Chapter Two
‘Come on, Jen,’ said Sally quietly. She propelled me forward. ‘Part Two next. You’re doing great.’
Cilla – the landlady of the local pub and a dead ringer for Bette Lynch – had set up a portable bar at the far end of Starlight Hall. Alongside, an extended table was groaning with a slap-up buffet for all the mourners.
Polly, one of Cilla’s barmaids – heavily pregnant but determined to work until the last moment – was circulating with a tray of drinks. She paused to offer two flutes of champagne to Sally and me.
‘Sorry for your loss, Jen,’ said Polly softly.
‘Thank you,’ I murmured.
‘You’ve chosen the most gorgeous champagne,’ she confided. ‘It’s one of Cilla’s best.’
‘Good,’ I nodded, forcing a smile. ‘That’s what Peter would have wanted.’
Oh yes. There had been nothing cheap about my husband. Splashy. Flashy. Peter had always told me that if he went before me then he wanted a decent ‘do’ with the champers flowing. No cheap and cheerful plonk for him.
‘And one for you?’ Polly asked Alec, as my brother-in-law materialised by my side.
‘Thanks, love,’ he said, taking a glass from the tray before Polly moved away. Alec took a sip before looking at me.
‘Feeling okay?’ he asked kindly.
‘Dandy,’ I said dryly.
‘She’s doing really well,’ said Sally, giving her husband a reproving look.
How do you think she’s feeling, you berk?
‘Good, good,’ said Alec, fidgeting awkwardly from one foot to the other. ‘Difficult day,’ he muttered. ‘You’re very brave, Jen. A very brave lady indeed.’
‘Am I?’ I said, necking some champagne.
The cold liquid hit the back of my throat. Bubbles popped against my tonsils, before sliding down my oesophagus. Nice.
‘Do you want me to stay another night?’ asked Sally.
‘Don’t be daft,’ I tutted.
‘I can spare her,’ said Alec, attempting humour. ‘I’m a big boy and can manage a second night on my own. I’m not worried about the bogeyman visiting when it’s dark. Or ghosts,’ he added jovially.
Sally gave him another murderous look, this time over ghosts.
‘I suspect it’s ghost in the singular,’ I joked feebly. ‘And hanging about at my house.’
‘Oh,’ said Alec, reddening. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean…’
‘Honestly’ – I patted his arm – ‘it doesn’t matter.
Why is death such a taboo subject?’ I took another glug of fizz.
It was hitting all the right places. Warming the parts of my body that had recently been so cold.
‘After all, people die. We all die. One day you and I will die.’ I waved one hand in the air.
An expansive gesture that also encapsulated everyone within the walls of Starlight Hall.
‘Imagine! One-hundred years from now, everyone at this gathering will be dead!’
‘Jen…’ Sally hissed.
‘No, don’t shush me.’ I took another slurp of my drink.
Gave my sister a defiant look. ‘It’s true,’ I asserted, maybe a little too loudly.
‘Death is the only thing we can ever be certain of.’ People – distant relatives and Peter’s colleagues – were looking my way.
Ancient Aunt Mabel was now looking like she’d swallowed her dentures.
Unperturbed, I continued. ‘Eventually, the Grim Reaper will visit and claim every single one of us.’
‘I don’t suppose Aunt Mabel wants to be reminded of that,’ hissed Sally. ‘Keep your voice down, Jen.’
My daughter caught my eye. She broke off from chatting to Aunt Mabel’s carer and zoomed over. Joy took me by the arm and pushed me towards a quiet corner. Alec and Sally followed. Boxed in, the three of them huddled around me, forming a mini human barrier.
‘What’s going on, Mum?’ Joy demanded hoarsely.
‘Nothing,’ I said, shrugging off my daughter’s hand.
The mini human barrier briefly fragmented as my son joined us.
‘Oooh! A family confab. So, what’s occurring?’ he asked nosily.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ I said irritably. ‘You and Joy sound like a pair of characters from EastEnders. Why don’t you call up the Mitchell brothers? Or put out an SOS to their mother?’
‘Peggy Mitchell died yonks ago,’ said James.
‘See?’ I trilled. ‘More death.’ I adopted a sing-song voice. ‘It’s all around yooo.’
Sally moved closer to James and spoke out the corner of her mouth.
‘I think your mum is stressed. Either that or she’s having a nervous breakdown.’
‘You know, I can hear you, Sally,’ I snapped.
‘And anyway, let’s not beat about the bush and pretend all was a bed of roses in the Armstrong household.
Peter and I weren’t getting along. We hadn’t been for ages.
And let’s be honest – none of you even liked him.
You two included,’ I said defiantly to the twins.
‘You both know that he treated all three of us like rubbish.’
‘He did,’ Joy quietly conceded. ‘Even so, I don’t think now is the time or place to bad-mouth him, hm? Not when Dad’s family are here, along with his colleagues.’
‘Oh, right,’ I said carelessly, tossing the last of my champagne down my throat. ‘After all, we must keep up appearances.’
‘I think we should, Mum,’ said James quietly. He and Joy exchanged looks. ‘Have another drink, Mum. You’re understandably upset.’
‘I’m not sure another drink is the answer,’ said Joy. ‘It might turn her into a loose cannon.’
‘Now you’re all doing it,’ I complained. ‘Speaking about me as if I’m not even present.’
‘I’ll keep an eye on her,’ said Sally, ignoring me and addressing Joy. She gave her niece the nod to fetch more alcohol.
My children linked arms and went off together to locate Polly.
I watched them go with a mixture of pride and despair.
Pride at the wonderful young adults they were.
Despair at them witnessing me having a mini meltdown – all thanks to my dead husband.
I could almost see Peter hovering at the edge of this gathering.
Seeking me out. Ready to rebuke me over my outburst.
He’d once declared that I lacked any intelligence, was unimaginative and held no opinions or ideas of any worth. What nobody knew was that, hours earlier, when the undertaker had given me a final moment to be with my husband, I’d delivered my closing words with dark satisfaction.
Head bowed, I’d knelt next to the coffin and dropped my voice to the softest whisper.
‘So, Peter. Who’s thinking outside the box now?’