‘I remember making fairy cakes with her and licking the spoon,’ I said, feeling a tug at my heartstrings. George, as if sensing how much pain I was in, squeezed my hand. ‘She always made the best cakes. I loved her vegetable patch too, and the chickens! They always had daft names, didn’t they? My favourites were Steve and Harold.’
Mum and a couple of Nana Lily’s friends laughed. I could tell they were all lost in their own private memories of her, sad that they were now all they had left to remember her by. I was sad too, for different reasons. Namely because I’d hardly seen her in the last eight years.
I felt Mum’s arm around my shoulder and she pulled me close. ‘She was always so proud of you Lucy. She’d tell anyone who’d listen that her granddaughter was living it up in big bad London! Oh talking of which, how did your thing at work go? Did you get the promotion?’
She looked at me hopefully, her eyes red and puffy from crying at Nana Lily’s service. I froze, open-mouthed as I remembered the stonking great lie I’d told. Instead of coming clean and admitting I’d been sacked, I’d said I was up for promotion instead, so as not to burden my parents with any more things to worry about.
Classic Lucy Harper.
‘Yeah I did!’ I found myself saying. My brain and my mouth had clearly chosen not to communicate with each other and my eyes widened with shock. ‘They’ve given me some time off as a… treat for doing so well. I start as soon as I go back.’
Oh dear Christ, I thought, you bloody liar.
Mum looked like she might burst with pride and squeezed my shoulder. I felt awful for lying, but justified it to myself by saying it was for a good cause. I didn’t want her to be any more upset than necessary and I’d tell her the truth when things had settled down.
‘That’s my girl!’ She kissed me on my cheek. ‘My little superstar.’
My insides twisted and squirmed. I was such a terrible person, I thought.
‘I’m going to the bar, do any of you want anything?’
Nana Lily’s friends muttered that they’d like a Scotch and a dry sherry, while Mum was sticking to her orange juice. I slipped away from the awkward conversation and made my way to the bar. I claimed the only free stool left and let my head sink down to the solid wood beneath me. Dad was lucky, I thought. He’d gone home to attend to what he’d called a ‘minor plumbing problem’, so wasn’t here to bear witness to me lying through my teeth. A neighbour of ours had called to say she’d heard running water, so he’d dashed off to see what was going on.
‘Bad day?’ a gruff voice in front of me asked. It was a soft Yorkshire accent that made me want to smile and do a happy dance.
I looked up and saw a young man, around my age, standing before me. He was attractive in a quirky way; he had huge slate-grey eyes, a nose that was slightly crooked as though he’d been in a fight and full bow-like lips. A few stray locks of wavy brown hair skimmed his forehead, while a smattering of stubble was dotted across his creamy skin. He held a pint glass in his strong, veiny hands as he dried it with a towel. I decided to name him Fitty McFitterson until I knew his real name.
‘The worst.’ I groaned and tapped my head on the wooden bar a few times. ‘I sang Big Yellow Taxi in front of everyone at my nana’s funeral and everyone laughed!’
‘That’s nothing; I was up at four a.m. to accept a delivery from the brewery, a tap burst in the gents’ toilets then when I cleaned that up, the lights went! I thought we were going to have to cancel the wake, but luckily we got them fixed.’
This guy was starting to remind me of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. He sounded so beaten down and sad.
‘I embarrassed myself in front of a church full of people who aren’t going to forget in a hurry. I think I win.’ I glanced up at him, hoping he wouldn’t contradict me. Being right was about the only thing I had just now.
‘All right, you win. This time. Do you sing at other occasions or is it just funerals?’
I blushed and shoved my head into my hands so Fitty McFitterson didn’t see. ‘Oh no, I do the whole lot: weddings, birthday parties, bar mitzvahs. Need someone to awkwardly burst into song on special occasions? I’m your woman.’
He leaned on the bar, bringing his face level with mine and rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up to reveal more of his muscly arms.
Oh, mama!
I gave myself a shake. A guy this good-looking wasn’t likely to be available and I was heading back to London as soon as humanly possible. Though what I was going to do when I got there was anyone’s guess…
‘I’ll bear that in mind. Have you got any more party pieces, like juggling or doing impressions? I’ve got a mate who can burp the whole of Hot in Herre by Nelly.’
I let out a small chuckle that sounded like a chipmunk being tortured. Today really wasn’t my day.
‘Very impressive! Nah, making a fool of myself is my speciality. I’m a one-trick pony,’ I laughed. ‘Actually no, I’m pretty good at getting fired too. But that’s it, no more party pieces.’
Fitty McFitterson managed a smile and looked at me. ‘I’m sure that’s not true. You look like a woman who has loads of tricks up her sleeve. What did you do?’
My stomach started doing an acrobatics routine so accomplished it could’ve taken gold at the Olympics. Surely Fitty McFitterson wasn’t flirting with me?
I looked at him with what I hoped were come-get-me eyes. In reality, I probably looked like I had a squint.
‘I worked in events; planned parties, corporate retreats, that sort of thing. I wasn’t as good at it as I thought apparently; my boss fired me last week. She said I attract chaos wherever I go.’
Under normal circumstances, I’d be delivering sparkling conversation and found out his name, life story and inside leg measurement by now. However, I didn’t quite feel it was appropriate to flirt at my nana’s wake. I’d already caused a scene once without adding more drama to proceedings.
‘So not a miracle worker then? I could do with one of those right now; even a good accountant would be a start.’ He stopped for a second and laughed. ‘Listen to me banging on when it’s you who’s at a bloody funeral! I’m not like this all the time, I promise. Let me get you a drink and you can tell me about singing Big Yellow Taxi to the whole village. It sounds like a great story.’
‘How can I say no to that? A vodka and Coke for me please; you can tell me why you need a miracle worker.’
‘Coming right up, it’s a long story mind.’
‘I’ve got time to listen.’
Fitty McFitterson turned his back to fix my drink and I sneaked a peek at his bottom. Perky and round, I thought, and very squeezable.
He went to the back of the pub to fetch something. Just after he left, I felt the atmosphere of the pub darken. There was a presence of someone behind me and I just knew I wouldn’t like it. If I closed my eyes and wished myself away, perhaps I’d wind up back at my flat in London, safe from the world with a giant tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream…
No.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here today, Lucy.’
I turned round and saw the last person I wanted to see. My body instantly went into panic mode as I came face to face with her. Every inch of me began to shake and although my brain was screaming at me to run, I stayed rooted to the spot.
‘Hello Mrs Cunningham,’ I said in as calm a voice as I could muster. ‘H-how have you been?’
I worked up the nerve to look her in the eye and took