Page 84 of Birds of a Feather

Chapter 37

Beth

It seemed wildly inappropriate to wake on the day of Gran’s funeral with a sense of contentment. But I felt like my emotions were compartmentalised – my grief over Gran’s death wasn’t lessened by Nick being here, but adoring him made me happy in a way I had never before experienced. Perhaps I finally understood what Jarrah meant when she talked about filling up your ‘love cup’. Having a full love cup didn’t empty any of the contents of the ‘grief cup’, but it was nice to have something else to drink.

I also felt comforted knowing that Nick had met Gran and been witness to her reunion with Gerry. It was important to me that he knew her, since she was such a big part of my life story.

Nick and I ate breakfast at the cafe down the road as I had absolutely nothing in my house to eat. Then we drove to my parents’ place via Gran’s house to collect Gerry.

The weather was beautiful; it was the type of day that Gran would have described as ‘a good day to be alive’. The irony was not lost on me.

I had decided not to forewarn my family that I would be bringing a plus-one to the funeral. There was no use in drawing out their response, I had thought. I figured it was best just to turn up with him and let them process it on the spot. It would be like ripping off a bandaid, if the bandaid was decorated with sequins and glitter.

This resolute rationale did nothing to temper my nerves.

We arrived to find the house as chaotic as ever. Dad and Elijah were loading Elijah’s van with the equipment they needed for their funeral performance. They were dressed in suits that I didn’t know they owned, although judging by the way Dad’s pants stretched across his backside, I assumed they had been retrieved from the archives of his wardrobe. Both were chest-deep in the back of the van, swearing and cursing while pushing and pulling. I gestured to Nick that we should slip past quietly. I knew I couldn’t control much about Nick meeting my family, but I figured it would be best to avoid it being arse first.

As we stepped onto the porch, we could hear Jarrah and Mum yelling to each other about a misplaced item of clothing.

‘Welcome to the madhouse,’ I announced to Nick. ‘Hold onto your hat.’

At least four more bunches of flowers had arrived that morning and were sitting by the front door – one in an ice bucket, one in a watering can and two in an esky.

‘Hello,’ I called out as we entered the house. ‘We’re here.’

‘Hi, Bethie. Hi, Gerry,’ Mum called out from her bedroom. ‘Won’t be a tick.’

Jarrah emerged in the hallway, resplendent in just a skirt and a lacy black bra.

‘Jesus, Jarrah!’ I exclaimed. ‘Where’s your top?’

‘What?’ she asked innocently, before noticing Nick behind me.

‘Fuck. Sorry,’ she said, wrapping her arms tightly around her body, which only accentuated her cleavage. ‘I didn’t realise you were bringing someone else with you.’

Nick gave her a wry wave.

‘This is Nick.’

Her eyes widened, and a huge smile spread across her face.

‘Is it now? How nice to meet you, Nick.’

She uncoiled her right arm, which was doing the lion’s share of covering her breasts, and extended it towards him.

‘Jarrah,’ I scolded. ‘Go and put on a top. You can meet him properly when you’ve got some clothes on.’

‘Oh yes. Of course. Sorry,’ she said, scuttling backwards down the hallway.

‘Hi Gerry,’ she called out as a wistful afterthought as she disappeared into her bedroom.

‘Sorry about that,’ I said. ‘But you really brought this upon yourself by coming. You were warned.’

‘Bethie,’ Mum called out from her room. ‘Come and help me choose. Should I wear a black feather headdress or a turban?’

I rolled my eyes at Nick.

‘Is this a fancy-dress funeral?’ he whispered.

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