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before. You shouldn’t scare Sandy like that.”
    “She doesn’t look scared to me,” Helena said, still with that amused expression, her eyes unmoving.
    “Well,” Marcus finally spoke after his long silence since I’d joined the group, “she may have a point. We may very well be dead.”
    Bernard and Joan groaned, and Derek began strumming lightly on his guitar and singing softly, “We’re dead, we may very well be dead.”
    Bernard tutted, then poured tea from a china pot into a cup and handed it to me on a saucer. In the middle of the woods, I couldn’t help but smile.
    “If we’re dead, then where are my parents, Helena?” Joan scolded, emptying a packet of biscuits onto a china plate and placing them before me. “Where are all the other dead people?”
    “In hell,” Helena said in a singsong voice.
    Marcus smiled and looked away so that Joan wouldn’t see his face.
    “And what makes you think we’re in heaven? What makes you think you’d get into heaven?” Joan huffed, dunking her biscuit into her tea and pulling it up before the soggy end fell in.
    Derek strummed and sang gruffly, “Is this heaven or is this hell? I look around and I can’t tell.”
    “Didn’t anybody else notice the Pearly Gates and the choir of angels as they entered, or was it just me?” Helena smirked.
    “You didn’t enter through Pearly Gates.” Bernard shook his head wildly, his neck wobbling from side to side. He looked at me and his neck continued to shake. “She didn’t enter through Pearly Gates.”
    Derek strummed, “I didn’t pass the Pearly Gate nor felt the burning flames of hate.”
    “Oh, stop it,” Joan huffed.
    “Stop it,” he sang.
    “I can’t bear any more.”
    “I can’t bear any more, someone please show me the door…”
    “I’ll show you the door,” Helena warned, but with less conviction.
    He continued strumming and they all fell silent, contemplating his last few lyrics.
    “Little June, Pauline O’Connor’s daughter, was only ten when she died, Helena,” Bernard continued. “Surely a little angel like her would be in heaven and she’s not here, so there goes your theory.” He held his head high and Joan nodded in agreement. “We’re not dead.”
    “Sorry, it’s over-eighteens only,” Helena said in a bored tone. “Saint Peter’s down at the gate with his arms folded and an earpiece in his ear, taking instructions from God.”
    “You can’t say that, Helena,” Joan snapped.
    “I can’t get in, I can’t get out, Saint Peter, what’s it all about?” Derek sang in a gravelly voice. Suddenly he stopped strumming and finally spoke. “It’s definitely not heaven. Elvis isn’t here.”
    “Oh, well then .” Helena rolled her eyes.
    “We’ve got our own Elvis here, haven’t we?” Bernard said, chuckling, changing the subject. “Sandy, did you know that Derek used to be in a band?”
    “How would she know that, Bernard?” Helena said, exasperated.
    Bernard ignored her again. “Derek Cummings,” he announced, “the hottest property in St. Kevin’s back in the sixties.”
    They all laughed.
    My body turned cold.
    “What was it you were called, Derek? I’ve forgotten now,” Joan said with a laugh.
    “The Wonder Boys, Joan, the Wonder Boys,” Derek said fondly, reminiscing.
    “Remember the dances on a Friday night?” Bernard asked excitedly. “Derek would be up there on the stage, playing rock and roll, and Father Martin would be almost having a heart attack at him shaking his pelvis.” They all laughed again.
    “Now, what was the name of the dance hall?” Joan thought aloud.
    “Oh, gosh…” Bernard closed his eyes and tried to remember.
    Derek stopped strumming and thought hard.
    Helena kept staring at me, watching my reactions. “Are you cold, Sandy?” Her voice sounded far away.
    Finbar’s Hall. The name jumped into my head. They had all loved going to Finbar’s Hall every Friday night.
    “Finbar’s Hall,” Marcus finally