can’t deny she’s a big woman, so a normal dose wouldn’t be of any benefit to the likes of her, now would it?’ There was a twinkle of mischief in Bertha’s eyes when she added, ‘And with a bit of luck, lovey, we won’t see her ugly mug again until after the funeral.’
Aidy couldn’t help but laugh, despite the circumstances. Her grandmother deserved a medal for getting the interfering Pat out of the way, allowing them the freedom to arrange her mother’s funeral theway they wanted. ‘Mam would have split her sides over this one, Gran,’ she spluttered.
Putting a pot of fresh tea on the table, Bertha nodded. ‘She certainly would have. That woman was the bane of Jessie’s life, thinking she had every right to boss us about ’cos you was married to her son. Jessie only tolerated her out of respect for you.’
Bertha began to giggle then, a moment’s relief from the heartache of her daughter’s sudden death.
A while later they made their way through to the parlour to begin their vigil, both to some extent dreading the ordeal, but equally determined to use this special time to talk about the good times they had shared with Jessie, their own good fortune in having the likes of her for a mother and a daughter.
I t didn’t seem right to Aidy that the day of her mother’s funeral should be so gloriously sunny. A perfect summer’s day, in fact. It should have been icy cold and bleak, the way she was feeling. She knew the rest of the family agreed too.
The service had seemed never-ending to her. There had been times during it when she had had to restrain herself from shouting out to the Vicar that her mother did not need her earthly sins forgiving before God would accept her spirit back into His Kingdom. Her mother would never wittingly have done wrong against anyone. Jessie had been a good woman who had done her best to raise her children after her husband had abandoned her and left her destitute. She had been a loyal friend and neighbour, and would help even a stranger in need if it was in her power to do so. Now standing tightly packed in by neighbours around the graveside, it was unbearable to Aidy to think of her mother resting inside a box six feetunder. In only a few short minutes they would be expected to say their last goodbyes then go on their way to get on with their lives. Aidy wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her mother, not ready to get on with her life without Jessie in it, and she knew that neither was the rest of her family.
With sisterly protectiveness she looked in turn at her brother and two sisters. Flaxen-haired Betty was a gawky nine year old, her childish face already showing the signs of the good-looking woman she would become. She was openly crying, periodically wiping away the river of snot that was pouring from her nose, using a sodden handkerchief. Aidy’s heart went out to her. She was desperate to gather the young girl in to her arms and offer her comfort, but it would have to wait until the Vicar had finished talking.
Next to her stood Marion, eight years old, chubby and mousy haired. She was clutching her favourite doll which had long since lost its hair and one of its legs. She was staring into the grave, at the coffin holding their mother. Despite having it explained to her as best they could, she couldn’t quite grasp what death actually meant. That she wouldn’t physically see her mother again. Marion believed that her mother was asleep inside that box, and when she wasn’t tired any more she would get out and come home. How Aidy wished that was in fact the case. Since their mother’s death Marion had started to wet herself,mostly during the night but occasionally throughout the day too. The fact that she now had her legs crossed made Aidy fervently hope the child could hold herself until the ceremony ended, and avoid the acute embarrassment any failure would bring.
The girls’ grey school skirts and white blouses might have been cast-offs from the better off,
Aidy couldn’t help but laugh, despite the circumstances. Her grandmother deserved a medal for getting the interfering Pat out of the way, allowing them the freedom to arrange her mother’s funeral theway they wanted. ‘Mam would have split her sides over this one, Gran,’ she spluttered.
Putting a pot of fresh tea on the table, Bertha nodded. ‘She certainly would have. That woman was the bane of Jessie’s life, thinking she had every right to boss us about ’cos you was married to her son. Jessie only tolerated her out of respect for you.’
Bertha began to giggle then, a moment’s relief from the heartache of her daughter’s sudden death.
A while later they made their way through to the parlour to begin their vigil, both to some extent dreading the ordeal, but equally determined to use this special time to talk about the good times they had shared with Jessie, their own good fortune in having the likes of her for a mother and a daughter.
I t didn’t seem right to Aidy that the day of her mother’s funeral should be so gloriously sunny. A perfect summer’s day, in fact. It should have been icy cold and bleak, the way she was feeling. She knew the rest of the family agreed too.
The service had seemed never-ending to her. There had been times during it when she had had to restrain herself from shouting out to the Vicar that her mother did not need her earthly sins forgiving before God would accept her spirit back into His Kingdom. Her mother would never wittingly have done wrong against anyone. Jessie had been a good woman who had done her best to raise her children after her husband had abandoned her and left her destitute. She had been a loyal friend and neighbour, and would help even a stranger in need if it was in her power to do so. Now standing tightly packed in by neighbours around the graveside, it was unbearable to Aidy to think of her mother resting inside a box six feetunder. In only a few short minutes they would be expected to say their last goodbyes then go on their way to get on with their lives. Aidy wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her mother, not ready to get on with her life without Jessie in it, and she knew that neither was the rest of her family.
With sisterly protectiveness she looked in turn at her brother and two sisters. Flaxen-haired Betty was a gawky nine year old, her childish face already showing the signs of the good-looking woman she would become. She was openly crying, periodically wiping away the river of snot that was pouring from her nose, using a sodden handkerchief. Aidy’s heart went out to her. She was desperate to gather the young girl in to her arms and offer her comfort, but it would have to wait until the Vicar had finished talking.
Next to her stood Marion, eight years old, chubby and mousy haired. She was clutching her favourite doll which had long since lost its hair and one of its legs. She was staring into the grave, at the coffin holding their mother. Despite having it explained to her as best they could, she couldn’t quite grasp what death actually meant. That she wouldn’t physically see her mother again. Marion believed that her mother was asleep inside that box, and when she wasn’t tired any more she would get out and come home. How Aidy wished that was in fact the case. Since their mother’s death Marion had started to wet herself,mostly during the night but occasionally throughout the day too. The fact that she now had her legs crossed made Aidy fervently hope the child could hold herself until the ceremony ended, and avoid the acute embarrassment any failure would bring.
The girls’ grey school skirts and white blouses might have been cast-offs from the better off,
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