The day began like no other as the loud alarm bellowed through the bedroom. Under the heavy-togged duvet in a powder pink cover, Charlotte lay. Her blue eyes were open, bags hung underneath. The days since Bethany's death had passed by as quickly as they happened. To Charlotte and the family, it still felt as raw and as clear as if it were yesterday. Every time she closed her eyes, that picture of her sister's corpse lying in a pool of blood, stained her mind, and her mother's wails flooded her ears.

The woman didn't eat or sleep, only the odd sip of what looked like water passed Sally Greyson's lips. Her eyes were black with sorrow, her heart was broken far beyond mending, and nothing or no one could replace the loss of her child. Charlotte felt helpless, and instead of trying to do her best to help the situation, found it easier sitting in her room, headphones on and music playing, desperate to hear something other than the mournful sobbing that echoed from several
doors down.

Today was the day when three would become two, and maybe after today, the family could finally start to put their life back together.

As Charlotte sat up in bed, the black dress that hung on the handles of her ancient wardrobe caught her attention.

'Let's get this over and done with,' she thought.

It didn't take her long to shower and change. Her hair was fine so instead of spending ages washing and drying it, she styled it quickly into a sleek updo and popped a few hairpins in it to keep it decent.

Charlotte was never one for makeup, she'd put a little on for a special occasion like if she was going out with friends or something, but she always felt more herself with a natural look.

Today didn't feel like one to celebrate. The more she thought about her sister, the more she thought Bethany would want her to look her best. So the brushes came out, and the lipstick, foundation and concealer, mascara and eyeliner. Now how was she supposed to apply it again? Coloured powder coated the front of her dress, like a light beige dusting of icing sugar, and a murky clump of eyeshadow threatened to fall down her face. She tried to focus, and with the eyeliner pen held tightly in her trembling hand, she attempted to line her eyes. First the left, that one was fine, she even managed to finish it off with the sleek flick Bethany had taught her. Now the right. Oh shit! She was far too fast and way too cocky.

Instead of looking as perfect as she left, her right eye looked as if a toddler drew her eyeliner on with a thick black sharpie.

"Bethany!" Dad called from downstairs. Then he stopped, and cursed under his breath, "I mean, Charlotte, can you come now, please? The hearse will be here soon."

Now what? She looked at the clock. Dad was right, the hearse carrying Bethany's body would be there any minute. There was no time to fix her face. No time to stop people from staring at her, and laughing behind her back for her obvious lack of skills in the makeup department. Charlotte knew she wouldn't be getting that job in Boots any time soon. She looked around her room, what could she do to stop people from noticing her?

She grabbed her petite black handbag from the back of the chair and rummaged around inside. Bingo! They were perfect. She pulled out a pair of sunglasses. Who cared if it wasn't sunny? Who cared if it was another dreadfully cold day in Scotland? Charlotte placed them on her face and immediately the eyeliner mistake was no longer so viable. It was now perfectly hidden behind the purple-tinted shades.

Charlotte knew more than anything that she couldn't stay in her room any longer. As Dad called out again, finally it was time to face the funeral. She pulled the door open and left the room. As she turned to close it, she couldn't help but notice Clem leaving her room. Like Charlotte, her cousin was dressed for the sombre occasion, only her makeup was perfect and she didn't need to hide behind her shades.

The girls' exchanged looks as if each one knew how the other felt, though that was completely impossible. Charlotte had lost her sister, someone closer to her than her friends. Clem, on the other hand, had never felt grief or loss. Everyone she knew from her childhood, even her great grandma Nellie, who thought she was a boy, was still alive.

Charlotte placed her hand on the thick mahogany bannister as she headed down the stairs. Her father waited, his black suit echoed his mournful expression, as he stood waiting, his attention shifted from the stairs to his watch and back again.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Charlotte! It's your own sister's funeral. I thought you'd at least be bothered to wear shoes!"

What? Oh shit!

Charlotte looked down at her feet, and although she had her beige tights on, Dad was right. She didn't have any shoes. She turned, but he called her back.

"No, ya don't young lady." He paused, "you'll have to put these on and take those stupid things off your face. It's minute two out there and it's forecast to snow later."

Her heart sank as she looked in the direction he pointed in. Could that day get any worse? All she wanted to do was say her final goodbyes to her sister in peace, but no. It didn't look like that was going to happen.

"Charlotte!"

Fine

For a moment she perched on the bottom step, as her father picked up a pair of shoes and aimed them one by one in her direction. Quickly she put her feet into the bright white trainers which were a good size or two too big for her. Charlotte felt like a clown as she lumbered out of the castle in the most ridiculous trainers she'd ever seen. It took all of her strength and sisterly love to put her annoyances to one side and focus on the day ahead.

A sharp chilling breeze blew down the back of her thin black dress. Charlotte pulled her jacket closet around her slim frame as she waited with her parents, Bella, and Clem for the hearse carrying Bethany to arrive.

It didn't take long.

The clouds seemed to darken, and the call of a single crow echoed through the silence. The sound of heavy wheels rolled up the driveway, followed by the sombre beats of horses' hooves. Charlotte wasn't the only equestrian lover in the family, so for Bethany's coffin to be placed into a black carriage pulled by four stunning black horses was a sweet and fitting tribute.

Their hooves crashed against the cold hard paving stones, and the wheels moved at a solemn pace. The pure white coffin was visible through a glass window, piled high with white and pastel pink roses. A heavy wreath full of more pretty delicate flowers rested at the side. It read 'Bethanie', and Charlotte's heart sank. Part of her wanted to tell them straight that the florist had made a mistake, but as she stepped forward to say something, the long black limousine came around the corner.

Dad made the sign of the cross, and as the man opened the door, the family sat inside. They sat in silence, each member of the Greyson clan embroiled in their thoughts and feelings of the day. Charlotte looked towards her mother, and already the woman's eyes began to water, and the mascara would soon run.

Charlotte gazed out of the darkened windows watching the pretty countryside of the highlands passing by, and they headed deeper into the village. She looked up, towards the sky as the sight of a helicopter caught her attention. What she would have given to be up high in the skies going anywhere other than his older sister's funeral. Nothing felt right anymore.

It always used to be the three of them. She remembered years ago hearing someone at school calling them 'The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly.' She knew which she was, of course, but which of her sisters' were Bad and Ugly, she didn't want to know. To her, the three of them would always be ABC, Annabelle, Bethany and Charlotte. There wasn't a B anymore. It brought a tear close to her eye, but she'd cried too much as it was and felt determined not to let another leak out.

The drive from the castle to the village moving at a snail's pace, felt like it went on forever. The seconds moved like minutes that turned into hours. How could a journey that could easily take less than ten, maybe fifteen minutes on foot, feel like over an hour by car? Soon she could see it, a church steeple in the distance, its bells ringing aloud with deep mournful dongs. The hearse slowed, followed by the limo, and Charlotte found herself first to step out into the churchyard. She noticed the helicopter still in the sky, looking much larger and closer to land than it had before. Its loud propellers echoed around her and the trees shifted as it slowly searched for land, scattering its fallen leaves across the path.

"What the?" Charlotte's mouth dropped open, as it headed over to the church.

Her parents stood behind her, they too looked up at the sky. Bella positioned her hand to shade her eyes from the bright winter sunlight.
"It's going to land."

Dad took a closer look. His face redded slightly, his eyes narrowed into tight slits as his expression contorted with anger and rage.

"No, you jolly well don't!" He snapped, "Not today! Not fucking today!"

Charlotte looked across in his direction and for a moment turned to follow him. She watched as her father, all pent up with rage like a furious bull, hurtled to the side of the church where the helicopter was landing. Mum rested her hand upon her daughter's shoulder, gently guiding her towards the church.

"No," she said, a faint smile across her porcelain face, "it's best if you leave him to it."

"But everyone's inside. Who is it?"

Most parents had an answer for everything, whether the question be long, short, or downright confusing. However, the answer Charlotte received was one she'd heard several times before.

"Never, your mind."

Mum turned and entered the church, Bella wrapped her arm through their mothers, leaving Charlotte and Clementine walking a few steps behind them. The four of them entered slowly and moved down the central aisle towards the seats in the front. The faces of the congregation turned as they heard the family enter. As Charlotte passed she tried to see how many she recognised. Clementine's parents, Aunt Anne and Uncle Jonathan sat on the second row from the front, with their two sons, Sebastian and William. Clem took the spare seat with her family next to one of her brothers.

Making up a few of the pews on the other side were a few of Bethany's old friends from Cambridgeshire and an older couple in their mid to late fifties who Charlotte didn't know. But most of the congregation were long distant relatives, the same set of old spinster aunts that were pulled out of wherever they came from for every family gathering, whether it was a christening, wedding or funeral. Not a single one she could name, apart from Great Aunt Frederica, but that wasn't a name often mentioned.

Charlotte took a seat by her mother, who clung to Bella's hand with all her strength.

The door to the church opened. The vicar dressed in his black cassock visible from under his white robes, around his neck hung the long scarf-like material known as a stole. He walked at a steady pace through the doors in front as six tall men carried Bethany's coffin through into the church, as Elton John's Candle In The Wind played.

As the service started, Charlotte sat on tater an uncomfortable pew, as she tried to listen to what was being said. No matter how hard she tried to focus, she found her mind being drawn to other things and mainly to the person in the helicopter. Dad had an issue with them but she couldn't help wondering why, and most importantly who it was.

The vicar droned on and on, his monotone voice quickly began to sound like white noise like a broken record on repeat. His words went in one ear and straight out of the other. What did he know about Bethany? The man didn't know shit, and the more he spoke the more Charlotte wanted to tell him so. It wasn't her day. It wasn't a day for yelling at vicars or telling men of the cloth where they could shove their cassocks and hymns.

All she could think about was the possibility that she might, just might get a chance to see her again. Bethany was dead, yes, but gone, forgotten, no. Knowing she possessed the ability to communicate with the dead, made her determined to find out if she could speak to Bethany.

Another religious piece began to play, but Charlotte had other ideas. Instead of sitting there quietly and listening to whatever else the chap had to say, she decided that was it. She picked up her handbag, and as everyone stood to sing, she headed quickly down the aisle and out into the fresh air.

The fresh breeze calmly blew around the church. Charlotte stood for a moment and inhaled the cool wind. She walked carefully across the paving slabs towards an old wooden bench where she sat quietly with her thoughts. She pulled the order of service out of her bag and as she looked at the image of Bethany on the front page, a small tear fell from her eyes.

She wondered what she'd need to do to summon Bethany's ghost. There were so many questions that flew around Charlotte's mind she didn't know what to do to fix her family. Mum was distraught, Dad was angry, and Bella had barely been seen in days as she busied herself with arraigning the funeral. Even Clem wasn't so talkative. She still couldn't help but wonder who the mystery person was at the funeral, the one who arrived by helicopter of all things. However, Charlotte wouldn't have to wait long. As she sat on the bench, deep in thought, a quiet voice, slightly louder than a whisper, caught her attention.

"Charlotta?"

Charlotte looked up from the pastel pink paper to a sight she wasn't expecting to see.