Penny

Chapter 2

The pallbearers maintained a professional and respectful demeanour as they slid the coffin into the waiting hearse.

Abigail, held firmly by Theresa, looked at the coffin through the side window of the hearse to where she knew James's head lay. He was actually in there, still, lifeless. Gone. She couldn't believe it, yet she knew it to be true. Abigail knew that once she, Theresa and Philip were seated in the limousine with Father Patrick they would be following the hearse's pitiful contents on its final journey to the graveyard a few miles away.

Abigail looked around. The small congregation were filtering out of the church, pausing to shake Father Patrick's hand at the doorway. But where was... then she saw him. Philip had gone around the side of the church. From where Abigail was standing he was mostly obscured by the building, but Abigail knew instantly what he was doing.

Philip was pleased. His company had been working on securing this major joint venture deal with Fenerman & Co. for years, and now Fenermans were coming to discuss terms. It was crucial he was not late for the meeting: John Fenerman had accommodated a change of venue at short notice, and would not be in a mood to listen to excuses.

"Uh hu, uh hu," Philip nodded, "yeah that's what to do Stacy. And just make sure the room's not double booked - don't want any interruptions. I shouldn't be more than hour - this thing's almost wrapped up. Oh, what biccies do we-" But he did not finish the words. With one deft movement the phone was slapped from his grip and smashed hard against the wall. Philip jumped in shock at the small explosion of plastic. Then he looked down at Abigail near his feet having fallen on her hands and knees on the Tarmac surface. She was looking down at the ground, trying to pick herself up. Philip composed himself, and bent down to help her, saying quietly but firmly "what the hell do you-"

"Fuck off you bastard!" yelled Abigail, as she aggressively shook off his arm from around hers.

Carrying an aluminium walking stick, Theresa ran to Abigail. Abigail took the other stick that she'd dropped on the ground and, with Theresa's help, shakily found her feet again. Philip stood back, silenced, humiliated, not knowing what to say or do. Theresa looked at him, then at Abigail, confused as to what had just happened. "Abigail?" Theresa began.

But Abigail had said everything she wanted to say. She took her other stick from Theresa, pushed by Philip, and walked as quickly as she could physically manage towards the car park at the rear of the church.

"Abigail!" Theresa said in a raised voice, but no louder than was necessary to be heard. Theresa was painfully aware of the scene they were making.

"Leave her" Philip said flatly.

Theresa turned to Philip, "What bloody happened?"

"I've no idea. I was on ..." Then realising, Philip continued, "I was on the phone, that's what happened."

"You and that bloody meeting! You couldn't reschedule and take one day off for your own father's funeral!" hissed Theresa.

The furious clicking of Abigail's sticks on the car-park surface grew fainter. Philip and Theresa watched as the young woman struggled to walk rapidly across the car park at the rear of the church, then onwards into a country lane surrounded by hedges, trees and shrubbery.

"Well you better go after her!" said Theresa. "I'll go on to the graveside. You clearly don't give a shit!"

An elderly voice interjected, "Philip should be at the graveside."

Theresa and Philip quickly spun around.

"Mary!" Theresa's tone suddenly softening, over-compensating for never having sworn in front of her mother-in-law before. "I'm so sorry Mary, I didn't see you there."

"I thought you weren't coming today Mum?" said Philip, "I didn't see you arrive at the church."

"I was a little late," said Mary. "Anyway, I'm the one that shouldn't be at the graveside. You two go on. I'll go to speak to Abigail."

A look of concern descended upon Philip's face. "Mum, I don't like leaving you on your own. This place has changed a lot since when you lived around here. You might get lost."

"I have my mobile," said Mary. Looking down around Philip's feet, she added, "I see you don't."

Mary continued, "My taxi broke down just next to the park," she pointed in the direction of Abigail's departure. "The buffoon of a taxi driver ran out of petrol. He escorted me across the park and directed me to the church out through that lane Abigail has just disappeared into. I bet she's even sitting on the park bench I passed by. Look, he gave me his card," Mary flashed a taxi card at them. "So go, I'll be fine. Abigail and I will have a nice chat, then I'll bring her back to your hotel in a taxi."

Philip and Theresa looked at each other, unsure.

"Go!" insisted Mary.

"OK, OK Mum!" said Philip, putting an arm around Theresa and leading her away towards the waiting limousines.

"Did she tell you she was coming today?" whispered Philip.

"No! I'd no idea!" said Theresa. "I've asked her four or five times this week and it was always "no dear."

Philip stopped in his tracks.

"What is it?" said Theresa.

"Just a sec. You go on." Philip turned back to where his phone had been smashed. He crouched down and picked out the sim card from among the debris and placed it in his wallet.

Theresa saw this, shaking her head in quiet disappointment. She turned and gestured at the small gathered crowd to move along, saying, "So sorry about all that. Abigail's very emotional. Please, if you are coming to the graveside, please take a seat on the mini-bus.

Philip collected the remainder of the phone debris in his hand and got back to his feet. He watched as his elderly mother made her way across the rear car park towards the country lane. He wanted to run after her and make sure she was safe. But he knew that when she had made her mind up about something it was pointless arguing with her. He stood there until she had disappeared behind the hedgerows surrounding the little country lane. He then poured the remains of his phone into his breast pocket, turned, and walked to the waiting limousine.

There was the controlled slamming of doors, the start of engines, and the sound of the funeral cortege moving slowly away.