 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|
The Secret... |
|
|
|
Five minutes before she breathed her last, Carol stopped worrying about whether or not Billy would tell. Her dying thoughts were of Doris Day, singing cheerily 'Que sera, sera whatever will be will be ....' Billy would have laughed if he had known. |
|
|
|
The funeral was held on a bright sunny Tuesday afternoon. The usual crowd were in attendance, the men in their uncomfortable dark suits, the women in designer black. Children under twelve were left at home by unwritten agreement and teenagers moped casually near doorways, dying for the chance to sneak off for a crafty cigarette. |
|
|
|
The officiating clergy had never met Carol when she was alive and this was clear in his address. Friends and family stifled giggles as the Reverend Thomas waxed lyrical about her, for it was so clear from his words that he never knew her at all. |
|
|
|
As the service concluded, the funeral directors held open the doors for the mourners to pass, and pass they did...as quickly as they could, some reaching into pockets and handbags for cigarettes and lighters even before they had left the chapel. There was almost a musical tone to the clicking of the lighters and the inhalation of the longed-for smoke ,as over forty mourners lit up in unison. |
|
|
|
Cigarettes smoked, it was back to the house for the wake, at which time the assembled group had been informed, the will would be read. All believing that Carol had nothing in life, and even less in death, were reluctant yet vaguely curious and had decided to stick around. George considered that a funeral was an open invitation to network the sales idea he was trying to promote, and Alice wanted to catch up on the local gossip so they were definitely staying...to the bitter end if necessary. |
|
|
|
Each armed with his or her own reason, they clambered into cars for the short trip to Carol?s house where aunty Jean was waiting with hot tea, liberally laced with best brandy, and trays of freshly made sandwiches and cakes. Men who would normally never dream of doing so, gratefully accepted a fairy cake from the proffered tray and munched in silence. Crumbs littered the carpets, but no-one cared . |
|
|
|
Billy moved around the room, milling with the familiar faces; a quiet word here, a raucous joke there, he worked the room like a true professional. These were his people, like family only better. |
|
|
|
Billy , like Carol, had known the lifestyle he was choosing when he decided to mix in these particular circles, and so far it had been good to him. Things had not been quite so good for poor old Carol though. Billy had hardly been able to contain his shock when he found out Carol's 'little secret'; for that is what she chose to call it when he confronted her in her kitchen one night last December. That was the night he had found out that she was a police informer, paid to tell tales on her friends and family. The worst kind of scum . |
|
|
|
'Well, I guess I'm busted then' was all she said as she faced her accuser |
|
|
|
'Whatcha gonna do about it Billy?' she had asked him simply. |
|
|
|
Billy hadn't known then, and he still didn't know now.... What good would it do to tell? |
|
|
|
He had to be honest and admit to himself that if there was something to be gained by telling, he would already be singing like the proverbial canary; but there wasn't, not really. All that would happen is that people would leave, leave right now, just walk out, shaking their collective heads in disbelief. All these friends, people she had known for years, would turn their backs on her kids. How would that be for Sammy and Christopher? Those boys had grown up calling most of them auntie or uncle, had grown to know that they could rely on these people to be there for them....Oh no, there was nothing to be gained from telling. And anyways who would he tell? |
|
|
|
Frank would shoot him for sure. Firstly for telling and secondly for not telling sooner. He just couldn't win there, either way he'd be dead meat. |
|
|
|
And Jack? Well, Jack would probably thank him, and then never trust him again. He'd be in the local equivalent of fucking Siberia if he told Jack, and that would never do. Billy had ambitions. |
|
|
|
He toyed wildly with the thought of just standing up and announcing it to the whole room....nah! That would be suicide, even Billy wasn't that depressed. |
|
|
|
'Bollocks!' he thought to himself and took another fairy cake, cramming into his mouth in one piece. |
|
|
|
Staring blankly out of the picture window, oblivious to all around him, even to the texture of aunty Jean's famous fairy cakes with their sticky sweet icing, it suddenly came to him. The answer dawned as clear as day and Billy smiled as his problem resolved itself in his mind. Billy decided he would do absolutely nothing... After all, what would the lads have done if they had found out? They'd have put her right were she is today, that's what. Satisfied with his sudden decision, Billy smiled to himself and, looking round for the circulating tray of cakes, he found himself humming |
|
|
|
'Whatever will be, will be.......' |
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
Back |
|
|
|