Never Can Say Goodbye (3 page)

‘Er, no. I suppose not. And, of course, hopefully, you won’t be attending many other funerals.’

Biddy looked beady. ‘Oh, at my age funerals are beginning to be top of the social agenda. I go to lots of funerals, you know.
But none of them stipulated black. Most don’t these days. So if you could find me anything cheap as chips in black. I don’t
have anything black in my wardrobe, you see.’

‘Yes, well, it doesn’t suit everyone.’

Biddy nodded in a small shower of raindrops. ‘It’s so draining. I was told by Cherish, she’s my colour palette advisor over
at Hazy Hassocks, to avoid black at all costs. Cherish says I’m a blossoming spring person.’

Blossoming? Spring? Frankie blinked. Pale and gingery, Biddy looked like an anaemic squirrel.

‘Teals, aquas and primroses are my hues, Cherish told me.’ Biddy nodded, still dripping. ‘Spring colours. But not suitable
for this funeral, because –’ she glowered ‘– this one stipulates wearing black. And I really wanted to wear my eau-de-nil
two-piece. Or maybe my lemon duster coat.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Frankie said soothingly, thinking that any of the pale shades mentioned would make Biddy fade into even more insignificance,
and wondering just what sort of warped sense of humour Cherish, the Hazy Hassocks colour-palette advisor, had. ‘Right, let’s
see what we can find in black and a size … what … eight?’

‘And in a petite,’ Biddy added, trotting towards the overcrowded rails, removing her Rain Mate and shaking it across the floor.
‘I don’t want something trailing round my ankles.’

‘Right … ’ Frankie, practically jigging with impatience, started clawing through the disorganised rails. ‘Let’s see what we’ve
got … ’

Frankie found it a dispiriting task. Apart from the fact that the whole shop was in a complete muddle, and she was searching
for funeral wear, Rita’s astounding announcement was the only thing she could think about. Running the shop would be amazing,
of course, but what would life be like without Rita? Frankie knew exactly what it would be like: unthinkable, that’s what.

‘How about this?’ Frankie pulled a black coat with a mock-astrakhan collar from the crush. ‘It’s your size, and nice and thick,
too. You’re going to need something warm in this weather, especially if you’ve got to, er, stand around outside … I mean,
I suppose if it’s a the crematorium it wouldn’t be so, er, cold.’

‘It’s a cremation,’ Biddy confirmed almost cheerfully. ‘In Thatcham. We’re having a minibus. Mind you, the wind cuts across
there something cruel while you’re waiting to go in if there’s a lot on that day. Like a conveyor belt, it is sometimes. Once
you’re inside the crem it’s better, mind. Nice and snug. And ever so warm.’

Frankie supposed it must be. Fortunately, apart from her grandad’s funeral when she’d been very young, she’d never had to
find out. ‘Shall we try it on?’

‘I will, you won’t. There’s no “we” involved here. You youngsters have no idea about syntax.’ Biddy snatched at the coat and
stared at it. ‘Hmmm, not bad. And the right size, and it’ll cover everything. So I can wear something more spring-coloured
underneath it, can’t I?’

Frankie nodded, stepping over the abandoned soggy raincoat and fastening the black coat round Biddy’s tiny frame. ‘Well, unless
you have to take it off at the wake, I suppose. Maybe, um, the deceased’s family will expect you to be all in black.’

‘Ernie Yardley didn’t have any family to speak of.’ Biddy preened and posed in front of the shop’s cheval mirror. ‘Just a
couple of nieces or nephews or something. They’re organising the funeral, they’re the ones who decreed black, but they never
came near Ernie while he was alive, so no doubt they’re just waiting for the pickings. And slim, they’ll be. Poor old Ernie
had nowt to show for his life but his old age pension.’

Frankie, simply itching to shove Biddy into renting the coat and shove her out of the door so that she could talk to Rita,
nodded in sympathy.

‘Still, the Motions are doing the send-off, so it’ll be spot on,’ Biddy continued, irritatingly still keen to chat. ‘Old-fashioned
undertakers, they are. None of this happy-clappy stuff. They know what’s what.’

Frankie perked up a bit. ‘Oh, I know Slo Motion. He and Essie Rivers have got a flat in my friend Phoebe’s house. He’s a lovely
man. So funny.’

‘He’s a reprobate.’ Biddy sniffed. ‘Don’t conduct himself proper for an undertaker. Living in sin at his age – disgusting,
I call it. Still, he’s organised the wake back at the Faery Glen in Hazy Hassocks, which should be a good do, they always
do a nice spread. So, what I’m saying is, no one will care what I’m wearing underneath once the niceties have been observed
at the crem, will they?’

Frankie, not well versed in funeral etiquette, supposed not and shook her head.

‘Lovely.’ Rita, having composed herself while shedding the red frock and now in black trousers and a turquoise sweater, emerged
from the cubicles. ‘That coat could have been made for you, Biddy. Frankie always has a good eye for what suits.’

‘Yes, I suppose she has,’ Biddy admitted grudgingly as she continued to twirl and admire her reflection. ‘Yes, yes, this will
do nicely.’

‘Will you be needing a hat?’ Frankie asked. ‘I think we’ve got some black berets somewhere … and gloves … and a scarf? If
you don’t wear much black, you may not have the accessories, and if, as you say, the, er, wait will be chilly … ’

‘Well, now you come to mention it.’ Biddy unbuttoned the
black coat and reached for her soggy raincoat and still-soaking umbrella. ‘I don’t have any of the folderols in black – Cherish
advised no black whatsoever – so, yes, that’s a good idea, as long as they won’t cost much.’

‘Nothing costs much here,’ Rita said. ‘You should know that by now, Biddy. OK, so while Frankie sorts you out, shall we do
the paperwork?’

Frankie, rummaging through several large cardboard boxes of jumbled accessories, glanced across at the counter. Rita, chatting
to Biddy as she filled out the rental copybook in trip-licate, flicking the carbons into place, looked just the same. She
didn’t look like someone who was just about to run off to Mykonos.

‘Here we are.’ Frankie placed beret, gloves and scarf on the counter. ‘All in black. Rita will sort out the pricing for you.’

‘Two days rental, if you bring them all back by close of business on Friday.’ Rita added the accessories to the handwritten
accounts book. ‘You’ll have to pay an extra day if you leave it until Saturday.’

Frankie quickly folded everything into a large Big Sava carrier bag.

Biddy looked shocked as she parted with her money and gathered up the receipt and bag. ‘Don’t you worry, they’ll be back in
here first thing on Friday morning when I come into Kingston Dapple to change my library books. I’m not going to be caught
by your gazumping, Rita Radbone.’

‘And thank you too,’ Rita muttered, as they watched Biddy struggle back out into the storm. ‘And there goes one of nature’s
charmers.’

Frankie frowned. ‘Why does she pretend to be so
old
, though? She must be in her fifties, and that’s young these days.
She should still be in jeans and heels. Why does she dress and speak like someone
ancient
?’

‘Because she’s a miserable cow,’ Rita said comfortably. ‘Some people are born old, and Biddy’s one of them. Still, it was
a clever touch of yours to get the accessories added in there. See? You’ve got a real flare for this business. You’re a natural.’

Frankie shrugged. ‘Every little bit helps, as they say.’

‘Mmm.’ Rita beamed. ‘It certainly does. Anyway, where were we before Biddy chose to interrupt me?’

‘You were going to explain about the “we”.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Rita nodded, leaning her plump arms on the countertop. ‘So, as I was saying, you were almost right earlier on when
you mentioned Shirley Valentine. You see, I
am
going to be Rita Valentine in Mykonos … I’m going to be marrying Ray Valentine the day after we arrive.’

Frankie shrieked with laughter. ‘Ray Valentine? You’re going to Mykonos with Ray Valentine, and you’re going to get
married
? Dear Lord, Rita. For a moment there I thought you were serious. Ray Valentine … Funny old Ray Valentine from the market
flower stall. Who in their right mind would want to marry Ray Valentine?’

‘Me, actually.’

Still laughing, Frankie looked at Rita’s face. Whoops. Quickly, she tried to stifle her giggles. ‘Er, well, I mean, er, um
… Oh, dear. You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Dead.’

‘Um, congratulations then. But I didn’t even know you and Ray were, um … ’

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’ Rita still looked very miffed. ‘And as for the romance with Ray, well I’ve
managed to keep that secret, and I would very much like to keep it that way.’

‘Well, yes, of course,’ Frankie said quickly. ‘I mean, who wouldn’t? Er, that is … well, I know he pops in a lot and you’re
friends and he takes you to lunch every now and then, but
marriage
?’

‘I fail to understand why you think me marrying Ray Valentine is so impossible.’

Frankie pushed the ‘He’s fat, bald, the wrong side of fifty, wears terrible clothes, smokes a pipe, smells of compost’, quickly
away and smiled bravely. ‘Well, I mean, he’s been a fixture in Kingston Dapple’s marketplace for ever, and I didn’t know you
and he were even, um, romantic friends, let alone, um, and, well … ’

‘Ray’s a couple of years older than me but we were at school together. He was my first crush and my first love. My only real
love actually. Then he got embroiled with the dreadful Deidre Muncaster and married her, and I just, well, I just amused myself
with various other people in the many, many intervening years, but I never stopped loving Ray … Then after his divorce Ray
and I sort of drifted back together.’

‘Did you? When was that?’

‘About a year ago. After Brian from the kebab van – he understood, bless him.’

As Brian seemed to rarely understand much that was happening around him, Frankie rather doubted this. ‘Blimey though, you
and Ray Valentine … I can’t believe I never noticed.’

‘We were very discreet, love. I know I’ve always been considered a bit of a good-time girl in Kingston Dapple – I didn’t want
anyone laughing at Ray. I can be discreet when I choose.’

As ‘Rita’ and ‘discreet’ were two words no one in Kingston Dapple would have ever used in the same sentence, Frankie decided
that sniggering at this point wouldn’t be the best idea she’d ever had, so she attempted to look serious. ‘Er, right. And
Ray’s happy with Mykonos, too?’

‘Ray wants to escape from here as much as I do, so he’s piled his money in with mine and we’ve bought the taverna.’

‘Which neither of you has even seen?’

‘Ray has. I’ve seen the photos. He’s been over there and done the business side of things, I’ve signed the paperwork over
here. It’s only just been finalised – which is why I’ve not said anything earlier. Now, we leave in two weeks’ time, and we
get married on the beach the day after. Which is why I’m tying up all my loose ends.’

Frankie exhaled. It still all sounded totally implausible, but it might actually be true. Rita might really be going to Mykonos
with Ray. Rita might really be giving her the shop.

‘But, I’ll miss the wedding … Still, you’ll be having a leaving party, won’t you?’

‘Sorry, love, but no. We’re going low-key on everything. And we’ve still got loads left to do before we fly off. You and I
will have to go through all the Fabulous Frocks stuff, and I’ll have to get Brian sorted out with my bungalow. And Ray has
to see to his flower stall, too.’

‘Has he sold it?’ Frankie frowned. ‘What a shame. There’s been a flower stall in the marketplace for ever, hasn’t there?’

‘Yep. Valentine’s Flowers are into their third generation. But Ray’s got that covered. His nephew is taking it over.’

‘Oh good. Nice to know there’ll still be a Valentine selling flowers in the marketplace. At least some things will stay the
same. Is he local, the nephew?’

Rita paused. ‘Dexter? Um … no … Comes from up Oxford way. He’s Ray’s brother’s lad. And lad’s the right word, so Ray says.
He’s a bit of a havoc-maker if you get my drift. Lost his job and been in a lot of trouble by all accounts. Not sure what,
I didn’t like to ask, but I gather it was pretty bad. I think Ray’s giving him the flower stall to run to sort him out before
he goes right off the rails.’

Brilliant, Frankie thought, her head still reeling. Another fat and balding Valentine in the marketplace – only this time
younger and more leery and without the saving grace of Ray’s kindliness and cheerful demeanour.

She could just see Dexter Valentine – a sort of mini-Ray: overweight, scruffy, with tattoos and piercings to go with his baseball
cap and hoodie, and this time he’d also be work-shy, aggressive and a troublemaker.

Dexter Valentine, the flower stall’s heir-apparent, sounded exactly what sleepy Kingston Dapple could well do without.

Three weeks later, towards the end of November, everything had changed except the weather. Bone-chilling rain still poured
from a pewter sky and a biting wind still rattled relentlessly across Kingston Dapple’s market square.

‘I don’t know where to start … ’ Frankie stared round the dimly lit, cold-grey interior of the shop. ‘I’m totally overwhelmed
by all this. I haven’t got a clue what to do first.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Lilly, Frankie’s housemate who’d been roped in on her day off for the reorganisation, said cheerfully.
‘It’ll all look much better when we’re full of caffeine.’

‘Will it?’ Frankie, shivering inside a thick yellow jacket, a green woollen dress, thick tights, long boots and several scarves,
twirled the shop keys in her fingers. ‘I wish I had your optimism. It’s only been closed for week but it doesn’t look like
Rita’s shop any more. It just looks cold and cluttered, and it smells … well, old and unloved.’

‘Like you.’ Lilly giggled, her bottom wiggling in her skinny
jeans as she teetered away into the kitchen on her perilous heels.