GRANNY'S FUNERAL

This is a little chunk of something that I hope will one day end as a novel. As always, it is not a final draft, just me trying to put some ideas in order. Secondly, for any family reading this, all the characters are 100% fictional and not based on anyone I know. Thanks in advance for any feedback. x

Kat clicked her way down the aisle in her new, shiny stilettos. She had hoped they would make her look taller and more graceful but now she was sure she looked – and sounded – like a drunken pig, tottering on its trotters, the noise echoing blasphemously through the church. Finding an empty pew in a middle row, she squeezed in and slid right to the end. She felt pleased with herself for finding a spot that was safely tucked away in the corner, the solid arm-rest and high wooden backs of the seats a comfort to her. She judged that she was not so far back as to appear disrespectful but could slip out relatively quietly if she started to feel ‘uncomfortable’; after removing her shoes, of course.

Kat had decided to turn up alone today and pretend to be normal, just another one of the mourners paying her last respects. Unfortunately, the fluttering she was sensing out the corner of her eye told her that her mother, who was waving her arms in Kat’s direction, was not going to stand for it. She let her gaze flicker for an instant to where she was sitting in the front row and cringed at the wide vacant space she was angrily pointing to. Kat pretended not to notice but instead leafed through the little booklet she had been handed when she entered. She skipped the words and focused on the numbers printed in bold under each little section; 10 minutes, 3 minutes, 6 minutes… It was going to be a long service.

Now Kat did start to feel ‘uncomfortable’. Her corset was too tight and the smooth, varnished seats on her tights were making her thighs itch. Her heartbeat had sped up and her stomach was flipping like a frantic fish. She breathed deeply, reminding herself that it was Granny’s funeral and the least she could do would be to sit through her bloody service. She should not have drunk that extra glass of wine last night…this morning.

Just then a couple and their two children, none of whom she recognised, filed in beside her. Kat instantly felt relieved, less exposed. She had been worried that some family member would spot her alone and decide that she needed company and for this reason she liked her new neighbours immensely. The parents smiled at her, so she smiled back. They must have believed she was normal.

Kat looked at her watch and wondered if she could fit in another cigarette but she suspected her mum would be ready for her. She would appear suddenly, lay on a heavy guilt-trip and Kat would be forced to sit at the front with all the old crying people. It would not have been hard either; Kat did feel guilty.

She felt guilty that she was in a church when she didn’t believe in God, she felt guilty that she had screwed Rob again last night and turned up today with a hangover, she felt guilty because she knew she would not cry, she felt guilty because she secretly wanted the vicar to notice her cleavage. Kat felt guilty because she was a terrible person. Even this was not enough to provoke a few tears. Again, and not for the first time that day, she wondered what was wrong with her. When did she become this person?

Kat looked back to the programme of the service she still gripped and examined the photograph on the front. Thankfully they had used an old, slightly fuzzy, picture of Granny. She was younger than Kat had ever seen her, sitting in a garden chair with a chubby infant on her lap. She had been rather pretty, if not a little severe-looking. Her black hair and dress contrasted sharply with the ball of lacy, frilly baby she held. Kat was surprised by how thin Granny had been and instantly developed a new, deeper respect for her.

The hall was filling up and the crowd were murmuring in low voices when another series of clicks cut through the noise. It was the other Katherine, Kat’s cousin. She was dabbing gently at her face under a little black veil. Kat did not even try to hide her distaste. Who the fuck wears a veil to a funeral nowadays? She thought, ‘someone who wants to draw the attention away from the poor sod in the coffin and onto them’. Knowing her cousin as she did, there was no doubt that this was the case.

Their mothers were sisters who had been in competition with each other as long as anyone could remember. It was only natural that, when they fell pregnant around the same time, nine months of squabbling over names would follow. No one really knew which of them first had the idea of naming their daughter after Granny, proving their devotion to her above all others, but it had been Kat who was born first. Katherine had followed five days later and now they both served as a reminder of the lifelong feud that was still raging silently between the sisters. Despite being born second, Kat felt it was Katherine who had the last laugh. At least she had retained her full Christian name. Kat, on the other hand, fancied that one day she would hunt down the person who first started calling her ‘Kat’ and punish them for giving her a nickname that rhymed with ‘fat’. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone else noticed the connection and she would then be known as ‘Fat Kat’. She couldn’t live with that.