When I was young, my Auntie Joyce used to tell us stories.

Auntie Joyce! I smile when I think of her, even now. She would tell us- that is, me and my sister Rachel, - vibrant and gloriously colourful stories of her youth. Stories that would sometimes include her elder sister Sarah, my grandmother, and this particularly thrilled us, as we could never imagine our staid and puritanical grandma doing some of the deeds Joyce accredited to her.

When she told us of Sarah's alleged heroics as a youngster- the time she took on single-handedly a group of impudent travellers who had settled on the family's land, and forced them to leave- we were filled with new found admiration for our grandmother.

But the stories we liked best involved Joyce. As we grew older, we began to believe less and less in Joyce's fantastical tales, which had her taming a wild bull which had terrorised the neighbourhood. This she told us sternly, was the entire truth, 'I never tell a lie,'� she would insist. However we preferred to hear her stories of sweethearts and dances. She had seemingly been very popular in her youth, a genuine belle with a billow of fine ebony hair. Despite this, she had never married and now lived quietly with the widowed Sarah.

We lived the other side of the village, my family and I, and habitually visited the sisters. Rachel and I went more to see Joyce than Sarah, as her stories were our greatest entertainment, as we owned no television. Our mother saw no point in it and told us it was far too costly. Rachel and I felt that she was more like Sarah than she would care to admit.

One mid October evening, I was visiting my grandmother and her sister alone as Rachel was engrossed in a book and refused to leave it. However, Sarah had withdrawn to bed, claiming to be ill. I was not overly concerned, as I was never hugely fond of my grandma and after ensuring there was nothing seriously wrong with her, I settled down to listen to another of Joyce's stories.

'I never told you about William, did I?'� Joyce asked, cutting me a generous slice of home made Victoria sponge. I shook my head silently. 'It's a painful topic, my dear, that's why,'� said Joyce sombrely, 'but now- circumstances have changed.'�

'Who's William?'�

'Who's William? Just the love of my life. When I was around 22 or so, I met William at a dance. He was wonderful and swept me off my feet. I know it's a cliché, but...'� Joyce sighed elaborately before continuing. 'It was a whirlwind romance and we were engaged to be married. I was incredibly excited, I'm sure you can imagine. And then it all went horribly wrong.'�

'How come?'�

Joyce looked as if she was about to cry.

I felt horror and wondered what I had said wrong. Immediately I tried to rectify the situation. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...did he leave you?'�

I had blurted out the question before I thought. I cursed my big mouth when Joyce began crying harder.

'I'm really sorry, it's none of my business.'�

'No, no. It's perfectly alright,'� said Joyce thickly, as she mopped her eyes. 'I brought the subject up. He didn't leave me.'�

'Then, how...'�

'He died, Kate,'� said Joyce, with as much dignity as she could muster.

'Died?'� My eyes widened in shock. 'How?'�

'Tuberculosis,'� replied Joyce casting her eyes downwards. 'It was rampant that winter.'�

I was at a loss for words so reached out and patted her am awkwardly. 'I'm sorry to hear that. It must have been terrible.'�

Joyce nodded. ' It was. But I made sure we weren't separated.'�

'How?'�

Aunt Joyce leaned closer to me, her eyes gleaming with what could almost be perceived as insanity. 'I preserved him'�, she said, emphasising the middle word. 'I had his body embalmed.'�

'E-embalmed?'�

'I was not going to lose him again,'� she proclaimed intensely. 'He may be dead but he was mine and I-I was his. Nothing could separate us.'�

I looked at her, too overwhelmed to speak. This display of fierce passion was unlike her.

"But I didn't get my way!'� Her eyes flashed. 'She stopped me!'�

'She?'�

'Rosemary, William's sister.'�

I had heard of Rosemary before. She had been a great friend of Joyce's when Joyce was preparing for her marriage to William. Joyce, however had lost contact with Rosemary and Rosemary now played only a small part in Auntie's stories.

Aunt Joyce pressed on with her story. 'She wanted her only brother in the cold hard ground. Whereas I wanted him here with me. She was determined to have her way.'� Joyce screwed up her face as she spat out each word. 'Her stubbornness was a despicable trait and it paved the way to her despicable behaviour.

I never thought Rosemary capable of deviousness and would never dream of calling her manipulative. But in those weeks following William's death- well!'�

Joyce put her hands on her hips and a cold look crossed her face. 'The cheek of that girl. Questioned my sanity. Said she wondered why I didn't want him buried in the ground. So I could draw a curtain over the whole thing and forget William ever existed. Well, I told her-,'� Aunt Joyce was in a towering fury now, '- I told her I would never forget my William, even if she was willing to!'�

Joyce took a deep breath at the end of this statement, slowly breathing the air out again.

'Of course I lost,'� she continued in a calmer voice. 'Entire family said it was better to bury him. Said it would upset them to see him laid out like that. So we did it. Six feet under he is. Then Rosemary implied I should find someone else seeing as I was 'just a slip of a girl. Well,'� Joyce sat up straight and her face was a mask of pride, 'I'm no longer 'a slip of a girl'� but I'm still mourning, fifty long years I've waited to see him. And now I can. She's dead.'�

'Who?'�

'Rosemary, of course.'� Joyce giggled like a schoolgirl. 'She can't stop me now. She's the one six feet under.'�

'Joyce, what do you mean? He'll have decayed by now, surely.'�

Joyce shook her head. 'No,'� she replied firmly. 'I was determined to have him buried in an air-tight casket. No humidity can reach him in order to cause him to decay. I fought so hard his family let me have my wish in the end.'�

Joyce's eyes glittered and I was certain I saw a flicker of madness in them. 'Let's do it now,'� she announced suddenly. She was on her feet. 'I want to see him.'�

My throat went dry. 'Now?'� I asked, 'we can't. I mean, its dark and everything. We won't be able to see what we're doing.'�

'But, my William...'� Joyce whispered sweetly. 'He's waiting Kate.'�

I stood up and faced her. 'Please,'� I said pleadingly. 'Wait 'til tomorrow. Michael and Rachel can help us then'�

Joyce sat down but her face was resolute. 'Oh alright then,'� she said.'� I'll wait until tomorrow.

I expected that it would take all our skills and ingenuity to convince my brother Michael to join in with Joyce's crazy plan. The next morning we managed to make him sit and listen as we outlined what we wanted him to do.

'No,'� he sat flatly, when we had finished. 'Absolutely no way.'�

Joyce looked at me. I knew I had to persuade Michael. 'I think I need to talk to my brother alone,'� I told Joyce.

Joyce nodded and left the room to make some tea. The minute she had gone. Michael rounded on me.

'Kate, how can you encourage her in her demented plans? She's mad, can't you see that?'�

I fixed my eyes on Michael. 'I know it may seem weird Michael but think about it. It's going to make an old woman happy.'�

Michael folded his arms. 'There's probably rules against this kind of thing. We're digging up a corpse. We could be arrested.'�

'That's why we're doing it tonight. And then we'll bury him after. Plus,'� I added, looking helpless. 'We've made up our minds to do it anyway. So if you don't want to help us, that's fine. It won't stop us. We'll just have to struggle.'�

'Kate, you're crazy! You can't do that, just the two of you. It'll kill you both.'�

'Actually, it's not just the two of us. Rachel's going to help.'�

'Rachel! You got her involved in this as well!'�

'She doesn't know yet but I'm sure she'd go along with it.'�

Michael sighed. I decided to plough on, heedless.

'Well we're going to do it. So you're just going to have to help us aren't you.'�

Michael looked at me with an expression of exasperation. 'Fine then,'� he said.

'I knew you would see sense,'� I said to him. Michael raised an eyebrow.

So that's how it happened, that Joyce, Michael, Rachel and I ended up in the old part of the village graveyard in the dead of night. My brother and sister and I were carrying shovels, Joyce, being too old to dig was not.

Joyce led us directly to William's grave. She knew precisely where it was located, after all she came here every day.

Michael stared warily at the gravestone. 'Joyce, do you still want us to do this?'� he asked soberly.

Joyce nodded. Michael let out a distinct sigh and signalled for us to start digging.

As we dug, Joyce could not sit still and was brimming over with excitement. 'I'm going to see my William,'� she giggled girlishly. Her childish joy belied her age and she was no longer my ageing great- aunt Joyce, but a much younger woman. 'Kate,'� she beamed across at me. 'Aren't you excited too? I am going to see him. It'll be as if time has never passed.'�

She stopped abruptly, as if struck. 'But it will have passed,'� she murmured. 'Look at me now. I'm an old woman. Grey hair with wrinkles. He'll be so young, just as he was then. How can he see me like this?'�

'It doesn't matter,'� I told her, secretly thinking that she couldn't back out now, not after she had made us start digging.

She stood and gazed mournfully as the coffin was exposed and showed no thrill at this. Using all our strength, the coffin was heaved up and laid on the ground beside the vacant shaft.

'We're going to wrench it open now, ' said Michael, looking at Joyce, 'so if you want to prepare yourselves for...y'know...'�

'Yes dear,'� said Joyce and I noticed a slight hint of curiosity and animation returning to her eyes, as she fixed them on the coffin. I held Joyce's hand as Michael pryed the casket open with a wrench.

I followed Joyce to look closer at the coffin, not sure if I really wanted to. Inside laid the body of a young man. It was musty but I could estimate that he was dressed in the style that was fashionable around fifty years earlier. Next to me, I could hear Joyce whisper, 'William.'�

But at that time a bizarre thing began to occur. William's handsome young face started to change. I saw a wrinkle on his face appear and then another and another. William was aging. It was like watching time accelerated.

Joyce whooped with rapture at the spectacle and hollered, 'He's becoming older. He's becoming like me. I no longer have to be ashamed of my age!'�

Whilst Michael and Rachel gaped at what was happening, Joyce drew me to her in a smothering hug. 'It's what he'll be like if he was still alive.'� She spun around on the spot and threw out her arms. I nearly laughed out loud at the sight of this woman, her hair askew, practically crying with giddy delight.

I turned my attention back to William. His face was now lined heavily, as were his hands. For William, time had definitely caught up.

She died soon after that, Auntie Joyce did. The shock of seeing her dead love probably killed her. Even though we sealed the casket again swiftly and buried William, what she saw remained with her. I can only trust that wherever she is now, she has at last been reunited with William.

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