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”.                                                     

Week 17 - Anyone Seen the Bride?

The two policemen repeatedly referred to it as mysterious and apparently Becky’s family had not heard from her since our sham wedding day. I tried to answer their questions but I hadn’t got a clue where she could be. It was quite a shock when the plumper of the two policemen asked if I suspected ‘foul play’. Why would there be ‘foul play’, I mean it seemed clear that Becky had decided that she could not marry this council worker and had gone in search of more excitement. Or was I been a little slow here and had I accepted things too quickly? I told the officers about the texts I had received in the early morning of the wedding. This just resulted in one of the officers quickly getting on his walkie-talkie as if relaying some vital new information. The other policeman then asked to see the phone and the message. Of course I had long since deleted the message as it wasn’t exactly a good memento of the day. The wording of the message was very clearly itched in my brain as it wasn’t exactly an everyday text. Although as I rarely used the phone I could probably remember most of the messages I had received. The attitudes of the officers to me appeared to change and it became apparent that they believed I was hiding something about Becky. Trying to make them less suspicious I showed them the unused wedding dress. This didn’t exactly help my case as they thought it was strange that it was unworn and said they would have to take it away for finger prints. I protested that it would be mainly full of my fingerprints and the plumb one just made more notes in his notebook.

Finally the policemen left me in peace, but made it clear that they would be continuing their enquiries in the morning.

Sleeping that night was almost impossible with my head full of thoughts of the horrible fate that might have befell my beloved Becky, thoughts of Heather’s call and more scary thoughts of date with Shirley. Finally at around six on the Sunday morning I fell asleep and was rather startled a couple of hours later with the sound of the phone ringing. In the hope it was Heather and not the police I ran to the phone and picked up the receiver. The female voice seemed vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place it at first. After a few seconds the caller who seemed quite distressed revealed she was Carol, Becky’s best friend. She explained that she really had to talk to me as something terrible had happened. I was thinking that after I had been jilted and had to endure a date with Shirley surely things couldn’t get much more terrible. Carol made it quite clear that she had to see me and she had to see me today. So I gave her directions and told her to come around to the flat and we could talk about it.


Carol was a friend of Becky’s I only saw from a distance and never really got to know her. She always smiled nicely and I know she was some kind of social worker. She had met Becky when they attended some conference together. It was just after mid-day when Carol finally arrived and she was almost shaking. I wasn’t quite sure how to welcome her so I just smiled and pointed into the lounge. Carol seemed thinner and maybe taller than I had recalled but surely she hadn’t grown. All she seemed to be saying was that she had made a really big mistake. To try and calm her down I offered her sweet tea or something stronger. She opted for the sweet tea which was a problem as I had run out of sugar over a month ago. I looked in the kitchen cupboard for something sweet and noticed some golden syrup. Ok it was past its use by date, but I thought a dollop in the tea might make it sweet. It didn’t seem very keen to dissolve, but when I returned to the lounge it was the least of my worries. Carol was now sobbing uncontrollably. She just kept telling me she was sorry. So very very sorry.

I had the horrible feeling I was about to find out something nasty. My mind was working at triple it’s normal speed. The theories going through my mind could have come straight out of Miss Marple’s head. Had Carol killed Becky or maybe she was having a lesbian affair with her. I must stop watching those late night films on Channel Four.

Eventually Carol composed herself just enough to tell me she had no idea where Becky was and was really worried. Well, that was a great help. She had not seen her since the night before the wedding. Well, the day that was supposed to be our wedding. Since then she had not seen or heard from Becky. She then cried even more and her nose began to stream as well. It was at this point I remembered that I was out of tissues as well as sugar. I handed Carol two sheets of Paddington Bear kitchen roll, but even with it being super absorbent it was struggling to keep up with the stream of tears and snot.

So what would Miss Marble or Hetty Wainthorpp do now? The only new information it seemed Carol could provide was what happened the night before the murder, sorry jilting. I tried to look intimidating as I asked Carol what exactly Becky had said to her the night before. Carol just kept apologising and then gave me the news that I really hadn’t been expecting. She said that Becky had been so broken hearted because she knew she couldn’t possibly marry me. The reason was that she had slept with another man just two weeks before our wedding day. I was stunned by this news, but who was he and perhaps more importantly where was Becky now.

Next Week : The guilty party revealed

Week 4 - Here Comes the Bride?

All too soon we arrived at St. Chad’s in Lichfield. There already was the vicar in his white gown and he was very pleased to see us. I start to think about his wedding history and how many wedding he has taken where the groom has been jilted. What was his success rate? Can you count it as a wedding if the bride doesn’t show, at what point does it become a wedding? With the arms of his gown flapping the vicar directed us to a parking spot and then followed us looking as if he was meeting a long lost relative. I suppose a wedding is a good little earner for him. However, it was actually the car that he was more excited about. Apparently he used to have a spitfire before he became a man of the cloth. Pete offered to take him for a spin and the vicar, who was name Brian, jumped at the chance. Soon I was standing alone as Pete and the vicar went off on a little tour. Maybe this was a sign of things to come. Was there any need for that wheel spin and hand-brake turn?

For the first time today I was feeling scared at what was going to happen. Even if Becky turned up my life was about to change completely. I was committing myself to one person for the rest of my life. The sun was quite bright now and it really was ‘a nice day for a white wedding’.

Another car pulled up in the car park and it was someone I really didn’t want to see. It was the dreaded wedding photographer and he was carrying three cameras with extra long lenses. He introduced himself and told me that I must be the groom. Perhaps I should have denied it. Will I ever be a groom again? The photographer started to take pictures of me and I was grateful when the red sports car came hurtling back into the car park with the Vicar still safely in one piece, but with his Bobby Charlton style haircut now looking very wild. He had enjoyed his little adventure and although he tripped up over his robe trying to get out of the car he was beaming from one ear to the other. The photographer was annoyed he had missed that shot and could not persuade the Vicar to repeat the gymnastics display. Pete was now posing for the camera and we had to pose shaking hands. In eighteen years of friendship I can’t recall us ever to have shaken hands. The only times we have held hands were probably the times that Pete had murdered me at arm wrestling. Pete has very big hands and even on this posed shake I felt quite intimidated by them.

The next car to arrive was my Dad’s familiar car which must have been nearly ten minutes after we arrived it was now 10:32 and I knew that soon the moment I had been putting off and hoping was not going to happen would soon be here. My parents looked very smart in their wedding outfits and my Nan was looking like the kind of sophisticated jam making Nan that she certainly wasn’t. She then asked the Vicar, loudly, if he was into older women. The poor man’s face went the same colour as Pete’s car. Was this a sign that he had got a thing for the more mature lady, or was he just embarrassed by the antics of this mad old dear?

Time now for more damn photographs. With Dad, with Dad and Mum and with Nan. I am sure my Nan pouted her lips on the one picture.

Slowly guests were arriving and I began to feel worse and worse. My stomach felt like it was a tumble dryer drying a pair of large trainers. This was going to be very unpleasant, but maybe just maybe Becky might turn up and save the day. Guests from Becky’s side were also starting to arrive including an Uncle Alistair, who marched right up to me and introduced himself. He looked like a sergeant major type and was a dead ringer for Windsor Davis. He grabbed my hand so firmly to shake it that it took me a few seconds afterwards to get any feeling back. His wife Maggie, who was Becky’s mum’s sister was a very small and a delicate looking woman. I couldn’t help but think how they managed sexually without Alistair snapping the poor lady in two. I hope she goes on top. The two of them seemed to have no idea at all that there might not be a wedding today.

The weather was really pleasant and although the sun was out it wasn’t too hot. Probably best as my head does have a habit of sweating which is not really something that enhances my appearance. Why do all the guests look so old? We seem to have a church carpark full of over sixties. Perhaps it was time for me and my Best Man to enter the Sanctuary. I pulled Pete away from polishing his car and guided him into the Church. Pete seemed uneasy which was probably because he hadn’t been in a church for well over ten years. In fact I don’t think I have heard him mention going in to church since he lost his virginity to Vicky Southall when he was sixteen. Apparently it was on the back pew of St. Mary’s during a thunder storm. When he tells the story he makes it seem quite wild, but the truth is he had been with Vicky for five months and it was Vicky who was desperate to consummate the relationship. They had tried to be alone at each of their homes and in the school Store Room before finally ending up in a deserted church. Well, they thought it was deserted and were generally surprised when they were disturbed by the flower-arrangers. The fact that one of the old dears lived in the same street as Vicky did not help. As Pete tells it though, he had started so he would finish. Losing his virginity was quickly followed by being chased out of a church by a mad lady with a blue rinse whacking him with a broom. It wasn’t until he was a quarter of mile down the road before he could pull up his trousers. Vicky had to hide in the church for the over an hour before it was safe to leave. Maybe this explains why Pete has a slight church phobia.

We sat on the front pew on the right-hand side sucking polos and clutching our professionally designed Order of Services. Everything seemed so unreal. It reminded me of watching Lofty get jilted by Michelle in ‘Eastenders’ ten years a go. Pete wasn’t talkative and looked miles away. My parents were now sat behind me with my Nan to their right. The church was filling up and it seemed like a normal wedding. Then I heard a loud slightly common voice which was obviously Becky’s mother. Although Becky’s sister, Jenny, was slightly posh her mum was just like Marleen off ‘Only Fools and Horses’. She looked the same as the character and definitely had the same voice. I had decided it was best not to ever mention this similarity to Becky though because she can be quite defensive about her family. Becky’s mum, Sarah, was nice though and told me she was looking forward to having me as a Son-in-Law. Her husband Tom was not quite so easy to get to know. He was pleasant enough, but not known for being talkative. I had tried a few conversations without success. Tom was quite anti-sport and was happiest watching a wildlife documentary. He was an Accountant and had done pretty well for himself and had insisted on paying for the whole wedding. In a way I resented this because I felt we were having the wedding that Becky’s parents wanted. It all seemed very old fashioned. The Bride’s father came over to me and shook my hand and said ‘good luck’. That was it, not even a ‘good luck Jonathan’. Becky’s parents were now going to wait outside for Becky and her bridesmaids to hopefully arrive. It was now nearly five to eleven.

Nan was now asking where Jessie was going to sit. My Dad I think was a bit tense and not his usual refined self because he told her quite abruptly, ‘She’s dead!’. Nan just said ‘more men for me then’. I now became aware of the organ playing and the head of the organist bobbing up and down to my left. From the back he resembles the Vicar slightly perhaps they are brothers. Although the church was now more than half full I was feeling very alone and started to regret not being more honest earlier with my parents. How long would I have to wait if Becky didn’t show? What was the normal time a groom should wait for? Pete was still looking even more nervous than me, did he know something? Maybe he could tell that I was not my normal self. After a few seconds Pete gave a nervous cough and then said, ‘I can’t hold it in no more. I am going to have to go for a jimmy’. Then he was off in search of the gents. It was just me alone on that front pew just praying that Becky would turn up. At least I was in the right place for a prayer. My watch now said eleven o’clock exactly and a silence was coming over the church now that the organ had stopped playing. Now I felt very tense not only was I short of a bride but now a best man as well. It was all so quiet and it reminded me of when they have a minutes silence before a big football match because somebody has died. Any second now the whistle would blow and the place would be filled with noise. I glanced out of the stain-glass window and could see the wedding car and a glimpse of one of the twin bridesmaids. Yes, it was on. I was about to be married to one of the most beautiful girls in the world. I suddenly felt warm inside, the kind of warm feeling that they say Ready Break gives you. Then Pete returned and sat down beside me saying the words, ‘oh, that’s better’, I replied with a smile ‘yes it is’. My Princess was here.

The organ started to play the famous wedding march so we all stand up. Pete, sings the obvious, ‘All fat and wide…’ line. Yes, results in a whack in the back from my Nan’s stick. Amazingly he hardly flinched, but I think deep down he was in pain. Should I look down the aisle and see my bride or wait until she is by my side.

Then something strange happens. The organist stops playing the wedding march and starts looking through his collection of music manuscripts. Pete looked round and I stayed focused on the front. Then I heard the voice of Becky’s mother shouting, ‘Vicar, can I have a word in private’. The silence had now been replaced by whispering and the organist was playing some very sombre music. My Dad then placed his hand firmly on my shoulder and I everything suddenly felt so wrong. Pete said he would go and see what the holdup was, but it seemed obvious to me that we were lacking an important character in the marriage ceremony.

We all slowly sat down and waited for the official announcement. Nothing really made sense because I could see the bridemaids carrying their bouquets. Actually the two twins seem to be having a mini fight and striking each other with their poseys. Becky’s Dad is now holding them apart. Surely Jenny had known what Becky was planning, but then why was she all dressed up? Dad, decided to state the bleeding obvious, ‘We’re running a bit late’. Nan, said ‘Are you sure it was today?’.

The Vicar arrived by my side and asked if I would like to go into the Vestry. I decided to politely decline this request as I wanted to be with my family when I heard the news. Pete and Jenny then joined us. The Vicar started to try and say what had happened, but Pete dived in, ‘She’s done a runner, mate’. Jenny then explained that she hadn’t seen her since yesterday evening when Becky said she wanted some time on her own. Becky’s mum was furious with Jenny and couldn’t believe that she hadn’t told them that her sister had gone awol. Jenny told us that Becky said she would meet her at the church. When she had arrived at the church Becky best friend Carol had told Jenny that Becky had decided to call off the wedding. So that was it this wasn’t to be my wedding day.



Next Week : The Reception and the Honeymoon minus the Bride