Page 59 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz

The Second Funeral

It is a wet gloomy day. A small crowd of around fifty people shelter under their umbrellas outside the place of worship as the hearse arrives.

The vicar of the pretty village church hosting the funeral gently ushers the guests into the sanctuary.

Their brightly coloured dripping umbrellas gradually fill three buckets at the porch door.

The congregants emerging from under the umbrellas wear equally bright clothing of every hue.

It had been agreed: no black. Although a few had clearly not got the memo and self-consciously smooth down their black suits or skirts, muttering apologetically to anyone who will listen that they had not known.

The coffin is bedecked in bright yellow sunflowers. It is lifted and carried into the church.

‘I am the resurrection and the life…’ Reverend Prudence intones as she leads the way.

Several mourners follow behind the coffin.

All but one, who is wearing a stunning dress suit of yellow and black echoing the flowers on the coffin, are attired in white pin-striped trousers and matching waistcoats.

Each holds a brightly coloured bowler hat to their chests, which matches a satin flower sewn onto each garment.

One of their number is in a wheelchair – she holds a green bowler hat.

She is pushed by a slightly chunky lady carrying an orange hat.

They sit in the front pews reserved for their number.

Following the opening prayers, a large drop-down screen displays images of the deceased.

She is shown in an array of dance costumes in various tableaux with others from her former dance group.

The mourners smile and point to the photographs, chattering quietly under the upbeat jazz music that fills the church.

‘Oh, will you look at that one now.’ Only the front two rows could discern the soft Irish accent. ‘That was Expression Margate, wasn’t it? We all look so young.’

‘Well, you do. It’s a terrible photograph of me. Look at my hair. I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’

‘You daft eejit, that’s not your hair. It was the scarf headdress we wore for the peasant skirt number. Aw. Look at this one.’

‘Is that Hazel and Clarissa as teenagers?’ The black lady with closely cropped hair waves her red bowler hat towards the screen.

‘We were only fifteen years old there, Ruby,’ the sunflower-suited woman turns to smile, a tear slipping down her cheek. ‘We had only met a few months earlier.’

A beautiful auburn-haired lady holding a pink hat leans forward to pat the yellow-suited lady on her arm. ‘You both look wonderful,’ she says before blowing her nose a little too loudly.

‘Oh look. There we are in Paris,’ an Indian lady points. Her other hand, hidden beneath her yellow bowler, gently strokes the barely discernible bulge of her stomach.

‘I like this photograph very much. We are on dinner cruise boat. I think it is after Hazel say her speech. It was very good speech. I remember it as if she say it yesterday.’

‘We were all in tears then too, ladies. Hazel’s “Dancin’ Fool” speech. She meant every word. I think she knew then she did not have long… long to…’

A few more pin-striped-clad women reach out to touch the chief mourner.

‘I wish I had been there.’ The smallest and youngest of the costumed ladies nods her head sorrowfully.

The photographs give way to short video clips of the deceased and her laugh rings around the church. The ladies stop talking and quietly watch the clips as they sniffle and dab their eyes with tissues. The presentation closes on a still of her smiling face.

Reverend Prudence takes the lectern.

‘We are gathered here today to remember our dearly departed friend, Hazel Bull. I had the pleasure of speaking with Hazel at length during her recent and sadly final hospital stay at St Ann’s where I am chaplain.

I know she wanted this to be a happy occasion.

A celebration of her life. A life full of colour, dance and love… ’

The vicar gives a brief history of the key dates in Hazel’s life before inviting the chief mourner to say a few words. ‘Please, Hazel’s closest friend, Clarissa Kirkland.’

Clarissa takes the lectern and puts a rigid smile on her face before taking a deep breath. She reads from a typed sheet as she embarks on a faltering and flowery accolade to Hazel, which, in her efforts to contain her emotions, is rendered rather dispassionate and flat.

‘…her support for me in all manner of things but especially choreography will be sadly missed. Having danced her last dance, she now takes her place where she moves with the angels and saints on the heavenly stage in the sky. Farewell my dear, dear confidante and most treasured friend.’ Clarissa finishes and there is a short burst of polite applause.

The ladies in costume look mainly at invisible specs of dust on their clothing or at the floor during the speech but clap politely as Clarissa retakes her seat.

Reverend Prudence then indicates for another of the key mourners to come forward to the microphone.

‘The ladies of Dance Excellence – Clarissa Kirkland have been asked to nominate one of their number to give a final tribute to Hazel and they have chosen Ingrida Goodman to summarise their feelings for this much-loved lady.’

The ladies all nod and smile encouragingly to the chosen speaker who bites her lip and fidgets nervously with her orange bowler hat before handing it to the lady in the wheelchair. She walks to the front. She has no typed notes.

‘It is very great honour to speak about Hazel. She is very special and lovely lady. She find she have cancer many years ago. I am professional cancer nurse, but I also know what it is like to have this terrible disease and I am sorry she is not recover from it like me. Hazel say to me if everyone have diagnosis of cancer maybe they live life in better way. She say it change her outlook and I think she have point. She say to me one day this cancer will be eradicate. I hope she is right. Cancer is truly terrible. Hazel, she say to me we are here for only short time and we must do best to make the world better place. I know Hazel make the world better place. St Ann’s Hospice, they ask me to say big thank you to Hazel.

She leave her lottery prize, some to the hospice and rest to research to find cancer cure.

’ Ingrida’s lower lip wobbles as she says her final words.

‘Before she pass away, Hazel say to me, Ingrida live and dance like there is no tomorrow. I think this is very good advice. Thank you, Hazel, for being lovely lady. We all love you and will miss you very much.’

The congregation applaud loudly and all the pin-striped women stand to hug or pat Ingrida when she returns to her seat.

The service concludes with another of the dance ladies singing ‘Amazing Grace,’ her lilting Irish accent prompting further tears.

*

The wake is held in the circular function room above the Lowry theatre in Manchester.

Balloons adorn every table and photographs of Hazel and Clarissa are prominently displayed at the entrance.

The almost three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views through the windows look out to Media City, the Manchester Ship Canal and Salford Quays.

They let light flood in from the clearing sky.

Despite the occasion, the mood is upbeat, and the dance friends take their buffet lunch to a central circular table where they chat freely.

‘This place is incredible. I wish I had known you could hire it before I had my wedding in the community hall.’

‘Asha, you would never have fitted all your wedding guests in here. I mean, I’ve never seen so many people at one wedding,’ Ruby laughs.

‘That is true, and Jay and I could always hire this place for our first anniversary.’

‘You may have your hands full by then.’ Cath smiles as she indicates Asha’s stomach.

‘Cath, you sang beautifully. And, Ingrida, you did a fantastic speech. Well done.’

‘Thank you, Monica. I was little nervous in my words, but I think of Hazel inside my head, and I stay strong for her.’

‘You made a brilliant job of it…’ The wheelchaired lady stops to catch her breath. ‘I wish I could have said something… but I find it hard to… to complete a sentence with this terrible… terrible pulmonary hypertension.’ She coughs into a handkerchief and Ingrida gently pats her arm.

‘You need slow down, Fay. This recover, it will take much time. It is very lucky you are still here with us.’

‘Yes, you had a narrow squeeze from what I heard…’ Bonnie starts.

‘Escape… Narrow escape.’ Fay splutters.

‘Exactly, but escape you did. Just think if Ingrida had not called on you or if she had not had your flat key? No one would have known you were on the point of collapse.’

Fay nods her head and wordlessly reaches for Ingrida’s hand to clasp it before choking out, ‘I fear it will take months and months to get right again.’

‘Don’t get despondent, after all it’s still early days for you, Fay.’ Monica pats her shoulder. ‘You only moved from the hospital to the rehabilitation home last week. It’s lovely you were able to join us today, but you need to give yourself time. Plus, your leg will need lots of physio.’

‘At least Edith is coming over from France to visit me soon…’ Fay catches her breath. ‘And did I tell you I had an email from Bethan? She, she sounds very happy living in Australia.’

‘That’s great news, Fay. Tell Edith to send us a text. We can have a “Dancin’ Fool” reunion.’ Monica and Ruby nod enthusiastically.

When Fay has been collected by her adapted taxi, the ladies applaud Ingrida for her swift action.

‘You really did save her life, Ingrida.’ Ruby hugs her lightly.

‘Remind me, what was it she had?’ Bonnie asks.

‘A threatened PE. Pulmonary embolism to you,’ Cath shakes her head.

‘And what’s that again?’

‘A blood clot. If it detach, it can travel to the lungs,’ Ingrida explains. ‘Is very dangerous and common with people who break leg. Fay did not take anticoagulant medicine.’

‘What a stroke of luck you went to call on her then, Ingrida,’ Bonnie slaps Ingrida on her back.

‘Not luck. I knew I had to go there.’

‘Really? How?’

‘ Dievs pavêlêja .’

‘Oh, what does that mean?’

‘It translate, God command.’

‘Really? God told you to go to Fay’s?’

‘ Ja. ’

Bonnie looks somewhat perplexed before saying, ‘Well thank goodness for that.’

Late that evening, Ruby and Monica deliver Clarissa to her door before the taxi takes them home.

‘What a day.’

‘I think Hazel would have been pleased. Clarissa held up well.’

‘What time are you dropping Will off tomorrow, Ruby?’

‘Not too early. Eleven-ish OK? Thanks so much for having him while we’re away.

We’re going to take our time driving all the way down the Welsh coast. The hotel’s perched on a clifftop overlooking Saundersfoot.

It looks amazing. A great way to celebrate walking away from First Bite and setting up MatchFix. Three cheers for the lottery win.’

‘Has Max said anything about moving in?’

‘I think he might this weekend. He keeps talking about the next step in our relationship, so maybe this is it. Can you sound out Will? Make sure he’s OK about it?’

‘Will thinks Max is great. I’m sure he’ll be happy about it. But of course, I’ll check.’

‘You know he wants to meet Dev? I haven’t bitten the bullet and called the bloke yet. It’s going to be tricky. And although Will is dead cool about it on the outside, he must be in bits on the inside.’

‘Ruby, he’s a really level-headed kid; he’s like you. I can see if James will talk to him. Although James is still furious with me that his father has moved out.’

‘I guess they were close.’

‘Closer than I’d realised. Deep down, James must know our marriage had been on the rocks for ages, but he refuses to discuss the whys and wherefores.

And anyway, Vince agreed to go quietly if we told the twins it’s an amicable separation – no mentioning his adultery.

Not that Joanne believes a word of it. She’s guessed her father has done something unforgivable.

The next problem will be my lottery winnings.

Vince is determined he has an equal right to half of them. ’

‘You’re kidding me? What a bastard.’

‘You know what? I don’t care. He can have half. I just want him out of my life.’

‘Hey, I wouldn’t give him as much as the time of day! But respect, Monica, you’ve really taken control of your life. And what’s this I hear about a fashion fair in Paris next month? Hosted by the delicious Jean-Claude.’

‘Put your tongue away, Ruby Anderson. Purely business and all you need to know is it’ll be your weekend to babysit.’

‘No problem. But be sure to find your inner Scarlet.’

‘Ruby!’