinks of Donatella, and wants to howl at the sky. The guilt will consume her forever. I should have known. I should have told. I should have stopped her, by whatever means I could. I killed her, too. Me, as much as anyone.
On Calle Iglesia, Larissa runs her eyes over the throng, and Mercedes sees the same thoughts run through her head.
‘Larissa,’ says Sergio, and attempts to put a hand on her arm. She bats him off like an annoying insect. Turns back and leads them forward to the church.
‘Are you okay?’ Felix asks, in a voice so low that no one around them hears.
Mercedes nods, and swallows her tears. I will never be okay, she thinks. But still she is glad that he has asked.
It’s always been this way, though, she thinks. Less obvious when the restaurant is open and the place is full of sound, but inescapable now. Donatella kept me distracted, kept my eyes turned away, but I know now that my parents hate each other.
She glances at Felix under her wet lashes. He can’t be okay himself, she thinks. He saw her too, beneath the water. He went out with the boats that brought her back.
‘I don’t know what I’ll do,’ she whispers to the air. And feels him hear her.
‘Larissa,’ says Paulina, ‘we’re all with you.’
Larissa tosses her head. ‘It would have been better if you’d been with my daughter,’ she says, loudly.
A murmur of discomfort. Mercedes eyes her neighbours sharply. You know. You know it’s true. I hope you wear your shame forever.
They reach Plasa Iglesia, and Larissa sees what waits. She stops, stock-still, and her shoulders stiffen.
‘No!’ she says.
The stiff shoulders go back as she sucks in a breath. ‘NO!’ she roars, and she starts to run.
They’ve formed a reception party. The priest and the duke side by side in the doorway. And either side of them, spilling down the steps, all wrapped in their vicious white, the solteronas. His virginal attack dogs. Retained to keep his dominion quaking in fear.
‘Larissa!’ Sergio is caught on the back foot. Has to run as his wife charges towards the church.
‘No!’ she thunders. ‘No! I won’t have them here! No!’ Larissa’s hand cleaves the air, shooing them like birds from the grain fields.
‘Larissa, please!’ Sergio cries. He tries again to get hold of her arm. But Larissa’s rage is superhuman. She throws him off as though he were made of paper.
The solteronas’ faces drop. Their mouths fall open.
‘Go!’ howls Larissa. ‘Get out of here! Go!’