by Gait, Paul;
‘Andy, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Helen barked, angrily.
Startled, Andy shook himself free of Nadine and addressed his wife.
‘Nothing…um. Nadine wanted to watch the sunset to say goodbye to Geoffery, that’s all.’
‘Yes and I suppose you were just holding her to stop her from falling down the hill. Well you’d both better get your arses back to the cars. People are waiting to go to the hotel for the wake.’ Helen said, angrily turning on her heel and almost slipping on the frozen mud.
CHAPTER SIX
23rd December
Sue was making short work of the climb up the steep track that led from the road to the Church on the Hill; her vitriol fuelling her fast ascent to the top, hoping to be in time for the funeral.
Hearing the sound of several engines below her, she turned to see the headlights of the convoy of funeral cars moving along the road, past the track entrance that she’d just left.
‘Damn, I’ve missed them,’ she cursed. Flummoxed for a moment, she wondered what to do, her plans of disrupting things thwarted by getting there too late. ‘Bugger it. Well I might have missed them but I can still spit on his grave,’ she said, venomously.
Breathing heavily, beads of perspiration running down her face, she strode purposefully uphill on the frozen track, stepping carefully on the crude, unevenly spaced, wooden steps; the legacy of a local conservation project.
She reached a narrow wooden kissing gate and squeezed through to emerge on stone steps by an old graveyard. The coffins of its residents having been carried up the same steep path on the shoulders of two teams of six pallbearers. The names of those interred long since eroded from the leaning gravestones by centuries of weather and pollution.
Although the winter sky was darkening quickly, a cemetery at night held no fear for her, especially with her vindictive focus on getting to his grave.
Her time in the Police cells had given her plenty of opportunity to plan her revenge on Geoffery for setting her up on the ‘trumped up’ attempted murder charge. She kicked herself for being outsmarted by the old man and livid that the Grim Reaper had beaten her to him.
She had also planned to resume her dominant regime over her pathetic husband Rupert, who she knew would be at the funeral too. But the sound of the cars leaving meant that her plans had failed in its entirety.
‘Damn, Damn,’ she muttered, angrily.
The track at last levelled out and meandered around the side of the hill. Throwing caution to the wind she strode out quickly only to slip on a patch of ice.
Instinctively grabbing hold of some undergrowth to save herself from falling, she felt the barbs of a barbed wire fence piercing her finger.
‘Shit,’ she said, regaining her footing, ‘that hurt,’ and sucking her finger, she tasted blood.
Quickly she wrapped a tissue over the bloody finger which was throbbing painfully.
This was the final straw that flipped her; for having missed the funeral and the opportunity to berate her pathetic husband. Exhausted, hot and sweaty from the climb, she became angry, uncontrollably red hot angry. Woe betide anybody who came across her now.
She entered the cemetery by a black metal kissing gate, angrily slamming it against its stop once inside, the metallic reverberations disturbing the birds and polluting the tranquillity of the cemetery. She gazed into the gathering gloom hoping to see the signs of a recent funeral.
‘There’s bound to be piles of wreaths,’ she thought. ‘Now where is it?’
She wandered along the tarmac pathways subdividing the plots, walking between the orchestrated rows of gravestones and wooden crosses until she found what she was looking for – a mound of freshly dug soil with bouquets and a large wreath bearing the word ‘Geoffery ‘spelt out in white carnations. She knelt down and read the card attached to it.
Geoffery,
Forgive me.
Nadine XXX
She read the other cards, getting angrier and angrier at the sentiments expressed to ‘a lovely person’; the red mist of hatred boiling in her head. She finally flipped when she read a card with the handwriting she recognised. It was from her husband.
Uncle,
Thank you for giving me a new start.
Love Rupert and Joanne.
Her anger erupted seeing the name Joanne associated with HER Rupert. She went berserk.
‘You bastard,’ she said, kicking out wildly at the wreaths and bunches of flowers. ‘You have destroyed my life. How dare you die before I could kill you myself.’
Carefully crafted bunches of flowers flew apart as she viciously kicked out at them, scattering them over nearby graves.
‘I might have missed you in life, but I’ll see you in hell,’ she screamed, ‘and look at me. I’m the one left to dance on your grave,’ she yelled, manically leaping up and down on the fresh mound of soil, oblivious to the mud that was caking her shoes.
She angrily yanked out the simple wooden cross that Ben had emotionally planted earlier.
‘Think you can out smart me, eh?’ she yelled at the cross. ‘Well think again.’
She was about to throw it across the cemetery, when the Gravedigger, who was just getting into his car, heard the shouting and came running back towards the source of the noise.
‘What the hell you think you do?’ he shouted angrily, his question heavily accented by his Polish mother tongue.
Sue was so wrapped up in her St Vitus dance on Geoffery’s grave that she didn’t hear him at first.
‘I said, what the hell you think you do?’ the thickset Gravedigger demanded again. ‘I’m going call Police.’
At this, Sue stopped her gyrations and fixed the Gravedigger with an evil stare.
‘Police! You’re going to call the Police? So what? I’m not scared of them and you’d better bugger off before you regret it.’
‘Ha, you think? I bigger than you. You little…little jerk,’ he shouted reaching in his trouser pocket for his phone. ‘You no scare me.’
‘Don’t I? Well perhaps a whack on the head with this will help to persuade you,’ Sue said, menacingly advancing towards him, waving the wooden cross threateningly.
The Gravedigger stood firm and as she swung at him, he grabbed her arm, clamping his huge hand around her wrist.
‘You want get physical lady? I can do physical too,’ he shouted. ‘Nobody messes my graves. You come with me.’
‘Oh no I’m not,’ she screamed, and kicked him between the legs.
The kick connected with the man’s testicles, indescribable pain exploding in his stomach. Immediately he let go of her arm, his attempt to restrain the woman now forgotten.
He bellowed like a wounded bull, bent double, clutching himself. As he did so she hit him on the crown of his head with the wooden cross. He dropped to his knees, holding head and groin.
‘Bitch, now you’re for it,’ he shrieked, stumbling to his feet.
But instead of backing off, Sue advanced towards him, lifting the wooden cross again. The Gravedigger fended off the blow with his forearm, but got the message and started to back off, taking his mobile out as he did so.
Sue raised the cross again, at the same time trying to kick the mobile out of his hand.
Suddenly a flash lit up the area as he took a photo of her. Temporarily blinded by the light, she mistimed her kick and pirouetted, nearly falling.
‘You stupid bastard. Give me that phone,’ she said, recovering.
‘You a bloody maniac,’ he shouted breathlessly, running back towards his car. ‘It’s lucky for you, I don’t hit women. Police will get you from photo’
‘Well it’s unlucky for you that I have no problems hitting an arsehole like you,’ she said, chasing after him, now fully pumped up with blind rage.
Frantically he ran towards the gate, shocked by her aggressive attack, weaving in and out of the gravestones like a rugby player avoiding tackles, the pain in his groin and head temporarily anaesthetised by fear.
&
nbsp; Sue followed in hot pursuit, shouting obscenities at him. He could hear her angry breath close behind, like a tiger hunting down its prey.
Fear had given him a turn of speed that he thought his drinking lifestyle had deprived him of years before. Slowly he was increasing the gap between them and felt confident enough to turn around and see how far behind she was.
Unfortunately as he turned to look, he ran straight into a small bench, one of four surrounding a tree; a feature in the centre of the burial ground.
As his shins hit the top of the seat he pitched forward and glanced his forehead on the tree trunk.
He put his hands down to save himself, grazing his palms on the granite chippings as he did so.
He landed heavily, shocked, winded and disoriented by the collision with the tree.
Still on his hands and knees attempting to stand, Sue caught up with him. She had lost all control of herself and still clutching Geoffery’s wooden cross, she rained blows on his head, hitting him again and again until he collapsed, unconscious.
Now manically ‘pumped up’ she viciously kicked the unconscious figure
‘Not so cocky now are we?’ she said, breathlessly. ‘Don’t ever talk to me like that again,’ she said, gazing at his motionless form whilst pacing up and down like a caged lion.
Satisfied he wasn’t going to give her any more trouble, she threw her weapon; Geoffery’s wooden cross, like a boomerang into the night.
Irrationally she strode back to Geoffery’s grave breathing heavily from her exertions, a full moon showing the devastation that she had wreaked. Satisfied that she had achieved what she set out to do, she walked back to the prostrate Gravedigger who was still unconscious.
The red mist was clearing from her angry mind. Cunning, scheming rational thinking was required. She needed to plan her way out of the incident.
She recalled he had used his phone to take a photo of her. She needed to find that phone.
She lifted his hands They were huge. She realised how fortunate she had been to get the first blow in, otherwise he would have taken her head off. He was a big man with a big frame. It was lucky for her that the Gravediggers courage didn’t match his size. Both hands were empty.
Frantically she searched the area around the benches, frightened that the Goliath she had taken on would soon regain consciousness. Reassured by his regular, albeit, laboured breathing she widened the area of her search around him, dropping down on to her knees, her hands methodically sweeping the area in front of her.
Still nothing.
Now that her anger had subsided she was starting to feel cold, the winter chill making her shiver uncontrollably.
She continued her search going further and further away from the prostrate figure, until she was so cold that she could no longer feel her fingers.
‘Damn, damn, damn,’ she said, angrily. Then she spotted the drain cover. ‘Perhaps it’s gone down there,’ she muttered, cursing her luck.
Reluctantly she made her way out of the cemetery without the mobile, but stopped at the sound of a car engine and voices.
Fearful that it might be the police, she quickly knelt down by the car park gate and tried to identify the source of the noise. She strained her ears listening to the conversation. ‘Was it a Police radio?’
Suddenly the voices were replaced by music. It was a car radio.
‘Perhaps somebody’s out for a passionate session under the stars,’ she thought, ‘rather than the constabulary.’
She opened the gate quietly and slowly crept forward until she could see.
It was a black VW Polo with the driver’s door open. The courtesy light was on inside. It was empty. The engine was just ticking over; a mist from the exhaust carpeted the tarmac around it, like a ghostly ectoplasm.
‘Of course,’ she thought. It’s the Gravedigger’s car. If I take it, that will further delay him getting to the police. I might get away with it yet.’
She ran to the car and quickly climbed in. She was again reminded of the size of the man she had taken on by needing to slide the driver’s seat forward so that her short legs could reach the pedals.
Fortunately the demister had kept the windscreen frost free and the car was marginally warmer than the outside air.
She accelerated down the steep single track road, the rear of the car sliding sideways as she cornered, a reminder that the cold night would mean icy roads.
‘Steady girl’ she said to herself, ‘we don’t want to blow it now by going off the road.’
Things hadn’t gone to plan. She needed to think quickly. The mobile phone might yet be her downfall.
CHAPTER SEVEN
23rd December
The procession of funeral limousines arrived solemnly back at the hotel. There had been little conversation during the short journey from the interment at the Church on the Hill. Each lost in their own thoughts.
As the mourners alighted from the sleek cars, they were directed back to the large oak panelled conference room where an impressive buffet awaited. Uniformed bar staff stood ready to take orders and serve drinks.
At the far end of the room several rows of chairs had been arranged facing a large, conference sized, flat screen monitor.
The eight ‘long legged lovelies’ quickly disappeared to their rooms to get changed from their revealing basques into ‘something more comfortable’.
Eventually the girls re-appeared looking headturningly stunning, wearing a variety of fashionable Dior dresses. With their solemn duties behind them and having warmed up in a hot shower, they were giggling and talking non-stop.
Once the girls had got their drinks, the perceptive Funeral Director asked everybody to be seated, directing the three Godsons to specific chairs in front of the big screen. Ensuring that everybody was comfortable, he dimmed the lights and music filled the room.
Nadine instantly recognised the Billy Joel tune, ‘Uptown Girl’. It was one of Geoffery’s favourites. He told her that its lyrics truly reflected their relationship. She reached for a tissue.
The screen lightened to show a glorious sunset, the foreground of which Nadine also recognised as the camera zoomed back. It was the same penthouse balcony that they had shared together many times, and watched the Mediterranean ablaze with the dying day.
She swallowed hard to fight back the tears and was winning until Geoffery’s face appeared in shot. The wave of emotion overwhelmed her and she sobbed uncontrollably.
People around her shifted uncomfortably in their seats at her upset. Andy, as vigilant as ever, spotted her distress and was about to put his arm around her shoulder, but, Helen clearing her throat loudly, stopped him mid move.
Having already been ‘caught out’ in a compromising situation on the hill, he reluctantly withdrew from his mercy mission, placing his hands in between his thighs to show Helen he had understood the message. He knew Helen was too polite to create a scene at the hotel, but he was mentally preparing for a ‘domestic’ when they returned home.
‘Hello,’ the face on the screen said. ‘I hope I haven’t shocked you too much by seeing me after you’ve just buried me; for the only reason you’d be watching this video is because I am six foot under.’
Several people gasped and jiggled in their seats at his bluntness. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t expose you to my spectre for too long. But it would be bad mannered of me not to introduce you to each other – assuming that those I expect to be watching this are there and those that shouldn’t be are still incarcerated.’
At this comment Joanne grabbed Rupert’s hand.
‘Don’t worry Rupert,’ Geoffery continued, uncannily looking where he was seated. ‘If your wife has managed to evade incarnation, the hotel security people have her photograph and will prevent her arriving here.’
Rupert wasn’t appeased by Geoffery’s video assurance, especially as he was convinced he had seen her on the track, as they drove away from the Church.
Geoffery continued, ‘Hopefully my good friend and Nurs
e Andy, has already introduced my Godsons to each other.’
Geoffery’s gaunt face was replaced by a photograph of Rupert.
‘This is my Godson Rupert,’ the voice informed them.
Heads at the gathering turned to look at him.
Rupert stared at the screen, wanting to avoid any eye contact with anybody.
‘He is… sorry I must remember to use the past tense now I’m on the ‘other side’. I was his uncle. Rupert has experienced some marital upheaval recently but I won’t elaborate as I don’t want to embarrass him. But hopefully the future looks brighter for him.’
Joanne again squeezed Rupert’s hand and looked at him concerned.
‘It’s OK Jo,’ he said, squeezing her hand back. ‘I’m OK.’ She could detect the fear in his voice at his unconvincing reply.
Rupert’s photograph was replaced by one showing Tim walking on a mountain carrying a rucksack.
‘Don’t be fooled by this photo, Tim, another Godson, is a childhood amputee. Under those trousers he has two prosthetic legs – but as you can see, it hasn’t stopped him getting on with life…that is, eventually.’
Carrie recognised the photo as one she had taken on one of their many training hikes for Geoffery’s challenge for Tim of completing the Three peaks race.
In spite of the considerable difficulties involved, Tim had done it. So say, to spite Geoffery, not because he liked him.
She recalled Tim’s vitriolic remarks when he’d heard about Geoffery’s death; ‘I reckon me climbing all three mountains finished him off. He realises now I’m eligible for getting some of his money after all.’
She let go of Tim’s hand as he stood up and exhibited himself to everybody,’ hand in the air, smiling, like a gold winning athlete.
‘Quite the exhibitionist now,’ thought Andy. ‘Not like the self-centred, games playing, computer geek, that Geoffery used to tell me about.’
Tim’s photo was replaced by a smart looking James.
‘James hasn’t always looked like this,’ Geoffery intoned. ‘Until recently James looked like this.’