Cinnamon Twigs: The Life and Pseudocide of a Celebrity

CHAPTER EIGHT: Bearing a Coffin

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bearing a Coffin

I hadn’t known her very well. But she’d been very close to my mother when they were children. So when my distant cousin Jayne died of ovarian cancer, I attended her funeral with my mother and my aunts. I’d only spoken to Jayne once, when she’d phoned to give her condolences after my grandmother passed away.

     The cold wind blew crisp leaves across the tarmac road as everyone congregated outside the church gates. I adjusted my tie and gazed at the grey clouds obscuring the sun. The air seemed to grow even colder when the hearse arrived, and tears plummeted towards the ground like shards of ice. I squeezed my mother’s hand and she smiled at me, her eyes filled with sadness and memories of the times when the sun hadn’t been blocked by heavy clouds, when the leaves had been green. Cars slowed down as they overtook the hearse. A teenager walking his dog crossed the road to avoid the crowd of mourners. At the sight of the coffin, passers-by stopped to ponder, for the briefest of moments, about their own ends. And then their steps quickened, and the deliberations ended. But not for the mourners. Not for that ceremony.

     Someone said my name, distracting me from my thoughts. My uncle James touched my arm.

     ‘Eddie isn’t here. He was supposed to be pallbearer. Could you help carry the coffin into the church, Daniel?’

     ‘It would be an honor.’

     A delicate tear fell down my mother’s left cheek.

     Eddie must have been close to Jayne. He’d have a right to carry her coffin.

     Six of us carried the coffin towards the altar. The scent of dust filled my nostrils as I fixed my eyes on the priest ahead. My hands trembled. I feared I might lose my grip. Of all the voices Jayne had heard in her lifetime, of all the friends she’d met, I had been elected as one of just six people to carry her body through the church. All the teary eyes were fixed on us, as the church echoed with the mourners’ sobs and the cries of a baby in its mother’s arms.

     When the funeral ended, I knew Jayne had taught me something. I’d only spoken to her once, but I would never forget that funeral. It didn’t matter that she’d only been a distant relative.

     The group of mourners made its way to a pub in Grangetown afterwards. I sat next to my mother and my aunts, having just come back from the buffet table.

     ‘He eats too much.’ My mother looked at my plate and shook her head.

     ‘Nonsense,’ my aunt Mary said. ‘He’s a growing lad. He needs all the food he can get.’

     ‘Mary certainly believes in indulgence,’ my aunt Chloe sniped.

     ‘And just what is that supposed to mean?’

     ‘I was merely referring to your Sunday roast dinners. They’re rather excessive.’ Chloe assiduously pronounced every syllable in her sentences, but I knew her Welsh accent would come back with a vengeance once she’d had a few drinks.

     ‘Well, you need more meat on your bones anyway.’ My mother prodded Chloe in the ribs. ‘But Daniel eats me out of house and home.’

     ‘You enjoy my roast dinners don’t you, Jackie?’ Mary asked.

     ‘They’re the best in Wales.’

     ‘For God’s sake!’ Chloe rose from her seat. ‘I didn’t say there was anything wrong with your bloody dinners!’

     ‘You said they were excessive, which insinuates that you don’t like them!’

     ‘Ooh, insinuates. That’s a big word!’

     ‘Another insinuation.’ I grinned.

     Mary spoke in monosyllables for the next hour, while Chloe became louder with each fresh drink, emptied glasses forming an amorphous structure in front of her.

     ‘It really is a shame about Jayne’s death, ain’t it?’ Chloe slurred after her sixth vodka.

     ‘Yes, life’s too short,’ my mother said.

     ‘Yeah, that’s right. Life is too short. It’s far too short to sit there n’ act grumpy like our darling sister is right now.’

     Mary gave her a scolding look.

     ‘She weren’t ever happy as a child, either.’

     ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Mary snapped.

     People turned around, disturbed by the vociferousness of our table.

     ‘Well, you never thanked mum n’ dad for what they gave us.’

     ‘Do you mean the fleas, the bruises or the mental scars?’ Mary pounded the table with her fist.

     ‘It’s all in the past,’ my mother said.

     ‘Oh, God.’ Mary rolled her eyes. ‘You can‘t talk, Jackie. You were mum’s least favorite and you never got over it.’

     ‘You horrible bitch!’

     ‘Now we see the true side of her, Jackie.’ Chloe finished the last dregs of her drink.

     ‘You were her favourite!’ Mary pointed a vindictive finger at Chloe.

     ‘You’re a hypocrite, Mary,’ my mother spat.

     ‘Who had the first pair of shoes? Chloe. Who was sometimes allowed to sleep next to the fire? Chloe. Who had everything? Chloe!’

     ‘I was the eldest. It’s not like I had everything easy, but I was grateful for what mum and dad gave us. We turned out okay, didn’t we?’ Chloe looked at her sisters, shook her head and then burst into tears.

     We tried to console her, but she’d had an awful lot of vodka and the only way to cheer her up was the offer of another drink.

     ‘You’re right,’ Chloe said. ‘But I loved them.’

     ‘We all did.’ My mother held Chloe’s hands in hers, rubbing them vigorously as if an icy wind had blown into the pub.

     ‘I do miss them.’ Mary looked down at the ground. ‘I even miss the Wellington boots. It’s wrong of me to be so ungrateful.’

     ‘Funerals remind me of everything we’ve lost,’ Chloe whispered.

     The rest of the evening consisted of stories about Jayne, forgotten memories unearthed. Family and friends sat in a large circle. The morning light touched the sky as everyone left the pub. Chloe received a round of applause when she fell flat on her face and kissed the pavement like the Pope.

     I’d learned a lot about my lost family members: my grandmother, my grandfather and Jayne. I went to bed, tired and glum. But my sleeping thoughts rested on the comical side of things. I thought about Mary’s indignation and Chloe’s drunken rant, and I smiled at the thought of them waking up the next day with their regrettable memories.