If this were a movie, I think, it would be raining.

In the movies Lucy and I had watched together the weather always matched the proceedings of the moment: sunshine for seemingly never-ending happy days, storms coincidentally breaking just as the big fight is resolved, and rain for every funeral. Not here, however, and thus I make my way along the lonely path over the graveyard with the bright sun shining and no rain to wash away my tears.

I twist my shoulders self-consciously, aware of how constrained they are in my dress, resisting the urge to swash away my veil. There are other groups of mourners here, too close for me to forget about them, but not so close that I could take comfort in being part of their group. If I stumble now, I think, would they run over and catch me, or would they simply watch me fall from afar?

‘Long black dress, veil… Don’t you think that’s all a bit… over the top?’ I had asked Lucy once. ‘What’s next, mascara tears?’

‘Come on, you only get to go to my funeral once, at least try to look appropriately dramatic!’ She paused for a moment. ‘Mascara tears aren’t a bad idea actually.’

Flower petals fall as I continue my progression. I make my way from the gate to the very back of the graveyard to the lonely coffin waiting for me, waiting to be buried, waiting. I grip the single peony in my hand tighter, like it’s the lifeline that could pull me out of this moment.

‘It’s going to stand right here and you will walk down the path slowly with music playing… Do you know how to play the violin?’

‘Uhm, no.’

‘Are you willing to learn?’

‘What? Absolutely not!’

‘We’ll have to hire someone or get a recording. I know just the right guy…’

We had picked the flowers together too. Before. Not Lucy’s favourite – she’d always preferred sunflowers, marigolds, lilies… everything yellow and bright and happy. Too happy for her funeral, Lucy had said. She wanted something more dramatic, a flower that would lose its petals so that they’d swirl around the mourners like in a movie. We’d picked the rosy white colour to match the dress Lucy was going to wear.

I don’t know if she is wearing that dress now, with the coffin closed already. I hold my breath, quietly thanking the gods Lucy didn’t believe in that it was.

‘I want to invite the whole city and have a gigantic funeral progression! I can see it before me, just filling up the entire graveyard!’

‘Do you even know that many people here?’

‘Well, not really, but we’ll just post it in the newspaper saying there’ll be free food, someone is bound to show up. They don’t need to actually know me.’ She paused with a giggle. ‘Actually, I think I prefer it if they don’t. Let them make their theories. They couldn’t guess the truth even if they tried.’

‘You’re incorrigible.’

‘Oh, you love me, really.’

No one came, of course. I’d never posted the ad. I couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else here with me today, particularly strangers. Even the other mourners here, far away as they may be, seem to trap me. I can almost feel their breath on the back of my neck and their staring eyes on me, judging me silently.

For a few long moments, the only sound I can hear is that of the wind and the birds. I want to scream at them to keep quiet, to understand the gravitas of the moment, to behave like in the movies. But they have no concept of my pain, no incentive to pause their singing on such a pretty day, and I am left to quietly envy them instead.

Okay then, I think, just as Lucy told me. I raise my head and throw back the veil. We’d practised that when we finished sewing it. It dramatically catches in the wind, almost being pulled off my head completely. I feel the mascara tears I had so carefully painted on like lines of ice on my face. With one last heavy breath, I start with Lucy’s eulogy, written for no one’s ears but my own:

‘Lately, many people have expressed their sympathies about my loss and I never quite know what to say to them. Everyone is sorry, everyone feels my pain, everyone is there for me, should I need them. But no one ever finds the right words.’

‘You’ll need to memorise the speech, obviously. You can’t just stand there with a piece of paper in your hand.’

‘You just like giving me extra work.’

‘It’s my funeral, the least you can do is put in some effort!’

I smiled at the offended look Lucy gave me. ‘Okay then. Let’s write you the prettiest eulogy ever. You’ll have to help me, though, I’ve never actually been to a funeral before.’

‘Well, neither have I, but it can’t be that hard. Just say something like “I brightened up every room” and call me your sunshine or something.’

‘Of course, you would say that I say that about you!’

‘Just because I know it’s true, darling,’ Lucy said with a wink. At that, I just rolled my eyes.

‘That’s exactly my point.’

‘Lucy and I met only three years ago, through good friends of ours. I would love to tell you long stories about a will they / won’t they romance, but truth be told, it was pretty much love at first sight, at least on my part. When I, against all odds – and in some friendly competition – managed to win her favour and her love, it made me the happiest person on earth.’

‘What are you talking about? Not one word of that is true.’

‘Well, no one needs to know that, do they?’

‘Anytime someone you love passes away, there is a strong temptation to remember them perhaps a little too well. Misdeeds are forgotten, offences forgiven. Only the most shining characteristics make it into the version of them that we keep with us when they’re gone. But despite knowing how memory embellishes character, I just can’t seem to…’

‘That’s when the practised bit stops and you start saying what your heart tells you to.’ Lucy placed her hands over her heart.

‘But we are still writing that down, right?’

‘Of course we are, but that’s the story you have to convey. It’s like… directions on how to act. It’ll really move people if they think you prepared a speech but then went off script, so overcome with emotions you just couldn’t keep up the façade…’ At that, Lucy had flopped down onto my bed, dramatically closing her eyes and placing the back of her hand on her forehead.

‘You really are serious about this, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am!’ She sat up quickly to look at me. ‘Frankly, you should be taking this a lot more seriously. I’ll only get one funeral. It needs to be perfect.’ Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

My voice breaks – I had practised that sound for weeks to perfect it – and I pause to reach my hand towards my eyes; facing the coffin, facing Lucy. If anyone were here with me, if anyone were watching… they would only be able to see my hands, hear my voice, and assume I’m crying, gathering my thoughts, finding the will to keep going. They wouldn’t assume I practised. Who would?

‘Do you think we should put in a moment where I say “is” and then stop and switch to “was”’?

‘Aww, I knew you care.’

‘Oh, stop it, I’m just trying to brainstorm!’

‘She brightened up every room she walked into. Where there was chaos and uncertainty, she brought order. She made every house a home and always made everyone feel welcome, wherever and whoever they were. She could make the whole room laugh with just a look or gesture and told the most amazing stories. She is… was what my heart always needed, my sunshine on a gloomy day.’

More mascara flows down my cheeks. We’d bought the least waterproof one we could find. I couldn’t quite tell if those were the tears we’d practised or the ones belonging to me, sneaking out when they should stay hidden. I pause to look around the graveyard, beyond her grave, beyond her.

‘I guess it just hasn’t really sunk in that she isn’t here… isn’t with us anymore.’ It has, I think. After all, I have been preparing for it for months now.

‘Isn’t all of this very… impersonal? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty, for sure, but it isn’t really about you, is it?’

‘It doesn’t need to be. That’s easier, don’t you think? For you? To just say all these phrases without any meaning? Then I’ll have my pretty funeral and you can keep your composure. I’ll know what you actually mean, anyway.’

‘It doesn’t have to be easy on me, it’s your funeral!’ At that, I pause for a second, caught up on my own words, before continuing more slowly. ‘I don’t think it could be, really, no matter how well we plan.’

There’s the sound of birds, still singing, of children screaming joyfully, of the wind gently rustling the leaves. There’s that wind moving my veil and hair and the sun shining down on me. There are people on the other side of the street, beyond the graveyard’s fence, just going about their lives as if nothing happened at all, as if it is a day like any other because to them it is. There are other people in the graveyard, not actually watching me at all, too consumed by their own grief to pay attention to me. For a brief second, I can almost feel Lucy, still by my side. But the moment passes and I am all alone again.

‘I am grateful for every moment I was able to spend in her company —and although it was many less than I had selfishly hoped for, I still treasure every memory. This is how I want to remember her. Lucy… may you rest peacefully. You’ll always have a place in my heart.’

I place the peony on the coffin and step back.

‘And then everyone else will place their flowers, it’ll be a gigantic pile on top of my coffin!’

‘Why not just bury you in flowers, then?’

‘Do you think we can do that?!’

No one else is there to step forward to place their peonies on top of the coffin, of course. No one else is there. We’ve taken so much effort in planning exactly how this would go, that I’m almost surprised to see things diverting from our plan. We’d even gone to the market to ask the woman selling flowers which ones lose their petals easily so that they’d all get blown away by the wind. Lucy did always love a bit of drama. Now, there is only one flower, and it isn’t losing its petals, no matter the wind. We timed everything, right down to the music – pre-recorded – so I just stand there, waiting, until the music tells me I can leave.

I can’t help but remember the day Lucy showed up at my door, crying, and just fell into my arms. We sat there on the doorstep for what felt like hours, no one saying a single word. What was there to say? She would die, nothing to be done, no stopping it.

‘If there’s no stopping it, there’s no point in being sad.’

‘I don’t think that’s how feelings work, Lucy.’

‘We just have to keep busy, then it’ll be over in no time.’

‘Over for you. And what about me? What am I supposed to do without you? I need you!’ I had screamed the last words, immediately feeling regret. But suddenly, as if some gate had broken, there was no stopping the tears I’d been holding back for days.

We had made dinner in silence that night and never spoke of it until the day Lucy showed up at my door again, this time with a bright yellow folder titled “My Funeral”.

I listen, quietly, to the song Lucy picked. It’s one I’ve always hated.

‘It’s easy, we’ll just plan it all now. I know I’m dying, so there’s really no point in waiting and leaving all the work to you alone. I’ve already chosen dresses for us. We can plan your speech, the invitations, the flowers… All you’ll need to do is show up.’

‘Why… what? What are you talking about?’

‘My funeral, silly. We’ll have it all ready by the time I die. I got a heads up on dying, so I might as well have some say in how my funeral goes!’

The wind is picking up even more now, finally ripping the petals from the flower as we had planned. Lucy would’ve liked that. She wouldn’t be watching though. She’d been adamant about that after I had mentioned that she could at least watch from heaven.

Slowly, the music starts to fade out. I missed my cue to leave, and it’s too late to leave now. There’s the sound of birds, still singing, of children, still screaming, of the wind still blowing through the trees, all seemingly from far away. The world is moving on, I think. And yet, here I stand, a single lonely figure, surrounded by flower petals falling.

Author’s note

This is the prologue of a romance novel I am currently writing. It’s the story of Lucy and Sophie, childhood friends who fall in love in 1920s Germany. Lucy dies, of course – you just read about her funeral. But a lot happens before and after. The two girls find and lose each other over and over again while trying to realise who they are and how they fit into the world they live in. Much later, in contemporary times, a group of university students finds Sophie’s diary. With only the diary to guide them, they begin to dive deeper into the story of Sophie and Lucy.