Gaby Book 28 ~ Balancing Trick ~ Chapter *39*

Gaby Book 28  Balancing Trick by Maddy Bell Copyright© 2023 Madeline Bell

 
It was a sombre party who climbed into the Vauxhall Zafira, not the most spacious car for five adults, one of which is expecting twins. I’m glad Boris has come, Dad wasn’t really in a condition to drive this morning and you know what Mum drives like.

"Which way Herr Bond?” our driver requested once we were all secured, me, Mum and Jules in the back, Dad and Boris in the front. Of course I ended up in the middle, Jules was never going to get there and you could hardly expect Mum to do so.
"Er right, then right onto the main road,” Dad instructed, it’s a straight road down.”
"Okay,” our driver allowed.
"Take it steady Bo,” Jules advised, "We’ve got plenty of time.”

We pulled out of the car park, the sun reflecting in last night’s puddles, doing its best to cheer the day. I was still trying to tug my dress into a less exposing position when the blast of a car horn made me look up, some oik in a battered Toyota pick up was heading straight for us, on our side of the road. The oncoming vehicle swerved around us, the driver gesticulating and mouthing as he passed.

"What was his problem?” Jules asked the car in general.
"Who knows,” Mum opined.
Then my brain made sense of what I was looking at ahead, "Boris, we’re on the wrong side!”
"Shizza!” he allowed jamming the brakes on.
"You sure you don’t want me to drive?” Mum asked.
"No!” Jules and I chorused.
"Dave?” Mum prompted.
"Sorry, miles away,” Dad allowed, "Why’re we stopped?”
"Slight technical hitch,” I suggested, "Bo?”
"Er sure.”

It’s a good job the hotel wasn’t directly on the main road, that could’ve been messy, but Boris put the car in drive or whatever you do and we set off anew.
 

Once out on the main road our driver visibly relaxed and we tootled along, the lump of Brent Knoll growing to our right in an otherwise pancake flat landscape. Well of course I know all about it, with a geographer and an archaeologist as parents how could I not. I caught a brief glimpse of the hillfort that sits atop the knob of limestone but my position in the car and roadside greenery soon obscured the view.

We joined the A38 and I inwardly smiled, when Dad said it was a straight road, he wasn’t kidding, it was also quite busy although we lost a bit of that when we passed the motorway junction. I sort of recognised this bit, I know we used to come down the M5 when we came to see Nan and Gramps from Warsop so that's likely where we turned off. A couple of kilometres further on and I spotted more familiar landmarks from those rare trips to Somerset, a railway bridge then signs towards Burnham where my grandparents, well I guess just Opa now, live.

"Straight on,” Dad instructed, "It’s only a couple of miles.”

I attempted to convert that to more familiar kilometres, something around three, three and a half maybe. The road twisted through Highbridge, climbing a little as we left the ‘town’, was that the bridge for which the place is named? It wasn’t exactly mountainous but the countryside was a little more lumpy here although inland it was still level as far as the eye could see this morning.

"How’s Gramps getting here?” I enquired.
"With your Aunt and Uncle, they’ve got a car so no one has to drive,” Mum told us.
"Well we’ve got Boris right.”
"That’s me,” my sort of brother in law stated.
"Next right,” Dad intoned, "It should be just around the corner.”
"I see it,” our chauffeur noted.

I craned to see myself and there it was, a low building surrounded by what looked like recently planted trees and flower beds, a few cars parked to one side and a hearse closer to the building.

"Are we late?” Jules asked, "There’s a funeral car there already.”
"Well early,” Mum suggested, "It’ll be an earlier service.”

Which of course it was, by the time Boris had us parked, mourners were returning to their cars.
 
"Why are they doing it here? Its miles from Burnham.”
"Your aunt was saying that it was either here or up in Weston, they’ve closed the crem in Burnham, it’s only a couple of miles away,” Mum told us.
"So what now?” Jules asked, "I could do with a wee.”
"The joys of pregnancy,” Mum returned.
"There’ll be toilets inside,” Dad stated.
"We’ve got half an hour yet, you’ve got plenty of time,” Mum told my sister.
"I’ll walk you over,” Boris advised.
"Think I’ll come too, get the lie of the land,” I suggested.

Well I thought the Rents and Dad in particular would appreciate a few minutes alone.
 

"So how’s this work,” I asked my sibling as she waddled across the car park supported by Bo.
"No idea, never been to one before, you Bo?”
"Only my Aunt Helga when I was about six, that was at a church though.”
"This all looks pretty new.”
"As long as the plumbing work’s I’ll be happy,” my sister mentioned.

We passed a few stragglers from the earlier service, men uncomfortable in unfamiliar suits, women in equally unfamiliar frocks, the uniform of funerals the world over. It felt a little surreal, the hushed tones of conversation, the wordless exchange of acknowledgment as we passed on the walkway. Inside the building we quickly found the facilities in the hushed reception area, well that’s one thing learnt.
 

"Best go over,” Mum suggested.
"I guess,” Dad agreed.

Over the last ten minutes we’d been joined in the car park by several other cars, the occupants each decamping and heading off towards the building. By the time they must be here for Nanna but who they are is a mystery. When all is said and done, I don’t really know much about Nanna, we never had the relationship that I do with Gran and even when we lived in England it was a good five or six hour drive to visit, not something we did that often.

Our little party set off, the Rents in front, Jules and me either side of Boris to the rear. We got some strange looks as we joined the small congregation by the doors then it dawned on me, we were as alien to them as they to us. I don’t suppose Dad and Boris in their German formals helped and maybe the women of our party were dressed rather more ‘up’ than the ‘locals’.
 

"Looks like we’re up,” Dad stated soto voce.

I glanced towards the roadway and indeed, there was a hearse, Mercedes of course, followed by a stretched limo and several ordinary cars. The first two cars drove slowly around to the entrance before stopping almost in front of us. Mum squeezed Dad’s arm before he went over to the car from which Uncle Sam was already exiting.

The two brothers exchanged a hug before being joined by one of the funeral wallahs.

"You okay Jules?” Mum asked.
"Be better when I’m sat, this pair are dancing on my bladder,” she told us resting a hand on her distended belly.
"Your sister used to do the tango.”
"That says a lot.”
"I am here.”
"And we love you lots,” Mum whispered.
"People,” Boris mentioned to get our attention.

In the few moments of our exchange things had moved quickly, Dad and his brother were shouldering the coffin with the hired pall bearers, a gaunt looking Gramps was waiting with Aunty Kath on his arm, my other relatives, Uncle Jim and Aunty Jillian behind. It was like everything was in a secret code that’s only used at funerals, looks and nods replacing the spoken word, the four of us made the few steps to join the procession and we followed Nanna’s casket inside.
 

I’m not sure what I expected beyond the reception area, its not a church of course so there were none of the trappings of religion you find in a church but the rows of pews filling the lofty space were sort of familiar and the cross hanging on the far wall was a nod to the departed’s leanings. I was very conscious of my heels clacking on the parquet floor, maybe these shoes weren’t the best choice but it was either these or my battered ankle boots I flew in.

That said I wasn’t feeling quite so overdressed now, both of my Aunt’s were wearing heels and what could be termed posh frocks although somewhat longer than my mid thigh length number. They are older than me of course and I do have great legs even if I say so myself! The men were more of a hotchpotch of jackets and dark trousers, probably only worn for weddings and, indeed, funerals, I think Dad and Boris looked, dare I say it, quite handsome and much smarter.

Gramps and Aunty Kath took the first pew, we followed our in laws into the second, behind us the rest of the mourners found seats in no particular order. By the time we were all seated the casket was on the byre and Dad and Uncle Sam were settling themselves alongside their father and sister. There were a few more moments of activity before the room took on a hush, the celebrant stood,

"We are here today to celebrate the life of Sarah Margrit Bond, wife of Stanley and mother of David, Samuel and Katherine.”

You don’t want to hear the rest, well I couldn’t recount it anyway, enough said that the eulogy touched on parts of Nanna’s life I didn’t know about, playing bowls, working for the local council and so on. I had dry eyes until a roll call of grandchildren was made and yours truly was given special mention, I’m not sure that was fair on my sister or younger cousins but I didn’t write the script.

There was music of course, apparently her favourite tune was Gerry Rafferty’s Baker Street which I vaguely know of, a poem by Ruskin and in conclusion, embarrassingly, me singing Edelweiss which had to have come from the BlauHase tour CD. Talk about cringe, hopefully no one will make the connection, how was I to know it was one of Nanna’s favourite tunes?

And then it was over, Gramps led his offspring to the casket for a last good bye before the rest of us started to exit. I nearly reached the exit before I realised I was still gripping the single white carnation that I’d bought at the airport yesterday. I retraced and headed to the coffin and placed it alongside the stems left, I presume, by Gramps and Aunty Kath. Bye Nanna.
 

"Gramps!” I sniffed when I reached the receiving line outside.
"Come here Gab,” and I was dragged into a hug.
"You’ve grown,” he mentioned after a minute.
"Think it’s these,” I kicked up a ten centimetre heel to demonstrate.
"That’ll be it, how are you doing?”
"I was fine until the last song, how are you?”
"There’s good days and bad but we’ve known it was coming for a long time, As for the music, that was your Nan’s own choice, when she heard it on the CD your Dad sent over, well she reckoned you were better than Julie Andrews, I wouldn’t go that far but it’s quite good.”
"Gramps!” I admonished.
"Just saying,” he grinned and for a moment the playful man I’ve always known peeked through the sadness. "When we get back to the house I need to speak to you and your sister.”
"What about?”
"Not here, walls have ears eh, let me finish up here, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.”
"Okay.”
 

"You’ve got a right case of Panda eyes,” Mum told me when I found the others.
I gave a shrug, "It’s a funeral.”
"I wasn’t having a go but you might want to sort it out before we get to the house? I’ve got some wipes in my bag.”
"It was a nice service.”
"It was,” Mum agreed as we started to walk back to our transport, "Wasn’t expecting to hear you singing though.”
"Me either, Gramps said Nanna chose it herself.”
"Sugar,” Mater stated as tears started to flow down her cheeks.
"Here,” I passed her one of my dwindling supply of paper hankies.
She dabbed at the wetness, "Thanks kiddo, you know me and your Nanna didn’t always see eye to eye?”
"I guess.”
"Well truth be told it sometimes got a bit heated.”
My curiosity was piqued, whose wouldn’t be? "What about?”
"This and that, she didn’t really get the whole bike racing thing so that was always a bone of contention and when you and your sister came along, well it got quite heated at times. I guess we came to some sort of truce on the subject but then your issues raked all that stuff up again.”
"Is that why we didn’t visit very often.”
"I can’t deny that it was largely to blame which then exasperated things.”
"Did she know about my erm issues, before?”
"She did, not that I think she really understood and then nature took its course.”
"With a little help from the Frauenklinik,” I put in.
"Indeed, but even then I think she only really got to grips with the fact that her grandson was actually a granddaughter when they came to Germany last year.”

We reached the car, my sister and Boris were already there, my sister looking, well, pregnant, certainly tired.

"You alright Jules,” Mum asked.
"Emotional and cream crackered.”
"Maybe you can have a lie down when we get to Gramps, won’t get another chance until we get back home.”
"Tell me about it. So where’s Dad?”
"He’ll be here soon, dunno about you guys but I could do with a cuppa.”

I looked at my watch, quarter to twelve, it’s been nearly four hours since brekkie and close on three since that last cup of coffee at the hotel.

"Dunno about tea, I could murder a Maccy D.”
"Geez Gab, you still eat more than me and I’m eating for three,” Jules suggested.
"Yeah but two of yours are like the size of my hand.”
"Bigger than that now.”
"Okay, Dad’s hand.”
"Well Jillian said they’ve got a bit of a buffet laid on but you might have to wait until the airport for something more substantial.”
"I’ll fade away by then.”

Dad arrived as we started to get into the car.

"You okay driving again Boris?”
"Of course Herr Bond, just point me the right way.”
"On the right side of the road,” I mumbled which earned me a swat from Jules.
"Come on then, let’s get this over with,” Dad urged.
 

The drive up to the bungalow wasn’t far, back up the A38 to Highbridge then out towards Burnham on Sea proper. We didn’t get that far though.

"Stop! Stop!” I yelled.

Boris slammed the brakes on and the cacophony of horns that followed suggests those behind, now passing were less than impressed.

"Gaby,” Mum started, "What the hell is wrong?”
"Er chip shop?”
"Geez child, I thought your sister was going into labour or something.”
"Another stunt like that and I probably will,” my sister suggested.
"A bit less drama in future kiddo,” Dad opined, "Seeing as we’re stopped now, I suppose we could get some chips?”
"Pretty please?”
"Boris? Jen?”
"I guess a few more minutes won’t make any difference now,” Mum suggested.
"Yes!”
"Come on then kiddo,” Dad urged, "Boris, you might want to park in a better spot?”
Boris squirmed in his seat to look around, "I’ll turn around, there’s parking by the shop I think.”

Clearly I wasn’t the only one with hunger pangs or a degree of nostalgia for what, back in Warsop, was a weekly treat. Three fish and chips, one curry sauce and chips for Jules and a sausage and chips for me would be delaying us for more than five minutes!

Once I’d extricated myself from the back seat, Dad and I crossed the road, the aroma from Rob’s Fish Bar already suggesting a treat for the taste buds. There’s something just so, I dunno, British about real chip shop chips that just never transfers to any other source of fried potato snackiness. Okay, not all chip shops are brilliant but a nice, slightly soggy, golden finger covered in vinegar and liberally coated with salt just oozes, well, nirvana.

Rob’s didn’t disappoint. Well okay, maybe the chips were a little bit too crunchy for my taste, a few too many scraps in the bottom of the paper but the portions were generous and the only waste was a bit of Boris’ fish batter, well it was a bit crisped. I think we were all feeling better for it, the food taking our minds away from the emotion of the morning.

We eventually arrived at Gramps’ bungalow at about twelve thirty, the wake was, if it’s the right term, in full swing. Of course, being so late arriving we’d had to park half a street away and walk, maybe I should have worn my ankle boots, these stilettos really aren’t made for walking!
 
Maddy Bell © 15.06.2023