Laughing at a Funeral

From complaining about his parties to accusing him of giving her dogs diarrhoea, Nick would forever be the bane of Mrs Handbag’s existence. The old cow had to be at least in her late eighties, perhaps it was time for her to move on to the next life.

It wasn’t until he caught Mrs Hangbag telling Nick’s husband, Miles that he deserved someone better did he wished for her to drop dead. The following morning, Mrs Hangbag left her house in a body bag.

Mrs Hangbag was dead, and Nick couldn’t have been any happier. Had people expected foul play, Nick would have been the first…and only suspect. No more would Nick see Mrs Hangbag in her black boots, woolly hats and tatty leather jacket. Always had the most putrid perfumes on, but according to her, the villagers said it was a wonderful lavender scent.

Nick was convinced nobody would be at her funeral. They needn’t bother making one. To Nick’s surprise, the chapel was packed. He wondered if any of them had come to the wrong funeral. It happened sometimes, people came to the wrong church or attended funerals for free food. Who would want to go to her funeral? Nick was dragged by his partner to go, so they could be good, kind, respectful neighbours. Miles thought Mrs Handbag was lovely. He had to be blinded by nostalgia. Miles said that Mrs Handbag was his favourite babysitter because she spoiled him with sweets. To Nick, she was a wicked witch next door.

“Mrs Handbag’s sudden passing has come as a dreadful shock to us all,” Reverend Goldfork said, clutching onto his cross. “Ivana Handbag called this church her second home. She’s been up and down the aisle like no one else I know. She’s had all her three sons baptised here. She was also the gracious host of the writing group on Thursdays, and she will be sorely missed. She was a true inspiration to our village. Ivana Handbag was everybody’s grandmother.”

“What?” Nick gasped and whispered to his partner, Miles. “Are we even at the right funeral? I didn’t even know she had any family.”

Miles said nothing but hushed him.

“How poignant it is that if she was still alive today. This would have been the day she would have married half a red cock.” Reverend Goldfork popped on his glasses and leaned over his papers and mumbled to himself. “Brock? Cox? Clock? Cacks? Ah, Arthur Redclock. I should have gone to spec savers...”

Nick chuckled to himself, his mind wandering somewhere dark.

“Why are you laughing?” Miles hissed, nudging his shoulder. “Stop it!”

“I can’t help it. The guy’s name is ridiculous. Nothing wrong with a good old giggle in church. Something to cheer up the sombre atmosphere.”

“Show some compassion,” Miles said. “I know you two didn’t get on, but if you took the time to get to know her, she was a decent lady.”

When Mrs Handbag’s fiancé came on the podium, the first thing Nick thought was: shouldn’t this guy be in school with his burgundy blazer? “He only wanted the hag for the money.” Nick didn’t realise how loud he was until almost everyone, including Reverend Goldfork, had their mouths wider than a codfish.

“Sorry about him.” Miles stood up. “He’s very emotional. He thought the world of her.”

Nick narrowed his eyebrows. Oh gosh, what an embarrassment. As Mr Redclock continued his speech, Nick learned about the side of Mrs Handbag whom he never saw.

“Ivana was an angel. She raised money for charity. Treated everyone she met with the utmost care and dignity. She was our true patron of the arts.”

“What a load of rubbish!” Nick said to himself. He went to lean on Miles, only to fall flat on his face.