Head Over Heels

by Felicity Price

  ‘It often comes as a bit of a shock, seeing the order of service,’ Andy said gently. ‘Especially when they haven’t been themselves for a while.’

  I looked at him gratefully. ‘I’ve seen so many of these things since I’ve been working with you. But this is the first time I’ve ever really seen one, if you understand what I mean.’

  ‘This is the first time it’s been your Mum.’ He smiled sympathetically, then put on his business voice and ran through the order of hymns, readings and music Mum wanted.

  He gave my arm a gentle squeeze. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll all go smoothly.’ He grinned. ‘That’s what I’m there for.’

  After Andy had gone, I heated up one of the quiches some kind soul had brought over, threw a salad together and served lunch, which we ate ravenously. I looked at my watch. Half-past one. Still no sign of Josh or Stephanie. I thought they might have phoned to let me know when they hoped to arrive, but there’d been no word.

  Adam helped me clear away the dishes and put the dishwasher on. I checked the kitchen: perfect. Just like one of those minimalist houses you see in the property ads that look like nobody lives in it. Stephanie would approve.

  The lounge: equally neat and tidy. The front hall: ditto. We were ready.

  I shooed Adam upstairs to get changed; Charlotte had been up there for some time, no doubt creating new messes in her room. Dad was pottering around downstairs.

  ‘Can I fix your tie?’ I asked. Dad always wore a tie to church.

  ‘That would be nice.’

  I fiddled with the knot, just like Mum would have done, and helped him into his jacket. He turned sideways for me to have a look.

  ‘Mum would be proud of you,’ I said, giving him a kiss. ‘Now I’d better go and get changed.’ Once I reached the bottom of the stairs I remembered the dog and called back, ‘Can you please throw Tigger a few Meaty Bites to keep him happy?’

  I was in the throes of wriggling into my little black dress when Dad called up the stairs to me, ‘Penny, Penny. You’d better come down here quick.’

  Uh-oh, I thought. Doesn’t sound good.

  I pounded down the stairs in stockinged feet.

  He pointed to the kitchen floor. One of the caterer’s trays was lying there with sandwiches strewn about it. It was plain that quite a few were missing.

  ‘That damn dog!’ I yelled. ‘Where is he?’

  Dad pointed to the dog door. ‘He went that way,’ he said, and went to chase after him.

  ‘Don’t worry about him, Dad. It’s too late now. Little sod.’

  I picked up the remaining sandwiches and stashed them back on the tray, arranging the sprigs of parsley in a fair imitation of how the caterers had done it.

  ‘Don’t tell a soul,’ I said to Dad.

  He grinned. ‘Trust that dog to upset the applecart.’

  ‘We’ll have to lock him out of the kitchen, that’s all there is to it.’ I locked off the dog door, blocking his re-entry. ‘Serves him right.’

  I rushed upstairs and finished dressing, touched up my foundation, swiped the mascara across my eyelashes and dabbed on some lipstick. A few scrunches with the hair fudge and I was done.

  ‘Everyone ready?’ I called as I headed back downstairs. ‘It’s nearly time to go.’

  ‘Calm down, it’s only two o’clock,’ Adam yelled back.

  ‘I know. But we’re the family. We’ve got to get there early.’

  ‘But two o’clock?’

  ‘Yes. Time to go.’

  I rummaged in my bag to check my eulogy was still there. I’d spent so long researching it — getting anecdotes from Dad and checking dates when things happened — and even longer writing it, I would be furious with myself if I left it behind. I found it tucked neatly in the zipper compartment inside.

  Adam obediently arrived in the front hall moments later, wearing his dark school trousers and a loose short-sleeved shirt. He’d gelled his hair and looked so handsome I had to put my arm around his shoulder and give him a squeeze. He accepted it for a nanosecond before swivelling away.

  I had to call up the stairs twice more before Charlotte came down, looking much the same as she had at lunchtime — pale, tired and still slightly fragile. The only difference in her appearance after all that time, as far as I could see, was that she’d changed her dress. I failed to see what had taken her so long when she had so little work to do. At nineteen, she was naturally gorgeous. Now in my case, it was quite different. I needed major repairs — preferably with Polyfilla and a spatula.

  ‘Got your reading?’ I asked as she arrived in the hall. Mum’s wishes for the funeral service included Charlotte reciting one of her favourite readings from Kahlil Gibran.

  She waved a folded piece of paper at me. ‘Of course, Mum.’

  We were just piling into Dad’s car, with Tigger watching pathetically from behind the fence, when a taxi drew up outside and a large, dark-haired, chubby-faced young man virtually fell out, surrounded by a load of bags and backpacks.

  ‘Josh!’ I cried, running over to help. ‘You’re here!’ Always one to love his food, Josh had grown a bit tubby, which hadn’t done his persistent acne any good. I should have known from his email descriptions of sausage rolls, chip butties and other English gourmet delights that his stomach was still his best friend. Like mother, like son.

  ‘I told you I’d get here in time,’ he said, grinning broadly and giving me a huge bear hug.

  ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you.’ I buried my face in his chest, inhaling the essence of him, not wanting to let him go. ‘It’s been so long.’

  ‘Well, you’ll soon get used to me. I’m back for good. I’m totally over the UK.’

  He started hitching some of the bags over his shoulder. ‘How on earth did you manage to get all this stuff on the plane?’ I asked as I picked up two more bags and headed towards the house.

  ‘I had to fork out quite a few pounds for excess baggage,’ he grinned. ‘But it was worth it. I don’t have to shag around getting it all shipped back now.’

  ‘Oh, to be young and rich!’ I laughed.

  Dad came down the drive to welcome his grandson, while Charlotte and Adam stood by the car, grinning at their big brother.

  ‘Hey, Josh,’ Adam said.

  ‘You made it,’ Charlotte said. ‘Great. You can help with the food and drinks too.’

  ‘Good to see you guys,’ he said, feinting a boxing manoeuvre at Adam. ‘Boy, it’s good to be back.’

  I rushed him inside, dumped all his bags in the laundry, ignored the pathetic scrabblings of Tigger at the dog door, and propelled Josh back towards the front door.

  ‘Mum, he protested, ‘I need a shower and change of clothes. I’ve been sitting in these clothes for two days. I can’t go to Nana’s funeral like this!’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum. I can manage. I’m a big boy now!’ He grinned disarmingly. ‘I can have a quick shower and change and get a taxi to the church in plenty of time.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said grudgingly, unwilling to let him out of my sight again so soon. ‘We’ll see you there. I’ll save you a seat.’

  I checked my watch again. Two-fifteen.

  Josh had arrived.

  Stephanie had not.

  She was cutting it fine. Very fine.

  I jumped in the back of the car next to Charlotte. Adam was driving and Dad had commandeered his usual seat in the front. The car was just beginning to accelerate down the street when Charlotte cried, ‘Stop!’

  ‘Why, what’s the matter?’ Adam said, braking so heavily we all shot forward. I hadn’t fastened my seat belt yet so I pitched forward and hit my nose on the back of Dad’s seat.

  ‘Owww!’

  ‘Mum, you should have your seat belt done up,’ lectured Charlotte, ever helpful.

  ‘Thanks.’

  I rubbed my nose. That was just what I needed: a broken nose and a black eye for Mum’s funeral. I felt around the sides of it. Maybe it wasn’t broken, just b
ruised.

  ‘Why did we have to stop?’

  ‘Tigger’s chasing after us.’

  ‘That damn dog!’

  ‘How did he get out?’

  Adam leapt out of the car and grabbed Tigger by his collar.

  ‘He’ll have to come in the car,’ I called out the window. ‘He’ll eat all the food on the bench if you put him back inside.’

  Tigger didn’t need a second bidding. His goal all along had been to join us for an outing. He hated being left behind, especially when he was barred from the kitchen with its bounty of food.

  ‘Looks like he broke down a piece of fence,’ Adam said as he let Tigger into the front seat. Tigger sat in the driver’s seat and panted happily at him.

  ‘Move over, you stupid dog.’

  Tigger then jumped into the back seat and trod all over me, leaving earthy footprints on my black dress.

  ‘God, you’re such a bad dog,’ I admonished. He took no notice and continued to pant happily, tail wagging furiously. He had achieved exactly what he wanted.

  It was just after two-thirty when we arrived at the church. I would have thought we were there in plenty of time, but we were by no means the first to arrive. Dad identified several old friends filing into the portico, eager to get a good seat. Dad headed after them to say hello.

  ‘I bet they’re the serial mourners you read about,’ Adam said. ‘You know, they go through the funeral notices and turn up at as many funerals as they can for a spot of hymn-singing, followed by a good feed.’

  ‘Adam, don’t say that. They’re your granddad’s friends.’

  ‘Yeah, some of them are. But look, those two aren’t. Granddad doesn’t know who they are.’ Adam pointed to an elderly couple collecting an order of service and hymn book at the back of the church.

  ‘You’ve been watching too much television.’

  ‘You’ll see. I bet you they are.’

  I could hear a distant whining. Tigger was now protesting at being left in the car. I’d left the windows down slightly so he wouldn’t suffocate, with the result that his grief could be clearly heard in the church.

  ‘Is that Tigger?’ Charlotte said.

  ‘Typical,’ Dad muttered.

  ‘He’ll be okay. The organ will easily drown him out,’ I said hopefully.

  ‘I’d put money on him getting out of the car somehow and turning up at the service,’ Dad said ruefully.

  ‘He’d better not.’

  ‘Nana never liked Tigger.’ Adam pulled a face.

  ‘She had excellent taste, your Gran,’ Dad added.

  ‘Come on, you two. You can stand with me at the back of the church and hand out these orders of service when people come in.’

  ‘But I won’t know who anyone is,’ Adam protested.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Most of them will know who you are and that’s what matters. People will want to see Mum’s lovely grandchildren.’

  Charlotte grimaced. ‘Yuk.’

  ‘What about the others then? Seraya and Damien and Nick?’ Adam said.

  ‘Don’t worry, they’ll do their bit too.’ If they turn up, I added silently.

  We positioned ourselves at the entrance and requisitioned the service sheets from Andy and his colleagues, handing them out to the increasingly steady stream of Mum and Dad’s friends and a bevy of uncles and aunts, cousins and other distant relatives I hadn’t seen in years; so long in fact that I couldn’t remember many of their names.

  The small church was starting to fill, which I knew would be a great relief to Dad. He’d confided to me his fear that hardly anybody would come.

  ‘She’s put a lot of people off, these past months,’ he’d said sadly. ‘I hope they remember her as she was before she got sick.’

  I was pleased to see Simon turn up nice and early.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help? Pass out service sheets, help little old ladies find somewhere to sit?’

  ‘I’d really like you to keep an eye on Charlotte and Adam, actually,’ I said. ‘I’m a bit worried about how they’ll cope. It’s their first ever funeral. And if you sit with them it means you won’t be too far away from me during the service.’

  ‘Shall I take them up to their seats?’

  ‘Good idea. Wait for a few minutes, though. Dad wants them to meet some of the rellies. But he can’t expect them to stay back here for too long.’

  I was touched by the number of my friends who turned up, too — all the Philly girls, everyone from work, even some of my clients. I was so busy greeting people and handing out the service sheets, Mikey’s arrival took me by surprise.

  ‘Hi, sis!’

  ‘Oh my God, Mikey!’ I stood back and took him in. ‘Look at you. You look amazing.’

  The pasty, chubby, beer-potted party boy I had grown up with had certainly changed. Always tall, he had slimmed down to a lean, tanned, good-looking man with hair greying at the temples in a distinguished way. It’s so unfair — when women go grey, we look old. When men do, they look like Pierce Brosnan. Damn!

  I wrapped my arms around Mikey and gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He hugged me back.

  ‘Hi, Penny,’ Jenn said, giving me a friendly peck and taking my hands in hers. Mikey’s wife of twenty years was shorter than me — in itself something of a feat — and slightly tubbier, which was a consolation, since she used to be skinny as a reed. Her hair was significantly blonder than the last time I’d seen her, whether from the Australian sun or peroxide I couldn’t tell, but had retained its natural springy curls. ‘Sorry about your Mum.’

  ‘Thanks for coming, Jenn. It’s so good to see you both.’

  ‘You remember Damien and Nick, don’t you?’ She thrust forward her two boys.

  ‘I don’t remember them looking so grown up,’ I said, smiling at them both. ‘Goodness, it’s years since I saw you.’

  They smiled nervously. Both tall, one was sandy-haired like I remember Jenn being once, and the other quite dark, like his father. I still couldn’t figure which was which.

  I introduced them to their cousins, Adam and Charlotte. All four teenagers looked decidedly awkward.

  ‘We should go sit down,’ Mikey said. ‘We can catch up afterwards.’

  ‘There are seats for the family over there on the right,’ I said.

  ‘Shouldn’t we go sit down too, Mum?’ Charlotte looked anxious.

  ‘Yes, good idea.’ I looked around to find Simon. He’d been standing behind me all the time, solid and dependable, waiting for his cue. ‘Can you take them all down to our seats please?’

  He smiled and ushered them all away. I watched him guiding my two kids into the pew and felt a moment of sudden tenderness towards him. He really was a natural with them. I was still gazing fondly in their direction when a strong hand clapped itself around my right shoulder. I jumped.

  ‘Josh!’

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ he said, releasing his grip.

  ‘Josh, you’re here! That’s great.’

  I looked at my watch. Almost five to three. Still no sign of Steph.

  ‘Come on, let’s go and join Adam and Charlotte,’ I said, pointing in their direction. ‘You lead the way.’

  He headed off, acknowledging old family friends as he made his way down the centre aisle. I put the service sheets down on the table by the door so I could follow him, turned around and banged into Steve.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ we both said at once.

  ‘Hi, Penny.’ He looked sheepish for some reason. Then I looked beyond him and saw why.

  He’d brought Jacinta with him.

  He’d dared to invite none other than the Conniving Cow to my mother’s funeral. How dare he!

  I was about to open my mouth to complain when I took a closer look.

  I’d got it wrong. It wasn’t Jacinta. It was a woman with Jacinta’s face but the rest of her bore no resemblance to the peaky, skinny, runway model my husband had deserted me for. This was a different woman altogether.

  Sh
e was positively enormous. A rockmelon would have been an accurate description of her shape — a blimp on legs. Her aquiline swan’s neck had filled out to resemble a puffer fish. Her arms would have made a sumo wrestler proud. Her ankles had thickened to fencepost proportions.

  It was all I could do to stifle a squeal of delight.

  Vengeance is mine, I thought.

  After all those lectures from Charlotte exhorting me to exercise more like Jacinta, eat sensibly like Jacinta, give up alcohol like Jacinta and generally be perfect like Jacinta, here was living proof that nobody is, in fact, perfect. Even the great goddess of superlative womanhood could fall from grace.

  Hallelujah!

  I managed to control my gleeful urges to punch the heavens and cry, ‘There is a God!’

  Instead, I simply said, ‘Hello Jacinta. You’re looking well.’

  ‘Thank you Penny. Sorry about your Mum.’

  I tussled with myself: should Steve be included in the family seating, now that he’d turned his back on the family, as it were? Then reason won over retribution.

  ‘The seats reserved for the family are on the right. You can’t miss them.’

  Poor Jacinta deserved a seat near the front, I thought. A nice big seat with lots of room for her now sizeable backside.

  I couldn’t stop smiling as I watched them depart, her with that unmistakeable pregnancy waddle, as if she’d just climbed off a Shetland pony.

  I followed them down the aisle, reminding myself of the solemnity of the occasion and chastising myself for my momentary glee. We arrived at the very front pew, where Josh and Steve gave each other a manly sort of handshake and half-hug, then Steve and his watermelon detoured round the front of the pew to enter at the far end, thereby saving Jacinta an impossibly tight squeeze past the others.

  I let Dad remain at the aisle end, slipping past him to sit next to Josh, Adam and Charlotte just as the church organ played the opening chords of the hymn of the Twenty-Third Psalm.

  I was just getting into it, humming along to the part about walking the paths of righteousness, when there was a small commotion in the back of the church. A shrill woman’s voice rang out, loud enough to be easily heard over the organ: ‘But I am family.’