The Misadventures of a Playground Mother (6 page)

O
ne week later
, I had the joy of attending Frisky Pensioner's funeral. I had no intention of going until the Farrier asked me if I would accompany him. I wasn't sure I wanted to pay my respects to a man who on many occasions tried to snog the face off me and who had stalked me for the best part of a year. On the other hand, seeing him buried deep in the ground with no chance of escape might help me to sleep better at night. The Farrier's mother (Frisky Pensioner's wife) had disappeared off the face of the earth, allegedly having taken a leaf out of Shirley Valentine's book, to sun herself on a foreign beach somewhere, and had no idea that her randy husband was about to be entombed six feet under.

I agreed to go, not for my own sake but for that of the Farrier. We were becoming friends and the day ahead would no doubt be difficult for him. It was the end of an era. His wife, his father and his mother had all disappeared out of his life and he didn't seem to have any other family or friends he could rely on. To be honest, I didn't have any other commitments that day, Matilda and Daisy were at preschool and I wasn't working. My part-time job that I'd started last year when I first arrived in the village, had unexpectedly ceased due to lack of funding in their budget.

Penelope was becoming a limpet again. Having initially been dumped for the wonderful Camilla Noland, now she'd done a runner, I had unfortunately, been promoted back to the top spot as Penelope's number one best friend. The morning of the funeral I left the school playground very quickly, and rushed back home to grab a quick shower. The Farrier updated me with the funeral timing by text. The hearse would be leaving the house a little after ten, to start the procession.

I was all dressed and ready for the funeral with thirty minutes to spare when there was a knock on the door. I was hoping it would be the postman with my parcels that had gone astray during the Christmas period, but no such luck. I was amazed to find Penelope standing there, well not technically standing there; she was skipping. I don't mean she was skipping from leg to leg like a child skips; she was actually throwing a rope over her head and counting. I had that horrible sinking feeling that I was about to be roped into another mad keep fit challenge just like last year when she had manoeuvred me into climbing a mountain with her. Penelope must be Tesco's dream shopper at this time of year. In her matching shorts, T-shirt, and a white towelling head-band, she looked just like John McEnroe.

Watching her bounce up and down in front of me, I began to feel dizzy. It was worse than the motion sickness I had experienced on a ferry ride a couple of years ago when I thought I might take out shares in Joy-rider tables.

‘What are you doing Penelope?'

‘Isn't it obvious? We are in training again.'

I was sure I had heard the word ‘we'. I stared at her; after last year's mountain climb there was no way I would be talked into any madder, ridiculous ideas. I didn't have time to argue with her.

‘Why are you dressed in black? You look like you are about to attend a funeral,' she continued.

‘I am. I'm accompanying the Farrier to his father's funeral in ten minutes,' I replied, not amused.

‘Well, why the hell didn't you tell me?' She stopped skipping.

‘Don't leave without me, I'll run home and change quickly.' And with that, she was gone, bounding up the path in freezing cold conditions in Tesco's bargain flannel fitness shorts.

I hadn't engaged in any sort of conversation with Penelope regarding Frisky Pensioner's funeral. There was no need, they hadn't been friends and I had no idea why she would even want to pay her last respects – or any respects come to that.

At that moment I received another update text from the Farrier; the hearse was about to leave.

Grabbing my coat and locking the front door behind me, I made my way down the path and headed towards the Farrier's house. Penelope must be the fastest dresser ever, because she was already hurrying back up the road, very hyper and shouting, ‘wait for me!' She was dressed in a sort of tight-fitting yellow dress with a red blazer thrown over the top. There was only one thing that crossed my mind – a human rhubarb and custard. Don't get me wrong I love clothes but who wears yellow and red to a funeral unless it's for a departed cheerleader?

Tottering up the lane behind Penelope on the most ridiculous high heels ever, was BB. Even a clown in the local circus would have stilts lower than those heels. With the weight of her artificial boobs pulling her forward, on those heels, BB would be lucky if she spent any time upright today. Why was she here? To tout for more business among the assembled mourners? It would be like shooting fish in a barrel; there would be plenty of pensioners for her to befriend; those who would shortly be on their way to the pearly gates – those who would leave their small fortunes to the likes of her in exchange for one last night of passion. No doubt, she would be asking for payment up front, a cash advance from their life savings.

Unlike Penelope, she had the mourner attire down to a tee. She had draped a black veil over her face and her long black hair was smoothed down to the arch of her back. Her sunglasses were a hooker version of the type that wouldn't look out of place on Joan Collins and the dress; well she was coming very close to spilling out over the top of her dress. Anyone would have thought she was the widow, not the tart that had finished him off. I wondered whether this was one of many funerals she had attended of those she had helped to shuffle off this mortal coil; she looked as if she was a dab hand in the role of the grieving funeral guest.

Thankfully, the Farrier was coping well although he probably thought he was in the middle of a pantomime. All we needed now was Widow Twanky bringing up the rear shouting, ‘he's behind you'. He didn't give the impression he was upset, but I suppose, as he had distanced himself from his father many years ago, he certainly wasn't going to start bawling crocodile tears now, not like some we knew. I glanced over at BB who was currently dabbing away a tear from the corner of her eye with a hanky – like I said – bloody pantomime.

In no time at all a crowd of people had gathered outside to pay their last respects; they fell silent when the hearse drew up alongside them outside FP's house. Then out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my neighbours, Don and Edna peering out of the upstairs window of their house after deciding to stay behind closed doors. I couldn't blame them. They had fallen out with the Frisky Pensioner forty odd years ago when Edna caught him spying through a man-made hole in the fence when she was sunbathing topless. At least Edna could now sunbathe topless in her own garden if she so desired.

Outside the gate, BB stood licking her lips in a seductive manner trying to catch the eye of the funeral director. When this didn't work, she started to wail; the same wailing sound she had made on the morning that Frisky Pensioner died, when she had dropped to her knees in the street with only the flea-ridden chinchilla to preserve her dignity. I looked round the crowd and wondered whether this was an outing from the local psychiatric hospital. The world was full of mad people and most of them appeared to be standing next to me in my lane. It gave a whole new meaning to the village people.

An unfamiliar car pulled up, and park a little further up the road. A tall lanky man opened the car door and sauntered towards the funeral director at the front of the hearse. There were a few perplexed looks from the crowd, as they waited to discover who this man was.

‘Who's that?' I whispered in the Farrier's ear, genuinely curious.

‘Probably a long lost brother, or a love child of my father's, I'm sure there will be a few of them emerging from the woodwork hoping to claim his non-existent fortune,' he joked half-heartedly.

The onlookers were soon to be disappointed as he was simply a passer-by who noticed the hearse had a flat tyre. The body of Frisky Pensioner would have to stay where it was until they got the wheel changed. BB wailed more intensely as the elderly man kindly touched her arm and softly said, ‘I am so sorry for your loss.' This woman was unbelievable; she wasn't even a relative of Frisky Pensioner.

My feet felt like blocks of ice from all the standing around. I began to shiver in the cold air so the Farrier kindly draped his arm around my shoulder and invited me back into the warmth of his house to wait while they fitted the spare wheel. Penelope followed us; she didn't wait for the Farrier to ask her in, and as soon as she was over the threshold she plonked herself down in an armchair. The Farrier disappeared upstairs mumbling that he needed to find a scarf.

Inside, the house had a musty aroma about it, and the walls were covered with old photographs of buildings and houses. The fireplace was high, maybe original; I couldn't tell as an ivy plant trailed down covering it and the brass ornaments adorning the hearth. The Farrier would have his work cut out trying to modernise the room to bring it into the twenty-first century. I wondered where Frisky Pensioner had died; I could be standing on the very spot. Shivering, I glanced out of the window to see the hearse balancing on a jack and two men struggling to change the tyre. Unfortunately, for the dead Frisky Pensioner, his flowers had slid down the coffin when the front of the car was lifted off the ground and now lay squashed and piled up in a heap against the corner of the window. Penelope wandered into the kitchen to admire the buffet, where we were out of earshot of the Farrier. ‘I'm only here for the buffet; I do love a good sausage roll and pork pie,' she claimed. ‘Times are hard now that Rupert has left me; anything for a free feed.'

‘Forgive me Penelope, you left him. Now put the foil back over those sausage rolls, they are for the wake!' I exclaimed.

The thought of eating a sausage roll at FP's wake turned my stomach; all I could imagine was a sausage and a roll with the delightful BB, and my appetite had suddenly disappeared.

The Farrier appeared at the kitchen door; awkwardly, Penelope quickly re-covered the sausage rolls with the tin foil.

‘The cars are ready now. The tyre is fixed, but unfortunately, the flowers they look ... well ... dead just like my father.'

We followed him to the bottom of the path and noticed BB was still lurking on the edge of the curb. All of a sudden, it seemed to turn dark outside and I felt as if the temperature had dropped. It was as if there had just been an eclipse of the sun, I shivered, feeling as if someone had walked over my grave. It crossed my mind that maybe Frisky Pensioner had been refused entry into the good world up above, and I made a promise to myself, there and then, that I would never to participate in any form of ghost hunting or Ouija board antics in case he came back to haunt me. I hoped it wasn't too late to add another New Year's Resolution.

The rest of the mourners climbed into their vehicles; engines were running, doors slamming and the smoke from exhausts trailing behind as the procession started. BB was giving the idea she was the grief stricken widow – another person on track for an Oscar nomination. Sweeping her hand continuously across her forehead, she gave the impression she could faint at any moment. I was hoping she would – sooner rather than later – anything to stop that awful wailing.

The funeral director must have taken pity on her; for we watched him halt the hearse and flinging the door open, he waved his hand at her, gesturing for her to jump in and take a seat. She clambered in. The Farrier laughed and shook his head in disbelief; then he climbed into his car and invited me to join him. Penelope wasted no time at all and quickly jumped into the back and we drove away tailing the hearse.

T
he funeral cortege
halted outside the crematorium. I thought I would witness the Frisky Pensioner being buried in the ground today, but apparently, he had opted for a cremation.

It made no difference to me as long the ashes were scattered and he didn't perch on the Farrier's mantelpiece indefinitely. You do hear of people whose better halves sit there in their urn as large as life so to speak because the bereaved can't face the final separation. I once worked with a woman who placed her husband in pride of place on top of the fireplace. Then at mealtimes, she would place his ashes on the dining table, set his place with a knife and fork and pour a glass of water. Without fail, she'd always ask him how his day had been. The conversation must have become a little one-sided over time.

Everyone was seated in the wooden pews; the crematorium wasn't packed with people, but could be classified as a good turnout. I recognised half the pensioners from the post office queue on a Monday morning. The day they gather to collect their weekly benefit and carry out their mental roll call to determine whether or not their number had been depleted. They must have thought all their Christmases had come at once with a free feed so soon after the festivities.

I wasn't quite sure where to sit. I wanted to park myself quietly at the back, undetected, but knew the Farrier would need to be somewhere near the front. The Farrier had decided that Rosie's relationship with her Grandfather wasn't a close one. In fact, she barely knew him after all communications between him and the Farrier had broken down, so she was safely tucked away behind her desk in the school classroom.

I was rather amused by the Reverend who appeared to have a lisp and sounded as if he had overdosed on helium; either that or he had been swigging more than holy water. Every time he spoke, he sprayed the occupants of the front row with his spit.

As I watched them take cover and dodge his frothy spray, I couldn't believe what I saw. There in the front row, in pride of place was BB. What the bloody hell was she doing taking up space in the places that were allocated to family members?

I also noticed a woman from the village called Elsie sitting with some of the neighbours. This woman didn't even attempt to whisper, and bellowed out that Iris Fletcher-Parker (Mrs Frisky Pensioner), the Farrier's mother, had finally come to her senses and had decamped, leaving the philanderer in the arms of a prostitute. I noticed a reporter from the local newspaper hovering nearby furiously scribbling on his notepad, picking up the trail of a story recounted by the vocal Elsie. Aside from the fact that her outburst echoed all around the vast space of the crematorium, she was also sitting directly behind BB who promptly turned round and stared straight at the woman – if looks could kill – well, we were in the right place if nothing else.

The Farrier ushered Penelope and me into a pew a little further back. After numerous prayers and hymns, I couldn't help sniggering to myself as ‘You Raise Me Up' belted out from what looked like an 80s' style ghetto-blaster plugged in behind the prehistoric organ that had certainly seen better days. I thought this song was very apt as the Frisky Pensioner was most definitely attempting to raise himself up on the night of his death. All we needed now was an encore of ‘Died in Your Arms.'

After a few more prayers and a reading, the spotlight lowered down onto the coffin lighting up the photograph of Mr Fletcher-Parker that was perched on top of the oak casket. Vera Lynn's ‘We'll Meet Again' was next to play from the top ten funeral hits.

‘Goodbye my love,' BB mouthed at the coffin. The heavy-duty crimson curtain of crushed velvet began to lower while the coffin slid forward out of sight. Was this woman for real? ‘Goodbye my love'? This was no great love affair; she was simply the escort with benefits that he had hired to entertain himself on New Year's Eve. Unfortunately, for him, he ended up dead. BB was delusional but probably thought she was in with a chance to claim some sort of financial settlement. No doubt, she would sue the Farrier for Frisky Pensioner's fortune while she faked PTSD – post-traumatic sex disorder. Give her some credit though, if that wail was anything to go by she absolutely knew how to fake it – no question about that at all.

Much to my and the Farrier's amusement, it appeared the music was cued incorrectly, and all eyes were eagerly fixed on the Reverend, as he raced to the ghetto-blaster to quickly switch off ‘Another One Bites the Dust', muttering, ‘I'm so sorry,' as he ran.

Once the coffin had disappeared completely behind the curtain there must have been some weird electrical current that interfered with every pensioner's hearing aid in the room as they all started to whistle in a very high-pitched tone.

The three of us filed out of the pew. I was relieved to be leaving the service. I was beginning to feel chilly and was looking forward to hugging a hot mug of tea. There were only so many cliché funeral songs and so much of BB that anyone could tolerate in one hour.

All of a sudden, Penelope halted. I bumped slap; bang into the Farrier's back leaving a powdery foundation mark on the shoulder of his black jacket. I quickly tried to brush it off while glancing over it to see why we had unexpectedly stopped. Penelope was standing still and glaring at a woman who was blocking the aisle; the woman was staring back at her.

The Farrier looked up. ‘Hi,' he managed to mumble even though he looked as if his mouth had suddenly become completely dry.

‘Hi there, back,' the woman spoke warmly.

‘Melanie Tate,' he breathed; his body radiated sudden heat.

‘It's been far too long.'

‘This is a lovely surprise but what on earth are you doing here?'

‘I'm back, permanently,' she said gazing at him so intently that even I felt I could be hypnotised at any moment. One couldn't deny that these two were pleased to see each other.

‘Out of all the funerals in all the land, you turn up at my father's,' he joked.

Melanie cocked her head to one side throwing out a cheeky smile, and they grabbed each other in a bear hug with the Farrier stealing a kiss on her cheek in the process and smoothing his hand over her hair.

‘I can't believe you are here. It's been way too long,' he stated with real pleasure. Their eyes locked.

‘You look well,' she whispered, and reluctantly pulled away.

I could see from Penelope's reaction and her raised eyebrows, that she was not in the least bit ecstatic about this reunion.

Swiftly turning towards the Farrier, her eyes now bulging with rage, she cleared her throat then demanded rather harshly, ‘How do you know her?'

‘Hi Rachel,' Melanie greeted me, ignoring Penelope completely.

‘And how the bloody hell do you two know each other?' Penelope snarled. She seemed to be stifling some strong emotion, but unfortunately, began to turn purple. Sherlock Holmes wasn't needed to reveal there was something going on here, but I was having a real problem trying to fathom what it was all about. Well, if I couldn't beat them, I decided to join them in question time.

‘How do you lot know each other?' I asked in turn.

However, no one was moving or answering any sort of questions.

The crematorium was nearly empty by now; the mourners were already on their way back to the house to be fed and watered. I noted BB had latched onto another ancient friend of Frisky Pensioner. Nevertheless, this man looked very different from him; he was tall and lean, with silvery grey hair; his suit looked tailor-made and his designer shoes were polished. He gave the impression he was a successful businessman. I overheard him saying that he couldn't believe he had met a movie star. I watched her link arms with her new friend, no doubt blagging herself a lift back to the warmth of the Farrier's abode.

Penelope still muttering under her breath, pushed past Melanie, flounced out of the crematorium, and made straight for the Farrier's car. The Farrier and Melanie seemed oblivious to her strop and were still gushing all over each other.

‘I've missed you,' he whispered. ‘So much.'

‘Have you? Really?'

‘You really don't need to ask me that ... I can't believe I have found you again.' His voice was now trembling.

‘You didn't find me,' laughed Melanie. ‘I'd run out of milk and nipped to the local post office, only to find the postmaster was closing up early. He was all flustered and rushing to attend the wake of a local pensioner. I was shocked when I learned it was your father. Curiosity got the better of me and before I knew it I'd jumped into my car, and came, not having a clue of what to do or say, or if you were even here. I am sorry about your father,' She added quickly.

‘A lot has happened since the day I saw you last,' he said sadly.

The Farrier looked different; it was hard to describe. There was a glimmer of happiness in his eyes that I had never seen before. Unhesitatingly, he draped his arm around Melanie's shoulders. I stayed silent; I still wasn't up to speed on what the ins and the outs were, but I wondered if this was the same Melanie who the Farrier spoke about on New Year's Day, it didn't take a genius to know that this pair had a history – the sparks were flying – but where did Penelope fit into the equation?

I was beginning to feel ravenous. I found myself thinking that flaky-pastry sausage rolls were equivalent to the best sirloin steaks from Jamie Oliver's restaurant. We drifted towards the car. Penelope, who now looked like a sour rhubarb and custard, was slouched against the car door with her arms crossed in toddler-like fashion. Her behaviour wasn't lost on Melanie but this wasn't the time or the place to acknowledge Penelope's petulance.

‘Come and join us back at the house, you will be more than welcome,' suggested the Farrier hopefully. Judging by the look on Penelope's face, she would make Melanie as welcome as a new mother attending a PTA meeting.

I'd thought about making my excuses once the wake was over. I was happy I had done my good deed for the day by accompanying the Farrier to the funeral, even though I felt like a trussed-up chicken in the dress I was wearing and I really needed to change out of my shoes and put some flats on my feet. However, things were starting to get interesting. Something had rattled Penelope's cage and I was intrigued to find out what that was.