“That was a lovely service Mum, Myrtle would have loved it.”
Pamela Hetherington bent forward and tenderly kissed Mavis on her tear-stained cheek. Mavis nodded and forced a weak smile. They were standing beside a scrumptiously presented buffet laid out in the local British Legion Club - Myrtle’s favourite haunt. The steward had generously offered the free use of the club’s facilities saying, “That was the least he could do for such a nice lady.”
Mavis tugged at Pamela’s sleeve, “Who’s that over there staring at you?”
“If looks could kill.”
Pamela looked across the room. She whispered, “That’s Betty Johnson, formerly Betty Hardcastle, we were at school together, and a right bitch.”
“She’s coming over.” Pamela’s eyes hardened as Betty approached the pair.
“Hi ya, Pam, Missus Hetherington, nice to see you both again, I’m Betty? We were at school together. Remember?”
Pamela returned a slight nod. Betty’s eyes studied Pamela from head to toe. “That’s a nice outfit you’ve got there. It’s just a shame that you’re wearing it in such sad circumstances,” said Betty, her flat tone was devoid of any real feeling.
Betty took a sip from her wine glass. Pamela frowned as she spotted the deep red stain that Betty’s lipstick had left on the rim.
“I suppose you’ve heard about your Rob…….” Pamela jumped in, “He’s not MY Rob. That was over ages ago.” Betty apologised, “Oh, yeah, sorry, but anyway, he’s down in Brighton and you’ll never guess what, he’s doing a college course, it’s a proper degree and everything. It looks like he’s sorting himself out.”
Pamela shrugged, “So? Why should I care?” Betty tilted her head and offered a faint smile, “I just thought you’d like to know. Oh, must dash my hubby is over there. Byeee.”
Pamela scowled, and flicked a two-fingered gesture at the departing Betty.
(c) Graham Crisp