Promises

It was the morning of her daughter’s wedding and Ruth wasn’t going to let being dead interfere with Julie’s big day. She’d made a promise and she was determined to keep it.

The practicalities, though, were taking some thought. She’d been hoping that three days would be too short a time for any real decay to set in. When the skin started slipping off her fingers last night she’d sworn. She managed to stop himself mid fist-clench; God only knew what damage that would’ve done.

“You okay?” Julie gave her a sidelong glance “I mean, with the cancer and all.” They were waiting in the small vestibule to the side of the church, safely out of sight as the guests arrived and took their seats. Julie was a stickler for punctuality, and was adamant she wouldn’t make the traditional late bride’s appearance. Ruth, on the other hand, had always been last minute, and was used to Julie telling her she would be late for her own funeral.

“Fine.” Ruth tried a smile. She kept to single words as much as she could; her tongue was swelling in her mouth and making speech difficult. “Nervous.” She tried to wring her hands together and play the part of proud mother. The effect was somewhat spoiled for her by the feel of flesh slipping off bone.

Thank God Julie was having what he called a ‘posh’ wedding; she’d get away with gloves and tightly-wrapped layers of clothing. A mummy wrapped up like a mummy. The thought made her smile, or at least she attempted to – forcing the muscles of her face to work was getting harder.

“You sure? You look a bit off it.”

“Fine,” Ruth repeated. “Just, you know, the chemo makes me tired. And I’m excited for my little girl.”

“I’m thirty-three,” said Julie.

“Still,” said Ruth. Julie nodded, lips upturned in a wry grin.

The next few minutes passed in companionable silence. Julie peered through the small glass panel in the door a couple of times, before turning to Ruth.

“You know, it’s really great you’re here today,” she said.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Ruth tried another smile, more gently this time; she could feel the make-up she’s used to disguise the greenish hue her skin had taken drying out in the heat and she was terrified it would crack. She offered up a small prayer that it would last to the end of the service, something she found ironic after a lifetime of disdain for the trappings of religion. At the same time, she held up a hand. “And no hugging,” she said, forcing her lips and tongue to work. “We’d set each other off, and that would ruin your make-up.”

Julie’s eyes glistened as she nodded. “Same old mum,” she said. “Always thinking of the practical stuff.”

“That’s me,” Ruth said, thinking, and I don’t want you to smell me. Perfume can only do so much. She’d had to judge how much to apply from memory that morning. Her sense of smell had vanished almost as soon as her nose had stopped working. She’d showered carefully, wincing at every rancid lump of flesh the water sluiced from her body. Her skin was now an interesting range of hues, from a dark, mottled red where blood had pooled due to gravity, to alabaster white where the same blood was no longer being pumped, and through a range of greens where decomposition was most advanced. She covered the exposed areas with a thick layer of foundation, and wrapped herself in several layers to conceal as much as possible.

“You look good,” Julie said after a moment, choosing to change the subject. “You’re not as gaunt as you used to be.” She flushed. “I don’t mean that in a bad way,” she added, the words tripping over each other. Julie knew how sick she was, knew she didn’t have long left.

Again, Ruth forced a smile. “Not to worry, I didn’t take it in a bad way,” she said, thinking, damn, that’ll be decomposition gases causing bloating. I don’t think I’ve got too much longer left.

She made a point of checking her watch. Not that she could read it – her eyesight was failing as the soft tissue of her eyes broke down and blackened. Without the sunglasses, she would have drawn immediate attention to herself. “I think it’s time,” she said, trying to simulate a deep breath; quite hard to do when your lungs no longer work.

Julie swallowed and nodded. She opened the door a crack, peering out until she caught the best man’s eye. He inclined his head almost imperceptibly and gave a discrete hand signal.

“Come on, then.” Ruth took a couple of steps. Julie smiled and stepped forward, out of the room and into the church proper. Ruth took her place beside her and together they walked up the aisle. Nearly there, Ruth told herself.

“Don’t cry,” Julie whispered as they approached the front. Julie’s soon-to-be husband Mike stood there, eyes fixed on a spot a few feet in front of him.

Ruth dabbed at her cheek with a handkerchief as the vicar began the service. Not tears, but liquefied eyeball matter. Not long now, she thought and crossed her fingers, hoping her body would hold itself together for the service. That was all that mattered. Afterwards…well, she’d let that take care of itself.