Read Online Friends Forever! by Grace Dent - Free Book Online

out of each other.
    I don’t cry at all during the service, although I nearly do when we sing “Amazing Grace,” Nan’s favorite hymn. It just doesn’t seem right to blubber when Mum’s face is so stiff and dignified. I’m determined to cope just for her.
    However, when we arrive at the Little Chipping Hotel for Nan’s wake, I begin to feel totally hideous. All of Nan’s gang from her Tuesday Club are gathered: Tilly, Philly, Kitty and Sissy, all with their fluffy candy-floss hair, chunky handbags and walking aids. In the function room, a long, grand oak table is laden with sandwiches and sausage rolls. Old-fashioned china cake-stands heave with scones, macaroons and cream éclairs, and two huge steaming teapots are perched ceremoniously in the center of the table, waiting for service.
    In the corner, Aunty Susan and Miriam sit on either side of Mum on a sofa, holding her hands, while she gazes into the middle of nowhere. Meanwhile, Dad wanders about, dispensing extra chairs to the elderly and announcing, “Crikey, what a turnout!” to random passersby.
    The whole thing is beyond surreal.
    I stand for at least half an hour in the center of the room, making small talk with the cotton-wool heads about my exams, waiting patiently for something to happen.
    Something. Anything. I’m not sure what. It just feels like something isn’t right. Then, eventually, as the guests tuck into the sandwiches and begin complimenting the scones, it finally hits me:
    I’m waiting for Nan to show up.
    At some weird level, I’ve been expecting her to hobble through the door and begin piling a plate with jam tarts and potted-meat sandwiches—which is totally ridiculous, as I’m never going to see her again.
    I have to get out of that room.
    In a flurry of limbs, I rush out a side door, narrowly missing a woman carrying a huge teapot, stumbling into the rather majestic hallway where at least the air is cooler. To my right is a grand sweeping staircase where, halfway up, I see a young man with his head in his hands. It’s Tony, Miriam’s son.
    â€œTony?” I say, climbing the stairs to where he sits. “Are you okay?”
    Tony looks up at me. His hands are marked with bad tattoos. His dark brown eyes are full of tears.
    â€œOh . . . don’t mind me, Ronnie . . . I’m just being soft,” Tony smiles, wiping his wet hands over his shaved head. “It’s just your nan . . . she was just . . . y’know, a really nice woman. She never had a go at me about stuff.”
    â€œYeah, Tony,” I say, sitting down on the step beside him. “I know.”
    And then I start to cry too.
    Eventually, Dad finds me and decides to drive me home.

chess
    â€œOh dear, Ron,” smiles Dad as we turn into the Fantastic Voyage’s parking lot. “We may have intruders. Shall we call the police?”
    â€œEh?” I grunt. I’ve not uttered a syllable during the entire drive home.
    Dad points across at our beer garden where two girls are playing on the man-sized chess game: one blonde, another with dark bunches and spectacles.
    I can’t believe my eyes.
    Claude and Fleur!
    â€œOh my God,” I gasp, jumping out of the car. Dad smiles and says nothing.
    As I approach, Fleur is waving Claude’s white bishop above her head with victorious glee while Claude glares back at her.
    â€œI thought you said you played chess, you numpty!” Fleur shouts smugly. “Were you getting it mixed up with Hungry Hippos?”
    â€œI can play chess!” retorts Claude. “You just take so flipping long to make your moves I lose the will to live. It’s like playing with a sloth!”
    â€œOh, whatever ,” tuts Fleur, adding the bishop to her vast pile of vanquished pieces. “A sloth who’s whooping your ass!”
    The girls spot me and stop bickering.
    â€œRonnie!” Fleur shouts, rushing over to me with her arms