‘Tibor’s Tasty Titbits always produces superb doggy cuisine, Matthew.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘I say, who are all the old fogeys?’ Lucy whispered.
Rosie turned to look at Hester and her cronies falling out of their limo.
‘Well, obviously you know my mother,’ Rosie murmured sotto voce, ‘but the others are her friends. They didn’t know Dave particularly well, but apparently they like attending funerals.’
‘Good heavens,’ Lucy giggled, ‘professional mourners.’ She paused and frowned. ‘Are they drunk?’
‘Just a bit.’
Everybody stood, huddled under umbrellas, as Dave’s coffin was removed from the hearse. The chief undertaker motioned everybody to go into the church. A vicar, a vision in a pink cassock, materialised in the arched doorway.
‘Excuse me, Rosie,’ said Hester pushing past, ‘but before we begin, I must have a word with his Holy Highness.’
Lucy gave a snort of laughter. ‘Holy who?’
Rosie looked disconcerted. ‘That’s not the Reverend David Pearson.’
Hester greeted the vicar like a long lost friend. ‘Oh, Clive, it’s so good to see you again. Such a sad day.’
‘Indeed. But come on in and Clive will do his best to make it all ticketty boo.’
‘You are such a dear,’ Hester simpered. ‘Now then, you haven’t met my daughter, have you! Rosie? Over here! Don’t dawdle, child. I do apologise, Clive. Despite God giving her legs as long as a giraffe, He gave her the speed of a snail.’
‘Mother?’ Rosie stood anxiously next to Hester. ‘Where is Reverend Pearson?’
‘On Sabbatical,’ Clive interrupted. ‘He had a sudden desire to go to India. Said he needed to find himself. I told the silly fool that he wasn’t lost, and we were together in North London. Personally – just between toi and moi – I think he was having a holy crisis. You don’t need to go all the way to India to seek God. He is right here,’ Clive flapped a limp wrist at his heart. ‘Know what I mean?’
‘Um, yes. I suppose.’
‘So today you’ve got me,’ Clive beamed.
‘And very grateful we are too,’ Hester said in her best Margaret Thatcher voice.
‘It’s an absolute pleasure. Now do go in, Hester. Take a pew, ah ha ha ha! Ooh, I say, pleased to meet you,’ Clive batted his eyelashes at Matt. ‘Please follow Mrs Prefect to the front of the church.’
‘Perfect,’ Matt corrected.
‘Well it will be when this horrible shower stops.’
‘Mother,’ Rosie hissed, as she scampered after Hester, ‘why on earth didn’t you tell me that the Reverend Pearson wouldn’t be here?’
‘Details, details,’ Hester waved a hand dismissively. ‘Actually, no, Rosie, don’t sit next to me. I need to keep an eye on the gels. Sit behind me. And buck up. The undertakers are getting ready to walk down the aisle.’
‘Well I don’t think much of the vicar,’ Rosie seethed.
‘He’s an absolute sweetie,’ Hester smiled indulgently. ‘And very eligible. Play your cards right, my gel, and you could have him as your next husband.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mother. Firstly, I have no desire to ever get married again, and secondly that vicar is camper than a row of tents.’
‘Do be quiet, child. I’ll talk to you later. Oh, I say, there’s Catherine looking lost. She’s not wearing her glasses. Yoo hoo! Catherine! Over here.’ Hester stood up and waved her arms like an aircraft marshal signalling a pilot. ‘Keep going, keep going, and now turn left. That’s it. Come and sit here with me, dear.’
‘Awful toilets in this place,’ Catherine lamented as she pushed past Rosie and sat down heavily on the wooden pew. ‘The loo paper is rock hard. It’s okay to use for wiping your backside, but not your lady parts. And mine are very delicate.’
‘I’ll be sure to mention it to Clive afterwards,’ Hester assured.
‘Rosie!’ a voice called from two rows behind, ‘come and sit here with us.’
By the time Rosie had fought her way through the rest of the fussing and squawking gels, and hastened over towards Lucy, Gregory and Matt, the organist was playing the opening bars of Abide With Me. Rosie squeezed her way along the pew, banging her shin painfully against a decorative finial. As she collapsed into her seat, she found herself taking a deep breath. The last time Dave had been in this church he’d been stationed near the altar, awaiting his bride. Rosie had glided down this very aisle, swathed in silk and clutching a bouquet as if her life had depended upon it. Instead she now found herself clutching the funeral service sheet. Glancing around, the small crowd was indicative that Dave’s life had been one sorely lacking in friends. His parents were deceased, so they weren’t here, and he had no siblings or even a cousin to wave him off. When Rosie had wed Dave, the gathering in the church had been smallish in number, but decent enough. She realised now that every guest had been either her own friends or family members. The music came to a pounding finale. As the last note rang out, there was a dramatic pause before Clive finally spoke.
‘Dear hearts, we meet here today to honour and pay tribute to the life of David Prefect.’
‘Perfect,’ Hester stage-whispered.
Clive inclined his head graciously. ‘Thank you,’ he mouthed.
Rosie felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and came face to face with a woman she’d never met before. And who were all these people turning up late and hastily filing into the pews? Rosie’s eyes widened. Were these people perhaps colleagues of her husband whose consciences had suddenly pricked?
‘Yes?’ she asked the stranger.
‘Is this the funeral of Thomas John Tullett?’
‘No. It’s the funeral of my husband, David Perfect.’
‘Dear Lord. I’m at the wrong church,’ said the woman. She stood up and signalled to the vicar. ‘So sorry to interrupt,’ she called, ‘very sorry. Everybody out,’ she ushered to the occupants of the next three aisles, ‘this isn’t St John’s.’
‘That’s two blocks down,’ said Clive helpfully.
Rosie sat, speechless, as about thirty people made a hasty dash for the church door. Could this day get any worse?
Chapter Forty-Seven
By the time the funeral directors were ready to carry the coffin from the church to the graveside, the sun had chased the clouds away and a warm breeze was ruffling the hems of the gels’ tweedy skirts. Rosie watched the funeral directors settle the coffin on batons, and tried not to peg her high heels in the soft grass.
A few yards away, an elderly gentleman was meandering along the pathway between the graves, an ancient Labrador in tow. Rosie watched as they drew closer, the dog sniffing here and there. Suddenly the leash went taut and the dog refused to walk another step. The Lab’s nose was now checking out a granite headstone two graves away. Rosie could just about read the faded words:
Time was I stood where thou dost now
and viewed the dead as thou dost me
before long you’ll be as low as me
while others stand and gaze at thee
The old man caught Rosie’s eye just as the dog lifted a stiff leg and aimed a stream of urine over the stone.
‘Buster always stops at this headstone,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I think my pooch would like to add his own inscription…and dogs will stop to pass a wee. The old boy gave a wheezy laugh and tipped his hat. ‘Nice day for it,’ he smiled, before moving off.
A nice day for what? thought Rosie. A wee? Or for getting buried?
‘Let us say farewell to David,’ said Clive. ‘Release the strap. We commend him to the mercy of God. Heavenly Father, we entrust David into your loving arms. Release the strap.’
‘Why does he keep saying that?’ Lucy whispered.
‘Saying what?’ Rosie whispered back.
‘Release the strap.’
‘It’s probably part of the committal prayer.’
‘Do you think we should join in?’
‘Yes, you�
�re probably right. I expect it’s like saying hallelujah, or something.’
‘We therefore commit David’s body to the ground,’ Clive continued.
‘Release the strap,’ Rosie and Lucy intoned in time with Clive.
‘Earth to earth.’
‘Release the strap,’ the gels joined in with Rosie, Lucy and Clive.
‘Ashes to ashes.’
‘Release the strap,’ everybody joined in as one.
‘Dust to dust.’
‘Release the strap,’ Hester’s voice soared above everybody else’s.
‘In the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.’
‘I can’t release the strap,’ said one of the funeral directors in exasperation. He was hunkered down by the side of the grave. Rocking back on his heels, he looked up at Clive. ‘I’m going to have to make some adjustments.’
Lucy and Rosie gave each other an appalled look before getting a serious attack of the giggles.
‘You mean–’ spluttered Lucy.
‘Oh God–’ Rosie tried to turn her snorts of laughter into a coughing fit.
At that precise moment an ice-cream van came blaring around the corner playing We’ll keep a welcome in the hillside. It was too much for Rosie. She rummaged in her handbag for a tissue and dabbed it to her streaming eyeballs, shoulders shaking with mirth. Hester, thinking her daughter was in the grip of heartbreak, and not wanting to be outdone, immediately burst into noisy sobs.
‘Dave!’ she screeched. ‘Don’t leave us. I can’t stand it.’ Lumbering forward, arms outstretched, she looked as though she was going to embrace the coffin. Instead one of her well shod feet tripped over the strap the funeral director had been fiddling with. There was a collective gasp from the crowd as Hester, arms akimbo, handbag dangling from one wrist, took off like a bird in flight but with none of the grace. She sailed through the air, past a rapidly blinking Clive, and landed on top of the coffin. There was a horrified silence before both Hester and the coffin disappeared six feet under.
The funeral director stood up. ‘I do believe the strap has now released.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
‘Okay, that’s fantastic,’ Rosie spoke into the mobile phone that was clamped to one ear, ‘I’ll await hearing from you. Good-bye.’ She ended the call and smiled at Matt.
‘Good news?’ he asked.
They were sitting at his kitchen table, sharing a late Saturday afternoon pizza. Luke was in his highchair, chomping happily on a soft cheesy crust.
‘That was the estate agent,’ Rosie said. ‘Apparently he’s telephoned all his registered buyers who are looking for a property in the price band I’m selling at. There has been so much interest he now has half a dozen viewings lined up for tomorrow. I’m flabbergasted. The house details haven’t even been loaded onto the internet yet.’
‘Brilliant!’ Matt picked up his mug of tea and raised it in a toast. ‘Here’s to a swift sale.’
Rosie grinned and clunked her mug against Matt’s. ‘I’ll second that.’
‘There’s absolutely no reason for the property not to sell quickly.’ Matt took a sip of tea before placing the mug back on the table. ‘The location is extremely commutable for the City worker, plus you’re marketing at a great price.’
‘Yeah, because the place is falling to bits.’
‘Ah, but it’s the perfect project for a young couple to do up before starting a family. Or for a builder to gut, refurbish at cost, then make a small fortune selling it on again.’
‘Well whoever buys it, I wish them joy and happiness. I just want shot of the place.’ Rosie bit down on a chunk of pizza and chewed thoughtfully. She’d wait until she had an offer on the house before viewing any properties for her and Luke, although she was currently enjoying browsing on the internet.
Matt brushed some crumbs from his hands, and gave Rosie an enquiring look. ‘Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?’
‘None,’ Rosie wiped her mouth with a bit of kitchen towel. ‘After yesterday, I just want to chill out and do naff all.’ She stood up and stacked their plates together. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been to such a catastrophic funeral in my entire life.’
‘How is your mother?’ Matt’s lips twitched.
Rosie pulled the dishwasher lid down and stacked the plates. ‘Recuperating apparently. Catherine and Gertrude are with her, so she’s not alone.’
‘Hester’s lucky she didn’t break anything.’
‘Only the coffin lid. I don’t suppose it matters too much,’ Rosie shut the dishwasher and turned her attention to breaking up the pizza packaging, ‘although I thought the vicar was going to faint and fall in on top of her.’
‘Yes, it’s a good thing one of the funeral directors grabbed him.’
‘Mm.’ Rosie shoved the packaging into a recycling sack. ‘Clive said that up until then he’d only regarded Jesus Christ as his saviour. There was an awful lot of mutual swooning going on.’
‘I do love a happy ending,’ Matt grinned. ‘Talking of which, do you fancy watching a funny film tonight?’
Rosie picked up a muslin. Dampening it under the tap, she turned and wiped Luke’s greasy fingers. ‘You must be telepathic. I have an entire boxed set of Laurel and Hardy films ready to watch. Lucy loaned them to me.’
‘Smashing,’ Matt grinned. ‘Those two comedians are pure class. Let me pick one out for us. I’ll grab a take-away later, to go with it.’ He stood up from the table. ‘Where are they?’
Rosie turned her attention to Luke’s mouth. Some hair fell across her face. ‘I think you’ve overlooked something,’ she mumbled.
Matt frowned. ‘Oh?’
Rosie flicked the hair out of her eyes and gave Matt a direct look. ‘You’re out tonight.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes!’ Rosie balled up the muslin and lobbed it at the sink. Releasing Luke from the highchair, she lifted her young son out and turned to face Matt. ‘You have a date with Gregory Tibor’s receptionist.’
Matt stared at Rosie, appalled. Cheryl, with her tight sweaters and perky assets, had completely slipped his mind. The whole point of asking the woman out was to stop him from mooning after Rosie. ‘Ah, yes. You’re right, I’d forgotten.’ Tonight he was meant to be reverting to his track record of insensitive bastard, wining and dining Cheryl before indulging in a spot of leg-over. ‘Er, thanks for reminding me.’ Matt contemplated his hands for a moment. ‘I could always cancel her and keep you company. If you want me too, of course,’ he added.
Rosie had a fleeting thought of a chummy evening with Matt, sitting side by side on the sofa, sharing a bottle of wine and a chicken jalfrezi, and laughing over the antics of Oliver Hardy saying, “Here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into, Stanley.” It was so tempting. And then she remembered the last time they’d sat side by side on the sofa. On that occasion they’d enjoyed brandy. Matt had stretched an arm along the back of the sofa, his fingers within touching distance. She’d looked up. Gazed into his eyes. And for one crazy moment she’d thought he was going to kiss her. She’d almost launched herself at him. Oh no. That couldn’t happen again. She’d so nearly made a fool of herself. Here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Rosie. Except she hadn’t, and she wasn’t going to either.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s high time you went out and enjoyed yourself.’
‘Well…so long as you’re sure.’ Matt gave her a searching look.
‘Yes,’ Rosie insisted. ‘I’m absolutely sure.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
‘This is a lovely restaurant,’ said Cheryl. She allowed a waiter to position her chair, accepted a menu and then glanced around the swanky surroundings. ‘Have you been here before?’
‘A couple of times,’ Matt replied. The same waiter pulled out another chair, and Matt sat down opposite. He took the proffered menu, although he’d been here so often he practically knew the contents off by heart. The waiters were discreet and never made any com
ment about the number of different females Matt had dined with. He’d sat at virtually every table in the restaurant, several times over.
‘I’ve been looking forward to this all day,’ Cheryl smiled seductively. ‘I’m starving. Are you?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Oh,’ Cheryl pouted. ‘Are you perhaps…saving yourself for something later?’ She thrust her chest out and twirled a strand of hair around one finger.
‘To be honest, I’m not that hungry. I had a late lunch with Rosie and Luke.’
‘Rosie?’ Cheryl frowned.
‘Yes. You’ve met her. She’s starting work on Monday at the factory.’
‘Oh, her. She’s the,’ Cheryl posted quotation marks in the air, ‘product tester. Let’s hope the dog food doesn’t give her dog breath. Do you know her well?’
‘Yes. And no.’
How could Matt explain to Cheryl that he’d known Rosie for all of five minutes but felt like he’d known her forever?
‘That’s a strange answer. Either you know her well, or you don’t.’
‘Okay. I know her well.’
Cheryl looked perplexed. ‘Is that because she lives near you?’
Matt put down the menu. Why were women always so nosy about other women? ‘Er, you could say that.’
Cheryl picked up her wine glass. ‘A neighbour?’ she asked, putting the flute to her lips.
‘Not a neighbour, no. Rosie lives with me.’
Cheryl nearly spat her wine out. ‘Come again?’
‘It’s not what you think. Let me explain.’
‘I’m all ears.’
Matt proceeded to give Cheryl a potted history about how Rosie came to be sharing his apartment. ‘So, there you have it. We’re just friends.’
‘I see.’ Cheryl looked put out. If Matt had a house guest, he probably wouldn’t invite her back to his place later on. Never mind. Thankfully she’d allowed for the possibility of such an event and changed her bed linen earlier on. It was probably for the best anyway. She was, after all, rather vocal between the sheets, and it might not be appropriate to have a future colleague hearing her screams of pleasure.
The Perfect Marriage Page 21