Back to the Farm Ch. 05

Lissy was trying to sing, he realised, feeling a lump in his throat. Not loudly--he could hear those in the rows behind singing much more lustily--but it was possible to discern her small melodious voice, the tremor in her tone giving away just how much the effort was costing her. But when he spotted the tears rolling down her face, he felt rather as though he'd been punched in the stomach. Fighting an unexpected urge to drag her into his arms, he instead reached for her hand, astonished but relieved when she made no attempt to pull away, her chilly fingers closing tightly around his.

And as though they'd made some tacit agreement of truce, there her hand remained for the rest of the service. It was only as they processed up the aisle, following Michael and the coffin back out of the church that Melissa became acutely conscious of the continuing contact between them, suddenly feeling as though the collective gaze of the congregation had zoomed to their intertwined fingers.

But curiously, she couldn't bring herself to break the connection, if anything, needing to cling to Matt even more tightly as they drew to a halt outside and watched in silence as Charlie's coffin was reloaded into the waiting hearse.

"No, no, no. This won't do at all."

Startled by the heavy note of disapproval in Ruth's voice, Melissa finally snatched her hand from Matt's grasp. "I'm--I'm sorry?" she stammered as she turned to look at her, feeling rather as she had that morning all those years ago when they'd been discovered together in Matt's bed.

"This." Ruth gestured towards the hearse with a look of disdain. "Matthew, I want you to take me to the crematorium."

He frowned. "Mother, I told you. No one's going to the crematorium. Charlie didn't want any of us to go. He said that he found that the most depressing thing about funerals these days and that he'd rather spare us all the trip."

"But he shouldn't go alone. He shouldn't be making his final journey alone."

"His final journey?" Melissa repeated, unsettled to find herself bereft without the warmth of Matt's fingers. "Aunt Ruth, he's already made his final journey. He made his final journey in the hospice last week. He's not in that coffin. That's just his body. Charlie isn't in there."

"Lissy," Matt said gently. "She knows that."

"Does she?" As the hearse pulled away, she twisted around to face his mother, feeling oddly agitated. "All of this is what Charlie wanted. He didn't want anyone to know he was ill. He didn't want anyone to know he was dying. He didn't want a traditional funeral with flowers and depressing hymns. He wanted it to be more like a party."

Ruth pursed her lips. "A party? How absurd. Typical Charlie, making a joke of everything. Honestly, he must be the laughing stock of the village."

"What?" Melissa was shocked. "Of course he isn't. Everybody loved him. Just look at how many people are here," she added, waving her arm around at the people gathering behind them before realising to her horror that many of them were watching the proceedings with interest. "This is what he wanted, okay?" she went on, abruptly lowering her voice. "And he didn't want anyone to go to the crematorium. Not you, not me, not--"

"Come on, Liss," Matt put in, sounding uncomfortable. "She didn't mean it like that."

"Of course she did!" She regarded him with disbelief. "How else could she possibly have meant it? But what right does she have to say whether what Charlie wanted was absurd or not?" Once again, she turned on Ruth, beginning to feel wildly out of control now. "When did you last come to visit him? When was the last time you phoned him? I wasn't aware you even cared about him that much, to be honest."

"How dare you?" Ruth looked aghast. "Ofcourse I cared--"

"Really?" Melissa knew she should stop but found she couldn't, days of pent-up emotion finally finding an outlet. "Here you are, at his funeral, all dressed in black when Charlie specifically said that he didn't want anyone to wear black, muttering under your breath about the songs he wanted us to sing, saying you want to go to the crematorium when he made it quite plain he didn't want anyone to go the crematorium--"

"Indeed he didn't," a conciliatory voice interrupted. "And I think we should respect his wishes, however out of the ordinary they might seem. That much we can do to honour Charlie's memory." Feeling Michael's hand on her arm she looked up to see him smiling at her, his brown eyes soft. "Lissy, my dear, shall we start leading the way to the King's Head? I think if you and I begin heading in that direction, everyone else will follow."

Grateful for the vicar's timely intervention, she allowed him to draw her away, aware she was trembling slightly. "I'm so sorry," she murmured as soon as they were out of earshot, rather embarrassed. "I shouldn't have said any of that. I don't know what came over me."

"Well." Michael sent her a diplomatic smile as they set off along the lane. "Funeral's are tricky occasions. They have a tendency to bring out both the best and the worst in us, I'm afraid. And I gather that you and Matt's mother have never had the easiest of relationships."

Melissa looked at him guiltily. "Who told you that?"

He smiled again. "I told you, Charlie and I had many a conversation about you and about young Matthew. I rather think he hoped that you two at least would be able to patch things up some day."

"Matt--andme?" she said, startled. "He talked about that too?"

Michael nodded. "I hear you were once the best of friends. I think Charlie always felt he should've done more to help you repair your relationship. But I told him of course that you were both adults now and that if it was meant to be you'd find a way."

Not knowing how to respond, Melissa took a glance backwards and was astonished to see just how many people were snaking along the pavement behind them. "I didn't think everyone would come," she said, glad to be able to change the subject. "I hope there's enough room at the pub."

She needn't have worried. When Jean met them at the door she explained she'd opened up both bars and that the garden was also available for use. "It's wonderful to see you again, Lissy my love," the landlady added warmly. "It's been such a long time."

It was a phrase Melissa was to hear over and over again. When Matt arrived a few minutes later--Ruth giving her a haughty stare before marching straight into the pub--they stationed themselves by the door, dutifully accepting the numerous expressions of sympathy and condolences as the mourners filed in.

But as the line of people began to dwindle, she became aware of Matt's gaze on her more and more. Realising he was probably determined to talk to her just as soon as they'd greeted all the guests, the knot in her stomach tightened. Already feeling horribly vulnerable, the smile she'd plastered to her face growing weaker with every passing second, she knew there wasn't a chance she'd survive the conversation they needed to have without breaking down.

"Need the loo," she muttered to Matt the moment the last guest to enter had disappeared into the lounge, hurrying inside before he had a chance to respond.

She headed straight for the ladies' toilets, her chest aching with the effort of holding back tears but to her dismay there was a lengthy queue in the corridor outside. Desperate to find sanctuary, she ducked her head and headed towards the door at the far end, grateful when it opened and she found herself in the pub kitchen.

In the middle of removing the cling film from one of the huge trays of food laid out across the counter tops, Jean shot her a startled glance. "Lissy dear!" she exclaimed. "Whatever are you doing out here?"

Too choked up to speak, Melissa stared back miserably for a moment, her vision rapidly growing blurry. And finding it was much too late to do anything to prevent the inevitable, she burst into tears.

"Oh darling," Jean said in concern, pushing the tray of sandwiches safely back on to the worktop and hurrying across the kitchen. "Oh my poor darling..." And suddenly Melissa was enveloped in motherly arms, her head pressed against the landlady's shoulder as she sobbed. "Just let it all out," the older woman urged, gently patting her back. "It's bad for you to keep these things bottled up. Let it go, my love."

But fearing that if she actually gave free rein to her feelings, she might never stop crying, Melissa was already battling to regain self control. "I'm all--I'm all right," she choked, scrabbling for the handkerchief she'd tucked up her sleeve and finding it was soaked. "I'm so sorry. I'm f-fine, really."

"Good heavens child, of course you aren't fine." Jean tutted, drawing a length of kitchen roll from its dispenser on the countertop and thrusting it into Melissa's hand. "There's no need to be embarrassed. No one expects you to be brave on a day like this."

Melissa dabbed at her eyes gratefully. "It's--it's been even harder than I th-thought it would be," she admitted. "Ev-everyone's been so kind."

"Yes, well." Jean smiled. "Your uncle was a wonderful man. We'll all miss him so much."

Hearing those words for perhaps the hundredth time that day, Melissa's eyes filled with fresh tears. "I know. I'll miss him too. Jean--" She hesitated, biting her lip hard. "Is there something I could do to help here? It's just--being out there--with everyone being so nice... I need--I need todo something. Something useful."

"Oh, I don't know." The landlady gave her a doubtful look. "I really don't think--"

"Please?" Melissa begged, her gaze falling on the trays of sandwiches, cakes and canapés around them. "Were you just about to start taking out the food? Could I help you with that?" Then she could keep moving, she thought. She'd have a legitimate excuse for not engaging too deeply in conversation with anyone.

Jean heaved a sigh. "All right," she conceded with reluctance. "But you really don't need to do this. I brought in extra staff today especially. The moment you want to stop, you stop, okay? Promise me?"

Melissa nodded fervently. "I promise." And after taking a moment to repair her make-up, grateful that Gemma had cautioned her against wearing any mascara that day, she found herself entrusted with a selection of ham, egg and cress and salmon and cucumber sandwiches. Steeling herself once again, holding her head defiantly high, she strode back out through the kitchen doors and headed back to the lounge area.

"Melissa my dear!" she heard almost immediately. Re-plastering a smile to her lips, she turned to discover it was Archie who was hailing her, his wife Mary at his side. "Wonderful service," the solicitor said warmly as he took a sandwich. "I have to say--and this is a strange thing to say, I know, but--this has to be the best funeral I've ever been to."

Despite her inner turmoil, she had to agree. It was a far cry from her mother's funeral two years ago. Admittedly, there hadn't been enough money to lay on a bash such as this, but even if there had been, Melissa doubted it would've made much difference. There had been a grand total of ten mourners at her mother's funeral. After years of being practically bedridden, Jane Barton's memory riddled with more holes than Swiss cheese, it perhaps wasn't surprising that so many of her friends had drifted away. It also probably wasn't surprising that having attended a funeral such as that one, Charlie had decided his own funeral would be nothing like it.

He would've been pleased about how everything had turned out, she thought, listening to the loud hum of conversation and frequent gales of laughter as she moved around the room with her tray. Though if he'd been there, he'd probably have encouraged her to talk to Matt. She knew she'd have to eventually. But rather to her relief, he seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth, along with his mother. They were probably in the other bar or out in the garden. She wasn't about to go hunting for either of them.

Fixing that fake smile in place before offering her tray to the next group of guests, she found herself wondering what it was about Ruth that had always rubbed her up the wrong way. Perhaps it was just that standing beside the woman she'd always referred to as Aunt--though in reality she wasn't--she'd always felt such an ugly duckling. Ruth always looked immaculate, hair perfectly styled, make-up flawless, nails buffed and polished to perfection. Even on the rare occasions she'd been seen in jeans, she looked as though she'd just stepped from the pages of a celebrity magazine. But, Melissa had to admit to herself, what riled her most was that hoity-toity accent she always used. She was pretty sure Ruth hadn't always spoken that way.

"There you are. Where have you been? I've been looking for you everywhere."

Matt. Melissa's heart sank. "Hey, I've been here all the time," she said lightly, turning to face him. "I s'pose there's just so many people here that--"

"Liss--" He stared at the tray of sandwiches, frowning. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh." She forced another smile. "Just thought I'd make myself useful. I--"

"What?" Matt looked bemused. "Lissy--you shouldn't be waitressing. I can't believe Jean asked you to do this."

"She didn't!" Melissa felt another flare of annoyance. "I volunteered, all right? I just wanted to help, that's all."

He shook his head slowly. "But this is Charlie's funeral. This isn't what you should be doing."

"Oh really?" She gave him a glare. "Then whatshould I be doing? No, don't tell me. I should be working the room, right? Listening to everyone tell me how wonderful Charlie was and having them tell me how much he'll be missed, listening to all those stories about the time he mended someone's fence, or how he manned the bric-a-brac stall at the Christmas Fayre for twenty years on the trot, or how he used to supply the Women's Institute with all the fruit for the jam?"

Matt's eyes narrowed. "And what's wrong with that? That's what he'll be remembered for, that's why everyone loved him."

"Nothing's wrong with that," she shot back. "How could there be anything wrong with that?"

"Then I don't understand. Why are you hiding behind a tray of sandwiches?"

"Hiding? I'm not hiding."

Too late, Matt realised she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. "Lissy," he tried again, more gently now. "People want to talk to you, okay? They want to share their memories, that's all.You need to share your memories."

"I am!" Melissa looked ready to explode now. "I'm doing it my way, okay? I'm not telling you what to do. I'll cope with all this my way, and you cope with it your way. So why don't you just leave me alone? Go and shareyour memories."

And before he could say another word, she'd turned on her heel and plunged forward into the crowd with her tray of sandwiches.

"That seemed to go really well."

Feeling a wry smile curving his mouth, Matt turned around. "Well good afternoon to you too. Or--" he checked his watch pointedly "--should I make that good evening? Where the hell have you been?"

"Hey, I was at the service," his friend protested. "I just had to pop to the bank to pay in some money. Looks like I might be able to pay the lads next week after all."

"Thompson paid up?" Matt raised his eyebrows. "Wonders will never cease."

"Maybe. I'll start believing in miracles if that cheque doesn't bounce." There was a pause. "I take it she still won't talk to you?"

"Nope." Matt sighed. "I keep putting my foot in it."

"Yeah, well. You can't really blame her for being mad with you. I told you to tell her. Mate, you need to tell her everything. You need to level with her. Take it from someone who knows. Okay--" it was the other man's turn to sigh "--so honesty cost me my marriage, but it was the right thing to do."

"In your case?" Matt grimaced at him. "Yeah, it was. But this is quite a bit different. Besides, I really don't think today is the right day to have that conversation. I'm speaking from experience too, remember?"

"I know, I remember. I was there. Okay then. Don't even try to talk to her today. Do what I've been doing. Check out the talent in this pub."

Matt groaned under his breath, following his gaze across to the bar. "Which one?" he asked resignedly.

"The tall one. Dark hair, drinking red wine. Next to the blonde."

Matt couldn't repress a choke of laughter. "Way out of your league, Armitage."

His friend grinned. "Probably. But a guy can dream, right? And you could take a crack at the blonde. She looks like your type."

Matt shook his head. "I don't think so, somehow."

"Why not? Matt--what the hell's wrong with you these days? I can't remember the last time you went out with anyone."

"It hasn't been that long," he protested half-heartedly, even though he knew exactly how long it'd been--and it had indeed been a long time. But as he continued to stare at the bar, Melissa reappeared, offering the contents of her now half-emptied tray to the group sitting there, the brave smile she was wearing bringing that lump back to his throat.

"Oh my God."

"What?" he asked absently, finding he didn't want to look away.

"Lissy. You're still holding a candle for that girl."

"What?" Forcing a laugh, he turned around. "Don't be daft."

"I'm not. I saw the way you were looking at her just now. Bloody hell, mate. After all these years?"

Matt sighed. "Let it go, okay?"

"Something happened between you two the other night, didn't it? When you were at the farm."

"Leave it."

"Jesus, you slept with her?"

"For God's sake!" Matt glared at him. "I said leave it!"

"Well, well, well. In that case, you really do need to talk to her."

"I didn't--" Matt began heatedly before realising he was speaking too loudly. "I didn't sleep with her, okay?" he finished, much more quietly.

"Yeah, but you wanted to, right?" His friend frowned. "I should've seen this coming. The one that got away, eh?" Straightening up, he peered through the crowd at Melissa, giving her an appraising glance. "I have to say, she's filled out rather nicely. And actually, that red hair's kind of striking, isn't it? Now that she's all grown up." He hesitated, shooting Matt a grin. "Maybe I should go and have a chat with her. What do you think?"

"Like she's going to speak toyou."

"Ten quid says she will."

Matt rolled his eyes wearily. "Be my guest."

*

As Melissa returned her empty tray to the kitchen, she suddenly realised how tired she was. Not just physically tired, either. Emotionally tired. What time was it anyway? Would anyone else be thinking about leaving soon? A glance up at the clock made her heart sink. It was only four thirty. Far too early to be considering the idea, she realised unhappily. Even Gemma wouldn't be able to come to her rescue until she finished work at five.

She looked at the remaining trays on the counter and sighed heavily. After meeting with Matt's disapproval, she found herself reluctant to serve any more food. He was probably right, she ought to be talking to people. But it was so hard. It was all right for him--he'd always been comfortable in a crowd of strangers. He was used to this sort of social event. Melissa felt hopelessly out of her depth.

"It's only for a few more hours," she muttered, closing her eyes briefly while she attempted to muster up enough strength to leave the kitchen. Then drawing in a deep breath, she pushed the door open and re-entered the lounge.

"Hi."

Startled to hear the male voice next to her ear, Melissa swung around to find herself facing a tall man with sandy hair, his smile warm. "Hi," she managed, immediately feeling an odd fluttering sensation in her chest as she looked up into his face. Good grief, he was one good-looking guy...