You Win Again

‘Over here,’ Mum pushes me between the shoulder blades to urge me forward down the grassy embankment toward a grove of trees, away from the other guests, ‘and please Sylvie, don’t let that popsicle drip on your new dress.’

I look down at the white ice, confused. If it dripped all over my dress, no one would see it. But I hastily popped the leakiest bottom corner into my mouth and took a bite. Brain freeze.

‘Now stay near this tree, where I can see you. I need to do the rounds and then we can....’ Mum's voice broke and as I used my free hand to push my temple to ease the cold jolt of pain, I watch Mum take a tissue out of her dress sleeve. Yuck Mum, get a new one. I wrinkle my nose as Mum unwrapped the used tissue, damp with snot, tears and streaks of mascara.

‘Mum, can’t I just stay with you?’

‘You are staying with me. It’s just the two of us now.’ Mum sounded angry, sniffed loudly and turned away from me, to head back up toward the funeral home, where my Dad's memorial service had just taken place.

I stood there as Mum made her way back up the embankment, the heels of her shoes digging into the grass with every step, leaving wet, dark soil on her white Paragini pumps. Her sister, Aunty Linda greeted her.

Still rubbing my temple at the now subsiding cold headache, my eyes widened as my Mum knocked Aunty Linda’s hand away. Headache forgotten, I hear Aunty Linda call after her sister. Ignored twice, she turns toward me.

That was rude Mum, I thought, and lifted my hand to wave hello to Aunty Linda. My Aunty put her hands on her hips, changed her mind, fluffed her perm and turned to follow her sister.

Suddenly, I felt my hand being nudged from underneath. There was a white dog licking at my popsicle!

‘That’s mine,’ I lift my hand away.

The dog sat down next to me. I dropped the rapidly vanishing popsicle onto the ground and looked on as the dog leaned forward and slowly started licking what was left of it.

‘A shepherd.’ I squatted. This dog looked like Roxy, Dad’s German shepherd he’d had since his uni days. She had died when I was only little. Except this new one was white.

I suddenly felt tired and I cried, realising Dad was gone. No more playing Barbies together. He will never sing Beautiful Beautiful Brown Eyes to me as he rubbed my back trying to get me to sleep. Who will help me with my math? Mum did none of those things. She was always busy. Washing, cooking, vacuuming. Or shopping, gossiping, watching The Bold and the Beautiful.

The shepherd looks straight at me as I wipe my nose on my knee.

I lift my head and gaze up to the outdoor area of the funeral home. Tables adorned with white tablecloths and white flowers, surrounded by platters of curried egg sandwiches, ritz crackers, cheese and cabanossi, vol-au-vents filled with asparagus and cheese, sausage rolls and fresh fruit.

Family and friends were milling around the tables, cups of coffee in one hand, a cracker in the other, funeral programs tucked under their armpits. There was a low steady hum of voices, only a word or two every few moments escaped to make their way down to my eager ears.

‘Dear little thing, Mum better step up, love the wearing of white to his funeral idea, she left the nursing to Linda, fought constantly, they fell in love, wasn’t his first affair…’

Affair. What’s that? I wondered. I wriggle my toes, sticky from rogue popsicle drips that had slipped into the holes of my clear sparkly jelly sandals, bought for this very day and asked the dog ‘Who fell in love?’

The dog, having finished the popsicle, had started chewing on the stick. He looked up at me and licked my hand. I scratched under the dog’s chin, its thick white coat soft and clean.

‘Do you know who fell in love?’ I repeated, using both hands to scratch the dog’s neck and ears. The dog stood up and Sylvie looked for a willy.

‘Hello boy.’ He sat again, seeming to enjoy the attention. The shepherd barked, which made me jump, then laugh.

Noise to the left drew mine and the shepherd’s attention. Mum and Aunty Linda were standing off to the side, partially hidden by a garden hedge.

‘I don’t want you there,’ Mum was clutching her black purse to her chest and Aunty Linda was nursing a glass of orange juice.

‘What will people say if I’m not there? The cremation is for immediate family.’

‘You are not his immediate family!’ My hands went to my mouth as Mum stabbed her sister in the chest with her snakeskin bag, the gold chain strap catching on Aunty Linda’s glass, the juice splashing up over her hand.

The shepherd whines quietly and I shuffle closer to him.

‘Catherine,’ Aunty Linda hisses at her sister, ‘you are making a scene and embarrassing yourself. This is about Charlie, not you. Think about him for once in your life.’

‘Like you did? You have had your eye on him since that first dinner. He didn’t stand a chance. Your hair, your tits, your degree. You win again!’ Mum’s face was red as she shook her fists dangerously close to Aunty Linda’s face.

Aunty Linda drew herself up to her full height. ‘He married the wrong sister, yes.’

I watch as Mum’s mouth drops open and in slow motion, her hand connects with Aunty Linda’s cheek, the noise like an air rifle popping off a rat on a fence.

The shepherd stands up then and barks. A sharp warning sound. I scratch his ear.

‘Whose dog is that?’ Mum heads toward me, leaving Aunty Linda to stare after her with one red cheek.

‘Catherine! I will let the directors know it’s time to move onto the crematorium.’ Holding her cheek, Aunty Linda spins toward the building.

‘You do that.’ Mum mumbles and puts her hand out toward the dog who eagerly approaches her. Barking once, circling twice and then lying down in front of her, paws out, head resting on top.

‘He finished my popsicle.’ I point to the half-chewed stick on the ground.

‘What did Aunty Linda mean about Dad marrying the wrong sister?’ I asked my shoes the question, I didn’t have the courage to look Mum in the face.

Uncle Luke, Mum’s younger brother called out from the doorway of the funeral home. ‘Cath the procession to the thing is starting. We gotta get these guys to their cars’.

‘Cue the music!’ Mum yells back.

‘Righto.’ Uncle Luke disappears.

‘C’mon kid. We must go. You,’ Mum bends over to pat the dog on his head, ‘can stay here.’ Then holds out her hand to me. I take it reluctantly, remembering the crack of her palm on Auntie’s cheek. She lifts me to my feet.

As we head back up the embankment, the dog rushes between us, stops and sits, facing us. The dog tilts his head and looks at Mum.

‘Do you know whose dog this is?’ Mum asks me. I shrug. ‘Reminds me of your fathers’ dog. Maybe it belongs to the funeral director.’ Mum continued. ‘Go. Shoo!’

The shepherd was having none of it. He followed us inside to where the other guests were mingling.

Aunty Linda appears with a glass, tapping it lightly with a fork to gain everyone’s attention.

‘Thank you to everyone who came here today to help Catherine and her family celebrate the life of our darling Charlie. For those of you attending the private cremation service, I’ll please ask you now to make your way to the waiting cars. For those not attending, it has been a wonderful send-off and we thank you again for coming.’

Instead of the foul angry look I had expected to see, Mum had a smile on her face. The music to signal the end of the service had started, and I was surprised to hear one of my favourite songs being piped through the sound system, throughout the funeral home. I loved this song!

‘What is this?’ Aunty Linda had picked up on it also. She marched over to Mum, waving the fork around her head, looking just a little crazy. ‘What is this Catherine?’

I kept glancing at Mum and then at my Aunty, like I was watching a game of ping pong. It wasn’t a traditional funeral tune, I supposed.

Mum dropped my hand and with her head held high, she walked out toward the waiting cars, a slow swagger, perfectly in time to the tune she had chosen, The Bee Gees You Win Again.

A bark from behind me made me turn and there was the white shepherd. He had wandered outside and was sitting just outside the doors in the outdoor area. Just as I was about to call him, Aunty Linda stepped forward ‘Get out of here!’ she waved her hand and walked toward the door.

The shepherd took that moment to jump up and grab a sausage roll off one of the tables and ran down the embankment with it.

‘Dad loved sausage rolls.’ I looked up at Aunty Linda to see tears in her eyes, mascara down her cheeks. The handprint Mum had left on her left cheek fading. She knelt down in front of me and took my hands.

‘Let’s go get you a popsicle.’