She’d have grumbled if she’d known whom they were for, though.
‘All that hard work, just for me! They shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. I’d have been just as happy with a bunch of roses from my garden!’
Robert and Rosie were beside Liz on the third row of pews from the front. At first Liz had thought they might have to bring Lowenna, inconvenient as it might be, but then Jenny Lambert had offered to ask if her daughter’s friend was free for a couple of hours to babysit. She was a trained nanny and lived in the next-door village.
‘We’ve known her since she was little. She’s a lovely girl and totally reliable,’ Jenny had reassured her, so Liz had invited the girl for a trial. It was lucky that Lowenna wasn’t as clingy as some children and that the girl seemed so competent. Nevertheless, Liz had resolved to keep her mobile on vibrate throughout the ceremony just in case.
Sitting behind her were Loveday and Jesse, while Pat’s niece, Emily, and her husband as well as assorted other family members occupied the first two rows. As she glanced around, she calculated that practically the whole of Tremarnock was there, as well as a handful of Pat’s very elderly lady friends from nearby villages. She used to complain that they’d all popped their clogs and she was the only one of her peer group left, but it wasn’t true and there were enough white heads and walking sticks to prove it.
Everyone was in colourful clothes, because Pat had insisted that she didn’t want any black, and Liz herself was wearing a pale-cream dress decorated with pink flamingos, as the old woman had once told her that she liked it. Rosie, meanwhile, was in a blue-and-white-striped frock that she’d bought for a school disco, while Robert had on his favourite party shirt. Even Rafael, sitting with Tony and Felipe on the other side of the aisle, had abandoned his usual sombre garb and donned a white shirt. It was a little big and probably belonged to Felipe, but at least he’d made an effort, and his bright-blue Mohican looked freshly dyed.
Once Emily had told Liz that the funeral was to be two weeks after Pat’s death, due to the fact that there was to be a post-mortem, Liz had knocked on doors and asked folk to circulate the date and time as widely as possible. Almost everyone had offered to bring food for the gathering in the church hall afterwards, but Emily had decided to employ a small firm of outside caterers, as she’d thought it would be easier. Pat had already given her a list of the hymns that she’d like as well as the readings. She hadn’t been particularly religious but had been a regular member of the congregation nonetheless. She used to joke that she liked looking at the hats and joining in the singing. ‘And the ladies make a good cuppa afterwards,’ she’d told Liz confidentially. ‘Bit stingy with the biscuits, mind.’
Apparently, there was to be a surprise during the service, too, a suggestion that Pat had made verbally to her niece during one of their chats.
‘I wasn’t all that thrilled with the idea, to be honest with you,’ Emily had confessed to Liz. ‘But it’s what she wanted, so we must respect it.’
Liz’s mind had boggled. What could it be? A special rendition of ‘(There’ll be Bluebirds Over) the White Cliffs of Dover’? A clip or two from Battle of Britain, Pat’s favourite movie of all time, or perhaps they’d have to sit through the whole film?
Pat had only been young during the Second World War, but she’d seemed to remember every moment of it as if it were yesterday. She’d told Liz often enough that when bombs had started dropping on Cornwall, she’d slept in the cupboard under the stairs at home, which was why she’d always liked small, cosy spaces.
‘I felt so safe in there,’ she’d been wont to say. ‘It was where my father kept his walking shoes and waxed jacket, and it smelled sort of earthy, like being in a tent. I was quite sorry when the bombing stopped and I had to go back to my old bedroom.’
Jean, in a red jacket, was just behind Liz, with a baby, one of her charges, on her knee, while two toddlers, between her and Tom, were busy colouring in the books on their laps. Because it was a weekday, Jean had had to bring them along, of course, or miss the funeral – and that was never going to happen. She smiled at Liz, who nodded back, hoping that the children would behave. Otherwise poor Jean would have to take them out and miss the service anyway.
Some way behind were Jenny Lambert and her husband, plus Barbara from The Lobster Pot and her son, Aiden. Behind them were the staff from Robert’s restaurant: Alex, Callum, Jesse and Loveday, who was resting her head on Jesse’s shoulder, a wodge of tissues pressed to her nose.
Soon Tabitha arrived, holding Oscar’s hand, and Liz was pleased to see Danny follow shortly after and settle beside them, with Oscar sandwiched between. Tabitha looked, if possible, even more stunning than usual, in a simple turquoise top, her curly black hair pulled back in a chignon at the nape of her neck. Despite her grave expression, there was something almost luminous about her today that she couldn’t quite disguise. Liz decided that it must be love.
She just had time to wave before the background music stopped, there was a hush and the pallbearers arrived, carrying Pat’s coffin, which was smothered with white lilies and yellow chrysanthemums. Rosie gave a little sob and Liz took her hand. She, too, was trembling slightly and a chilly emptiness had crept into her bowels. She glanced at Robert, who gave a brave smile, no doubt thinking, like her, that it was hard to imagine dear Pat inside that cold wooden box, lying quiet and lifeless.
‘“I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies,”’ boomed the minister. ‘“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers... will be able to separate us from the love of God...”’
He was a strange-looking fellow with a bald head, little round glasses, a stubby nose and big red cheeks. He sometimes made Rosie giggle, but she was silent now, like the rest of the congregation, while the coffin was set on its stand and he took his place at the pulpit to give the welcome and say the first prayer. After a rousing hymn, he then paid a warm tribute, remembering Pat’s contribution to the church and to community life. She’d lived in Tremarnock for so long, he said, that she’d been an invaluable source of information when he’d arrived fifteen years ago to take over from his predecessor.
‘She knew something about everybody, and some of the things she told me made my ears burn,’ he joked. ‘She could have written a novel about the goings-on here, and she was always so entertaining. But seriously, she hadn’t really a bad word to say about anybody. Quite simply, she loved people and they loved her.’
Rosie hiccuped and Liz passed her a tissue from the packet in her handbag while Emily stood up to speak. Her tales were of Pat’s kindness as an aunt, and the walks on which she used to take Emily and her siblings when they were young, pointing out the names of trees, flowers and birds and regaling them with stories of her youth. She would have loved children of her own, said Emily, but couldn’t have them.
‘Instead, she borrowed us as often as possible, and we always adored visiting her and Uncle Geoffrey at The Nook. Sometimes we’d go there just to get away from our mother, who didn’t much like us sitting around, even in the holidays. Pat always gave us sweets, which were strictly rationed at home, and let us watch TV. It was like heaven in her house. She spoiled us rotten.’
Liz found herself smiling and weeping and smiling some more as the memories kept on coming. Perhaps the most moving eulogy, however, was from Elaine, whom Pat had known since school. She’d spoken often of Elaine in almost reverential terms – ‘Elaine says this... Elaine says that...’ – and in her mind’s eye Liz had imagined a formidable character with a tight perm and self-righteous expression. When a tiny, bent lady in a jaunty fuchsia pillbox hat and matching cardigan shuffled forwards, using the ends of the pews for support, Liz had to do a rapid recalibration. She was even more surprised and moved when Elaine stood, with some difficulty, at the lectern and, in a remarkably clear voice which broke only once or twice, recounted tales of their escapades go
ing right back to childhood, from the times when they used to play knock down ginger, enraging the neighbours, to teen flirtations and Pat’s one-time obsession with Cary Grant.
‘She was very popular with the lads,’ Elaine remembered with a twinkle in her eye, ‘and she wouldn’t mind my telling you that when she was all dressed up for a dance, she’d have given the prettiest girl a run for her money. She looked like Rita Hayworth, with that auburn hair; everybody said so. But as soon as she set eyes on her Geoffrey, that was it. No other lad stood a chance after that, not even Mr Grant. She and Geoffrey fell in love the moment they met and didn’t stop loving each other till the moment he died.’
Liz glanced at the order of service. On the cover was a recent photo of white-haired Pat in her front room, surrounded by her precious ornaments, while on the back was a smaller black-and-white picture of the younger woman in a pale dress with a full skirt and tiny waist, holding the hand of a dapper young man in a suit: Geoffrey.
Liz had never been able to imagine Pat as anything other than elderly really. She’d seemed to have been born eighty years old. But now, as Elaine’s stories unfolded, she began to understand the process by which Pat had ripened into the warm, wise and fully rounded person that she’d been. These things didn’t just happen by chance; you had to have embraced life with open arms, to have laughed, loved and wept aplenty. There’d never be another like her.
Liz could hear sniffing all around her, mingled with the occasional burst of affectionate chuckling. Emotions were so high that it was almost a relief when Elaine returned to her seat and Emily’s husband got up to read a psalm. Another hymn followed, then prayers, and Liz was beginning to wonder if the ‘surprise’ had been scrapped at the last moment when the minister announced that there would now be a performance.
‘I’m pleased to say that we have a very talented group of individuals here, some of whom you may recognise,’ he said as Barbara’s son, Aiden, and Alex moved to the front, along with a woman and two other men.
Aiden took the microphone – ‘You might have guessed what’s coming’ – and Liz smiled at Rosie as the penny dropped, for Aiden and the others belonged to the same troupe of Morris dancers.
‘As some of you will know, Pat was a big fan of ours,’ Aiden went on, to murmurs of ‘Yes’ and a few laughs. ‘She didn’t want her funeral to be a miserable affair, and asked Emily if we could liven things up. Well, how could we refuse an offer like that? Livening things up is what we do!’
He and his friends disappeared into the minister’s private vesting room behind the choir stalls and reappeared shortly after in their full regalia of tattered jackets, black top hats adorned with leaves and feathers, and pads on their shins from which bells dangled merrily. All apart from Alex, that is, who wasn’t wearing a hat, probably on the grounds that it would squash his splendid Elvis-style quiff, though he did have a jolly red-and-white-spotted scarf around his neck and was wielding his accordion.
The minister moved the lectern out of the way, with help from one of the sidesmen, before announcing in a sonorous voice, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, at the special request of our very special Pat may I present to you... the Tremarnock Wreckers!’
With that, Alex struck up on the accordion while Aiden and the others proceeded to jig, step, bash their sticks and wave their coloured handkerchiefs in a frenzy of noise and brightness. It was an unusual sight in a church, for sure, but no one could have objected because it seemed to encapsulate so much of Pat: her sense of fun, her vibrancy and her deep-rooted Cornish-ness.
When it had finished, the church erupted in loud clapping, cheering and stamping of feet, so that anyone outside must have wondered what on earth was going on. As Aiden and the rest returned to their seats, the minister stepped out into the transept once more and joked that they were a hard act to follow and he wasn’t going to try.
‘It therefore remains for me to ask for God’s presence with those of us who mourn and to give thanks for Pat’s life,’ he said, signalling for hush and closing his hands in prayer.
Liz felt Rosie shiver again as they recited the Lord’s Prayer and the priest began to commit Pat’s body for cremation.
‘Is this the end?’ Rosie whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘Is this where we say goodbye?’
‘It is,’ Liz replied, pulling her close, for it was only Emily and her family who were to go with the coffin to the crematorium.
‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust...’
As the mourners filed out into the churchyard and watched solemnly while the hearse departed, Liz hugged her arms around her body. It was cloudy and humid, but she wasn’t the only one who felt cold. Rosie had goosebumps and Robert’s face was pinched and upset.
‘Wait for me!’ cried a familiar voice, and they turned to see Loveday pushing through the crowds towards them with Jesse close behind. She looked a mess again – red and blotchy, with black mascara smudged around her eyes – but no one cared.
‘I still can’t believe it!’ she sobbed, flinging her arms around Robert and burying her face in his shoulder. He patted her back awkwardly.
‘Come on,’ Liz said gently. ‘Pat would have hated all these tears. She’d have wanted us to laugh and remember the happy times.’
Loveday stopped crying and looked at Liz quite angrily. ‘How am I supposed to laugh when I’m sad? It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!’
Luckily, Jesse took his girlfriend by the hand and that seemed to calm her. He was remarkably smart for a change, in a clean blue shirt, navy tie and carefully pressed jeans.
‘C’mon, babe, let’s go inside and get a drink.’
Liz thought that this was the best idea she’d heard in a while. After so much emotional trauma they were all like overwound guitar strings, waiting to snap.
There was a queue leading into the church hall and they were still standing in line when Tony jogged up, looking terribly agitated.
‘It’s her again!’ he spluttered, turning around and jabbing his finger in an unspecified direction. ‘That woman! She should be locked up!’
‘Who?’ Liz asked, not understanding. She could see Felipe and Rafael hovering by the lychgate, a little way away from the other mourners.
‘Audrey,’ Tony spluttered. ‘Now she’s blaming Rafael for trashing Jean’s garden and nicking her statue.’
Liz had been so caught up in the funeral arrangements that she’d quite forgotten about the mysterious theft, but now her eyes widened.
‘He was at home when it happened, watching TV and minding his own business,’ Tony went on. ‘There’s no way he’d do something like that. And anyway, what would he want with that naff statue? D’you know the one I mean? It’s absolutely hideous.’
Liz nodded guiltily, for she’d never much cared for the boy on the bike, though she wouldn’t have dreamed of saying so to Jean.
‘Seems she’s been telling everyone it was Rafael. She’s been poisoning their minds. It’s slander, libel.’ He was shouting now and people turned to watch. ‘I’ll have her prosecuted and sent to prison! See how she likes that!’
The idea of Audrey in prison uniform was almost too much for Liz, who had to bite her cheek, but her smile soon faded when Tony’s eyes pooled with tears.
‘I’ve always loved it here,’ he said, ‘but I honestly don’t think I can carry on living in a place where people are so narrow-minded that they believe the first bit of nonsense that’s put in their heads. It’s not a good atmosphere for Rafael to be in. We’ll have to sell up.’
‘You can’t!’ cried Loveday, who’d been listening in. ‘If anyone should go, it should be her.’
‘She’s a dickhead,’ Rosie announced, and for once Liz didn’t bother to tell her off.
She offered to try to speak to Audrey, not really believing that she could any good, but Tony insisted he didn’t want to involve anyone else anyway. Then Robert advised him to talk to the police.
‘She can’t go around des
troying Rafael’s good character. A ticking-off from the cops will shut her up.’
Tony looked doubtful but agreed in the end that it might be worth a try, and beckoned to Felipe and Rafael to join them. Liz gave them all a hug; she couldn’t help it. Losing Pat was bad enough, and she couldn’t bear it if they left Tremarnock, too. Tony had been around for years; he was part of the fabric of the place.
At last they strolled into the hall adjoining the church, sticking close together. Audrey was presiding over a different crowd on the other side of the room. She was so tall that Liz couldn’t help noticing her glancing at Tony every now and again over the heads and shooting him dirty looks. At first he appeared most uncomfortable and Liz feared that he’d leave, but after a few glasses of red wine he seemed to forget his woes and start to relax.
Emily and her family arrived while the Methodist church choir were singing a medley of Pat’s favourites, including ‘My Way’ and ‘What a Wonderful World’, accompanied by a cello, two squeaky violins, a flute, two clarinets and the piano. Then Rick gave a splendid rendition of Nat King Cole’s ‘Smile’ in his booming baritone, while folk munched on ham, egg and cucumber sandwiches, little fairy cakes, jam tarts and miniature éclairs. The atmosphere was so cheery that Liz felt Pat would surely have enjoyed it, and it was only later, when Liz, Robert and Rosie walked home past The Nook, staring into its empty, darkened windows, that silence descended once more.
‘Do you think she’s up there now, looking down on us?’ Rosie asked, glancing at the heavy sky, which seemed to presage rain.
‘I’m sure she is,’ Liz replied, taking her daughter’s arm, ‘and she’ll be pleased we had such a jolly good knees-up. She told us not to cry, and of course we did a bit, but we laughed a lot, too, so hopefully she won’t be too cross.’
As Robert put the key in the lock, she gave Rosie an extra-big squeeze, breathing in the light, flowery perfume that she’d put on especially for the occasion.
‘You know, we owe it to Pat to get on with our lives and be happy, Sweet Pea,’ she murmured. ‘But my! We’re going to miss her.’
Tremarnock Summer Page 21