Murder in Winter

Ivy's funeral

Last night I'd texted what Danny had found to the group chat, and everyone-especially Hartness-was hating themselves for not thinking of it earlier. I'd also packed a bag of my school uniform for today.
Today was Friday. Ivy's birthday. Ivy's funeral.
We'd all been invited to it, from nine to eleven, so we'd return to school at around twelve; May's parents offered to give us all a lift.
That morning I got up, and dragged myself out of bed. I pulled out a long black that I had wasting away at the back of my wardrobe. I unrolled a pair of reasonably thick black stockings, which I stretched across my tanned legs. I put on dark eye make-up with lashings of mascara and an ashy grey pallet of eye shadows. Then, I plaited my hair from both sides and pulled then back into a bun, reminding me slightly of Katniss' hair in The Hunger Games, which seemed appropriate. Alexander's words floated back to me: death surrounds us-it's everywhere!
I sighed, putting on my black high-heels. Then I picked up my black coat and hat and made my way downstairs, where I grabbed the dark purple and black pansies from the kitchen table.
Five minutes later, my parents came down dressed in a suit and black dress. "Ready?" my dad asked.
I nodded. "Yeah, I guess."
We walked out to our car, and drove a quick ten minutes to the church near where Ivy lives. Lived. The whole journey I spent staring out of the window into the abyss. Once at the church gates, which were tall victorian-style iron ones, painted black, we made our way down the path toward the building that cast its shadow over us; glared down at us as if we were worthless for letting our friend get so hurt. The spire towered up, reaching for the clouds; the large stained glass windows added colour to the stone walls; the heavy oak doors loomed over us, daring us to enter...
Around the building stood many grave stones, just about poking through the deep snow. We were nearing the doors.
Suddenly, I gulped. Directly across from the door was a deep pit. Manmade. Long, thin. Only a few meters deep. Freshly dug.
I had no doubt that this would be the hole that Ivy was soon to rest in. It was for her coffin.
I gulped again, pulled my eyes away, and walked through the door that my dad was holding open for my mum and me. Inside, Alex, May, April and Danny were already there, along with Ivy's parents and little sister. All in black.
"Hi," I greeted the others as my parents went over to the other adults.
"Hi," they replied.
"So this is it," Danny sighed after a moment of silence. "Her birthday is her funeral. Great birthday present." I agreed, when Summer showed up with the twins, and we headed into the church...
After the service, I stayed behind as the majority of the adults left and the rest headed for the May's parents car. I dropped to my knees and gently placed my bouquet of flowers in the space where a giant hole was only minutes before. "I'm sorry," I whispered to myself; then I sobbed into my hands. "I'm so sorry, Ivy. I could've been there for you but I wasn't. I'm the reason why you died-I should've been there."
Suddenly a light cough alerted me to another presence nearby. I turned my head towards the sound, and there stood Ivy's mother, her little sister gripping onto her floor-length pleated skirt. I got to my feet, knowing only all too well that my mascara was running from my eyes in streaks and smudging where I'd rubbed at it. The little girl hid further round her mother, who hid herself behind her veil. But I could see through it, and I could only see three things.
Hurt.
Mourning.
Death.
"Christmas," the tall, thin woman said, her voice plain and full to the brim of hurt.
"Hi," I replied, my voice cracking. "Hi, Prim." The miniature version of Ivy poked her head out, a small smile radiating out to me.
"Christmas, I hate to have to remind you of my eldest daughter, but... She wanted you to have this if anything were to happen to her." She stepped forward, her arms outstretched towards me, with a leather covered book in them. She pushed the thick book into my hands from her bony ones. "Take care," she sighed, reaching out to lightly place her hand onto my shoulder, before retracting it and turning to walk away. "Remember hope. There's always hope. We'll get to the truth."
The remaining women in Ivy's family floated off into the distance, becoming vaguer and fainter. I hugged the book to my chest, took one last look at Ivy's grave, and made my way for the car park. There was May's mum's light, minty-green van-like car. As soon as I got in I was hounded by a chorus of "where were you"s. The car roared into life.
"No where important. Just at Ivy's grave," I replied with a sigh, sinking into the soft seats of the car.
"Why's your make-up smudged?" Hartness interrogated, as May handed me a make-up wipe.
"Crying," I answered bluntly, swiping at my eyes and cheeks.
"What's that?" Alex asked, motioning towards the book that I was still clutching with my left hand, swiftly changing the subject. I stopped dabbing at my face and looked down at the book.
"I'm not sure," I said truthfully. "Ivy's mum came over and handed it to me, saying that Ivy wanted me to have it, but I haven't really looked at it." I held it up for the others to see. It was just a plain leather notebook, about fifteen centimetres by ten, with a hard cover and embroidered spine.
Curious, I carefully lifted the cover, and gasped. There, on the front page was two printed words, in Ivy's neat handwriting.
IVY'S DIARY.