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Before she covers the mirror she gets an unavoidably straight-on look at her own face. The reflection shows greying skin and dark under-eyes and a puckered lip. Far better to have it covered, then, although, for an instant, cracking it on the spot seems far better.
*
There are far too many people both inside the house and loitering outside on the lawn. It's a little too chilly outside for this time of the year, but most are heavy smokers too polite to light up inside where recently hoovered rooms boast freshly-whitewashed walls.
She doesn't even smoke, but she kind of wants to drop a still-burning butt onto one of the thick carpets just for the hell of it. It would be a nice distraction for a while, but not for nearly long enough, and, afterwards, there would be blame thrown and snide looks aplenty and more of a mess than the one she was trying to cover to begin with. She wishes she were a smoker anyway.
Across the garden they're all currently occupying, she spots Julia. Seems she's stopped crying for long enough her face is dry, blotchy, though her limbs look as if they are barely serving her well enough to keep her upright. The temptation to walk over, hug her again and again, mutter some meaningless words, it's all very tempting, but Lucy has said enough, they probably all have, and if she remembers anything about this day, if it won't all turn into a blur in her head after days and months and years, she'd like to think she didn't make it worse and left well enough alone when she had a chance to do so. After all, she's been equally hugged and cried upon and comforted, even though she's the grandchild who lived on the other side of town and never visited, not often enough to count.
*
She spots the candy bowl the moment she steps back inside the closed veranda which doubles as a greenhouse.
She can only imagine she didn't notice it before because she's been using the front entrance to the house by the summer kitchen, but she's reasonably sure there are significantly more people around that part of the house right now and, if she can't simply walk out the front gate or smoke or set something on fire, then she might as well hide as nicely and unobtrusively as she can. Getting drunk is also an option, but it's hardly that kind of wake. Well, not yet anyway.
It's full to the brim, the bowl, she notices, wrappers a bright orange and silver. Better quality than the Christmas stuff they usually hand out. She can't imagine who could have filled it. Who could have shopped for these. Of course she's being stupid, they must have been bought weeks ago, probably thinking their grandmother would live past Halloween and into November at least, maybe to another birthday if they could only get her through into December. But she didn't, and they didn't, and she's gone now.
Doesn't quite explain why there are sweets about, but there's no one to ask, and, even if there was, Lucy doesn't think it's quite the thing. She hasn't been the most helpful, as her cousin would say, since arriving to help with everything, therefore she has a feeling the time for inane questions can be left for later.
"Not that I expected kids to actually show up, but. You know."
Lucy doesn't jump, physically, but it's a close thing. She leans back and shifts where she stands until Julia comes into view.
"Saw you heading in," she then hears her mutter, but it's so soft the words would have gotten lost were they not standing next to each other. The veranda door is open to the garden and yard beyond, and the tall, narrow door into the rest of the house is barely cracked open. Ostensibly, they're alone, they can comfortably speak at a normal volume, but maybe, for the time being, there is no normal to be found.
Julia's hair seems a darker blond than usual. It's overcast today, so much so Lucy considered turning on a hallway light earlier just to make sure no one trips over anything, before realising there is nothing to trip over other than the carpet. The tables are all inside the bright, white rooms beyond, where people are, and the broad windows let in more than enough light to see every single thing. Nothing to hide.
"Yeah, I don't smoke." Obviously. Everyone knows this. It's not a secret or a revelation.
Evidently, Julia ignores this statement, as there is nothing to reply to it. Today of all days, it isn't rude. She says, "I set it out."
If Lucy seems confused, Julia must pick up on it. She steps closer until they're shoulder to shoulder, and then the both of them are staring at the big, solid table occupying the entire back of the veranda, and at the bowl of candy.
"We got bags and bags of it. I think Dad wanted it to be normal, so we drove out that day and got bags, all of it sitting in the back of the summer kitchen. I've been thinking about it, how it's the first day of everyone being here to say goodbye to Nan, and it's Halloween. And then the day after, that's Saints Day or something, right? Well, then the third day, what is that? I guess it's just another day. Normal. Nothing to see here. Makes sense it would feel normal by the end of it. And I thought I might as well set it out for something to do while everyone was still about to arrive, but I don't think the kids will come. Do you?"
The question is so sudden after all of these words, after everything. Being asked something outright rather than being told to do something in the form of a question is so sudden Lucy doesn't know if she's about to fall off her feet with the shock of it. But the silver and orange of the wrappers catch a stray shaft of sunlight, and it shines in her eye almost painfully for half of a second or less, and she thinks how no one will touch the candy, no one will even look at it. It will probably be thrown away after all is said and done. Probably won't even have the bowl out by tomorrow. Hide it under a table back in the kitchen to be disposed of later when anyone's got a head for it.
"No, I don't think the kids will come," Lucy says.
Julia walks away. There's no more to be said, it seems.
Outside, the start of an early autumn storm drives a few people inside, the ones lucky enough to have seen the sky.