Week 23 - Funeral of Surprises

Lying in a bed that is only five foot long, when you are over six foot tall and a thirty year old man, sleeping is difficult, but when you add the fact that in less than ten hours time you will be going to a funeral at the Church where you were jilted and it becomes an impossibility. I had decided that I wanted to be with my parents the night before Nan’s funeral as I had been worried about my Dad. Even though it seemed for the last ten years that Dad had been the parent and not the child he was now missing his mum so much. He wasn’t the only one I really wasn’t ready to have no grandparents and I also wasn’t ready to go back inside that Church. My mind kept switching between reliving my wedding day fiasco and seeing my Nan falling to her death. Nothing seemed to make sense at the moment. The only part of my life that seemed to bring me any happiness was Heather, but I had no idea what her intentions towards me were. Heather had asked if I wanted her at the funeral, but I had said I wanted it just to be my family. Heather had been brilliant and she said she would wait for me at my flat wearing stockings and suspenders. She was probably the only thing that was keeping me vaguely sane.

According to the alarm clock it was five to three but I just couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I kept seeing Becky in her wedding dress at the front of the Church kissing Pete. It was dreadful I just couldn’t get past this image. How could my best mate have betrayed me so much? Didn’t those years sitting together in double History mean anything? Just then I heard the sound of somebody walking around outside my bedroom door. I decided to go and investigate. It was Dad just pacing around in his unflattering paisley pyjamas. This didn’t seem like my Dad. This man just wasn’t calm and in control like my Dad he was like somebody placed on a faraway planet where suddenly nothing made sense. We sat together drinking hot milk with golden syrup in for the first time in twenty years, but just didn’t speak. We probably had so much to say that we didn’t know where to start. Then Dad did something that really shocked me. He reached out and placed his hand on mine. He then said, “Don’t make the same mistake as me Jon” and stood up and returned to his, and mum’s bedroom.

Somehow I managed to sleep and it wasn’t until a text from Heather arrived at ten past nine that I woke. The text simply read “Thinking of Jon. I will be there when you need me”. Maybe there is a future for me and Heather. If we ever do get married it certainly won’t be at St. Chad’s. What am I doing thinking about marrying Heather on the day of my Nan’s funeral at the Church where I was jilted? As he had on my nearly wedding day my Dad arrived with a bacon sandwich and cup of tea for me. It was sad to see that my familiar Villa mug had a chip on the edge. Dad seemed slightly brighter this morning but that mood soon changed when instead of his usual Daily Express the paperboy delivered a copy of The Sun. As if having the wrong newspaper wasn’t bad enough, the headline on the front page made things a whole lot worse. The headline read ‘WHO KILLED JILTED JON’S NAN’. The story seemed to suggest that the mysterious death of a frail old lady was linked to the disappearance of Becky. The whole story was total fiction. No mention of the fact that Nan was trying to climb down the drain pipe when she fell and instead seemed to suggest she was thrown from the window shortly after Jon Stadler had arrived.

The funeral hearse arrived at the house and I looked at the coffin. Surely that couldn’t be my Nan in there. I half expected to hear her banging her stick on the lid shouting to be let out as it was time for ‘Emmerdale’. There were just a bunch of white lilies on top of the surprisingly small coffin. It was also civil and just not Nan. I really didn’t want this to be goodbye. In the funeral car were Mum, Dad, Karen, Uncle Henry and me. We didn’t say a word to each other, but that wasn’t unusual lately. After ten minutes my Dad broke the silence by announcing that this afternoon we all had to go to hear the reading of Nan’s Will.

As we followed the coffin into the Church I was disappointed to see such a poor turnout. My farce of a wedding had attracted ten times this many people. At least a few of her fellow inmates from the old people’s home had turned up including Mr. Singh who was wearing a very bright lime green suit and matching turban. Also there on the back row were the two policemen who had become constant visitors to my flat. Then two rows in front of them were two press photographers. Other than that it was just the normal uninspiring family. It could really be any old ladies family. This wasn’t my Nan’s life being remembered it was somebody else’s. At least she would have found it funny the paparazzi being there. We sat on the front row on the right-hand side. Coincidentally this was the one row that had remained unoccupied at my wedding. I felt bitter, cross and slightly twisted. Most of all I just wanted my Nan with me. I tried to imagine her being there, but I just couldn’t. The Vicar was trying to get the balance right between celebrating an eventful life to respecting the sad mood. He announced the first hymn ‘The day Thou gavest, Lord, is ended’, which I always think is a funeral song although apparently it was my Granddad’s favourite. I would hate to hear a song that my Granddad thought was depressing. It was during the second verse that we were all distracted by the sound of the large oak door at the back opening. The creek it made belonged on a haunted house ride on a fair ground. As I turned round I was shocked to see the person standing there. I had to look twice because at first I really thought it was my Nan. Was I seeing things? No, it wasn’t Nan but an old lady who had all Nan’s features including Nan’s appalling dress sense. The old lady sat herself down on the row behind Mr. Singh.

“Oh no, not Gladys”, my Dad appeared to recognise my Nan’s lookalike. My Mum seemed totally in the dark though and nudged Dad in the ribs to find out more. He revealed that Gladys was Nan’s twin sister but they had had a big fallout in 1932 on their eighteenth birthday. My Dad said he would explain later as we sat down after the hymn. Uncle Henry was next doing a reading about his mother and how she had made him. If only he knew. I wonder if Dad knew that his brother Henry wasn’t his brother? I couldn’t get used to the idea Nan was dead and inside that coffin let alone that I had just gained a Great Aunt at the age of 30. Uncle Henry was just wiping a tear from his eye as there was another creek of the big wooden door. Who was it this time?

This time it was somebody from my past. Somebody I had been trying to put out of my mind. It was Pete and I couldn’t believe he was wearing the same suit that he had worn to be my best man. At least he was on his own and sat on the very back row. We didn’t exchange any glances but I did note that he seemed very shocked to see the old lady who looked like my Nan. Why was he here?  Did he want to make the day even harder for me and my family?  Well me, as nobody else in my family knew that this toe-rag had bonked his best friend’s bride.

The funeral service went as well as it could and somehow I managed to hold the tears back until the coffin was carried out to the theme tune from ‘Bullseye’. I looked up to see Pete hugging my sister Karen. Although my mind decided to play a cruel trick and replace Karen with Becky. Should I speak to the former best friend or just ignore him? In the end I walked straight past and just followed the coffin out into the car park. I sat myself in the funeral car and waited for the others.

As we travelled to the crematorium Dad filled us all in on the story of Gladys, my Nan’s elder sister by twenty-three minutes. It was obviously all new to Uncle Henry and Mum seemed really cross that it was new to her. It all made more sense when Dad told us that the first he had heard about it was when Nan had told him the day before she died. She had obviously had a few confessions to make in those final days. The story with Gladys seemed to be that at the twins’ eighteenth birthday party Gladys had made a move for Nan’s boyfriend, my Granddad. Well, actually Nan had caught the two at it behind the cake table. Apparently from that day on the two never spoken a word and a month later Gladys went to live in Coventry. My Dad did keep saying that the story might not be totally true as Nan had been a little confused at the end.

At the Crem the Vicar said a few more words as twelve of us stood watching the coffin and my Nan slowly disappear. The old lady we believed was Gladys was one of the twelve but nobody knew how she had got there. Surely the old dear didn’t drive! Pete had at least had the sensitivity not to show. As we walked through to see the flowers I was shocked to see Mr. Singh was now trying to chat up Nan’s possible twin. He seemed to be doing ok until he pinched her bottom and then felt the force of what looked a very heavy handbag. It caught him right on the chin and his ready-wrapped bright lime turban flew off.

We all stood admiring the flowers that had been sent from various people despite the newspaper clearly asking just for family flowers. One big tribute caught my eye. It was a really big heart covered with more colours than a Noel Edmonds jumper. It was with Nan’s pile but I wasn’t sure who had sent it. I leant over a read a tag. It read “Nan, I am going to really miss you. Thanks for the advice, Love Becky xx”.