Tracie slipped into the gleaming mahogany pew beside her father. Alfred hunched deeper into his black woollen coat, ignoring the hand that Tracie held out. Lip trembling, Tracie slumped back against the polished wood. Aunty Sarah, sitting the other side of her dad, lifted an already damp, lace-edged hanky to dab at her eyes. Mum sat down beside Tracie, taking her other hand, their fingers twining together. 

Footfalls, hushed on the deep-pile carpet runner, whispered beside them. Tracie looked up to see Uncle Jim and his new wife, Jacinta, slide into the pew opposite theirs. Mum called Jacinta ‘the floozy', whatever that meant. Tracie wasn't sure if he still was her uncle if he wasn't married to Aunty Sarah anymore. Jacinta glanced across the aisle. The Floozy was adjusting her skintight, button-up dress that showed her boobs, trying to hide the red lace that peeped out of the neckline. Was it acceptable to stare at a woman's boobs at a funeral? Tracie guessed it must be as several sets of male eyes watched the Floozy's attempt to tuck away her bra. Tracie rolled her eyes. 

Mournful music floated from the speakers at the back of the room. That wasn't right. Tracie had wanted something bright, something to set fingers tapping on legs. Something that would make everyone think of happier times, even if it was just for a few moments. She guessed Dad had overruled everyone. He honked into his hanky, the blue one she had given him for his birthday. Tracie wished she could say something that would comfort him, dry the eyes that he swiped at with his coat sleeve, crease the corners of his watery blue eyes with a smile, but now wasn't the time. 

She glanced over her shoulder. The room was almost full! So many cousins, second cousins, uncles, aunties, friends had come to pay their final respects. At the back of the room, she saw Aunty Elsie with her face in her hands. Uncle Paul sat beside her, one hand stroking Elsie's back, his eyes red. Tracie knew that Aunty Elsie wasn't her actual aunty; she was her mum's best friend, but Mum said that blood didn't always make family, and Aunty Elsie was family. Mum was right. Tracie loved Aunty Elsie with her wacky sense of humour and her terrible cooking as much as she loved Aunty Sarah. 

The hushed room was suddenly silent as a tall man in a black suit stepped up to a podium at the front of the room. With a gentle baritone voice, he welcomed everyone on behalf of Alfred and his family. Tracie looked at her shoes as the tall man spoke on. She wasn't interested in hearing about how our loved ones stayed with us in our hearts, or how we only had to think of them and they would be alive again in our memories. Stupid. It wasn't enough, it would never be enough. It wasn't fair! 

Tracie's heart squeezed inside her chest. Squeezed so hard her eyes overflowed down her cheeks, tears dropping unnoticed from her chin. She was not alone. Her father made no attempt to swipe at his eyes, Aunty Sarah held her hanky across her eyes as her shoulders shook in silent sobs. Even The Floozy's vibrant sapphire eyes looked watery and pink rimmed. 

Uncle Shane, Mum's brother, stepped up to the podium. His speech was moving, full of praise and kind words, and love. Tracie glared at him. He had snot on his moustache, and his eyes, like everyone else's, were red. If he was so full of love, and so full of grief, then how come he hadn't spoken to Mum and Dad for nearly five years? Why hadn't she seen her cousins or Aunty May, who sobbed in her seat on the far side of the room, since she was six years old? Why couldn't he say such nice things, such kind and loving things, before it was too late? 

Others came forward, each with their own stories or memories to share. Whose idea was it for each of them to put a single flower on top of... Tracie shut her eyes. Pink carnations were among the flowers in the baskets set down near... She felt Mum's arm around her shoulder. Mum's favourite flower was carnations. Tracie loved the sprawling nasturtiums with their joyously bright sprays of red and yellow that grew over their back fence. She saw some of those in the baskets too. Maybe Dad had listened. 

Finally, the talking was over, if the crying wasn't. Tracie stepped to the side with her mother as her dad and Aunty Sarah took position behind the... She looked away. Uncle Shane stepped up to her father, offering his hand. After a long moment, Alfred took it, shaking it firmly. Uncle Shane hugged Aunty Sarah, who was on her third hanky. Aunty May joined them for more hugs, looking like she had used her fair share of hankies as well. The four of them followed the black cars, Tracie and her mother right behind them, hand in hand. 

Slowly, the cars and the crowd of followers moved forward almost as one. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the eucalypts planted on either side of the narrow road, the soft rustling the only noise aside from the occasional cheeky bird call. 

The walk didn't take long. Everything was prepared, mounds of dirt covered with fake turf, more baskets of flowers placed conveniently. More words were spoken by the tall man and others who had bought their fine clothes and best manners but hadn't bothered to visit in years. Tracie turned away, she couldn't look at them, couldn't look down. She pushed her face into her mother, a fresh flood of tears soaking her cheeks and her mother's blouse as gentle arms wrapped Tracie close.

This was the hardest part. When there were no more words to say, just people waiting long enough to be polite before they left. When the only other people still standing beside... were her father, Aunty Sarah, Uncle Shane and Aunty May. A long black car glided to a stop nearby. Aunty Sarah pulled her father toward the car. Unresisting but silent, he allowed her to lead him. 

Tracie moved to follow, to pull her mother toward the car, the same one they had arrived in.

"No, baby. We have to stay here." 

Tracie tilted her head at her mother. "Why?"

"Because," her mother pointed down at the twin piles of freshly mounded soil, "that's us."