Some babbled incoherently. I reckoned they were speaking in tongues, though it sounded like horseshit to me.I spotted Happy, curly, dark-brown hair swaying about her shoulders as she moved to the music, a look of worshipful ecstasy painted on her face. Imagine that, the prude could smile. Her face was actually pretty when she wasn't frowning. She looked a youthful thirty, her figure sleek beneath a long, floral skirt and modest white blouse.I pushed my way through the crowd. None seemed to notice – or maybe they didn't care, chalking it up to 'God' – that an invisible force pushed them to the side. I reached Happy, perspiration dotting her face. It was sweltering in the tent; the pathetic AC chugging away didn't seem to do a damned thing. The Reverend launched into another hymn, one I vaguely remembered from my childhood sitting in my pa's church bored as a coonhound too old to hunt. 'Come All Ye Faithful, ' I reckoned the song was called."O come, let us adore you," sang the. Even after their uneasy truce at the funeral, too many years had passed, too much had been left unsaid for it to be anything other than uncomfortable. What she hadn’t expected was that they’d barely spend any time together at all. He’d collected her from Gemma’s at noon on Monday, Melissa having once again requested to pretend her friend’s flat was her own. This time, Gemma had seemed dubious. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ she’d asked. ‘Don’t you think you ought to tell him the truth now that you two are getting on better?’ ‘Oh, and how would that look?’ Melissa had retorted. ‘I swear he already thinks I’m being hysterical about everything. I know he thinks I’ve made too much of a fuss about being the last to know that Charlie was dying–and about being the last to know they were planning to build all these new houses at the farm. If I admit I lied about where I live, he really will think I’ve got a screw loose.’ Reluctantly, Gemma had agreed to the continuing deception. ‘But.
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