Read Cinnamon Twigs for Free Online Page A

after showering. They get to see things you couldn’t possibly imagine. Screw the soap operas. The window cleaner sees all the action, all the scandals, and all he has to do is wipe away.
                  I published The Word Scrawled Sky , a collection of sonnets, villanelles and blank verse, after a couple of months of cleaning windows. Eventually, a publisher took interest in my work. My mother warned me that writing, like acting, was a capricious occupation. But I paid no attention to her as I spent the little money I’d earned for my work on nights out and visits to the theatre with Michael. After watching a play, we’d sit among the wine-sipping philosophers, critics and self-confessed arty folk. We’d chat about our dreams of becoming famous, and I knew he’d make it. He had such star quality.
                  We always told each other about upcoming auditions. He focused on the theatre, while I juggled my dreams of becoming an actor and a writer. While basking in the carelessness of youth, we thought we could seize the world itself, in all its spherical glory.
                  We didn’t think anything could intervene.
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
    Bearing a Coffin
     
    I hadn’t known her very well. B ut she’d been close to my mother when they were children. So when my distant cousin Jayne died of ovarian cancer, I attended her funeral with my mother and my aunts. I’d only spoken to Jayne once, when she’d phoned to give her condolences after my grandmother passed away.
                  The cold wind blew crisp leaves across the tarmac road as everyone congregated outside the church gates. I adjusted my tie and gazed at the grey clouds obscuring the sun. The air seemed to grow even colder when the hearse arrived, and tears plummeted towards the ground like shards of ice. I squeezed my mother’s hand and she smiled at me, her eyes filled with sadness and memories of the times when the sun hadn’t been blocked by heavy clouds, when the leaves had been green. Cars slowed down as they overtook the hearse. A teenager walking his dog crossed the road to avoid the crowd of mourners. At the sight of the coffin, passers-by stopped to ponder, for the briefest of moments, about their own ends. And then their steps quickened, and the deliberations ended. But not for the mourners. Not for that ceremony.
                  Someone said my name, distracting me from my thoughts. My uncle James touched my arm.
                  ‘Eddie isn’t here. He was supposed to be pallbearer. Could you help carry the coffin into the church, Daniel?’
                  ‘It would be an honor.’
                  A delicate tear fell down my mother’s left cheek.
                  Eddie must have been close to Jayne. He’d have a right to carry her coffin.
                  Six of us carried the coffin towards the altar. The scent of dust greeted my nostrils as I fixed my eyes on the priest ahead. My hands trembled. I feared I might lose my grip. Of all the voices Jayne had heard in her lifetime, of all the friends she’d met, I had been elected as one of just six people to carry her body through the church. All the teary eyes were turned on us, as the church echoed with the mourners’ sobs and the cries of a baby in its mother’s arms.
                  When the funeral ended, I knew Jayne had taught me something. I’d only spoken to her once, but I would never forget that funeral. It didn’t matter that she’d only been a distant relative.
                  The group of mourners made its way to a pub in Grangetown afterwards. I sat next to my mother and my aunts, having just come back from the buffet table.
                  ‘He eats too much.’ My mother looked at my plate and shook her head.
                  ‘Nonsense,’ my aunt Mary said. ‘He’s a growing lad. He needs all