Writing for Fun
September 2018
Bucket List - Pete Norman
‘Do you reckon he had any regrets?’
Richard glanced across at the dark oak casket which both physically and emotionally filled the space at the front of the aisle – it was highly polished, adorned with ornate brass handles and draped with white lilies.
‘What, Simon you mean? No way in the world. He was never the kind of guy to regret anything.’
Harry shook his head. ‘I suppose you must have known him better than I ever did but I always thought that when people reached their final moments they always had regrets of some sort – you know, some unfulfilled yearning that it’s now too late for them to accomplish.’
‘You are right, I suppose I did know Simon better than anyone else. We grew up together, we went through school together and we’ve been best mates ever since, though we did lose touch for a few years. I can assure you that whenever he wanted something he went all out to get it. I can’t imagine him ever having any regrets.’ He smiled. ‘But maybe there was one thing he really wanted that he never got – Carpet-burns. He left Uni because of her.’
‘Carpet-burns?’
‘Yeah, her name was Caroline Petula Burnett but Simon always called her Carpet-burns. It used to wind her up to breaking point but Simon was irrepressible.’
‘Well, if he quit Uni because of her it must have been bad.’
‘It was. He was besotted with her but he never really stood a chance – she was well out of his league, you see daddy was a Lord or something, had some huge red-brick pile in Surrey and she was always destined for someone from her own class, not a bit o’ rough like Simon.’ He glanced across towards his old friend and grinned. ‘Sorry, mate but in them there days you always were a bit rough round the edges, even you would have admitted that.’
‘So maybe he might just have put this Caroline on his bucket list then.’
‘Maybe but I assure you it would be a very short list indeed. He did just one term at Warwick and then he announced that he was going to take a gap year out.’ He grinned. ‘But this was a gap year that there was never going to be any coming back from. He went down to Cornwall and drifted around for a while, doing anything and everything, all sorts of odd jobs and stuff – just about anything he could turn his hand to that pulled in enough money to put a roof over his head and food in his belly. He tried his hand at windsurfing, hang gliding, scuba diving, parachuting, you name it and then with all the contacts he made doing that he ended up as an instructor. He was the one who piloted the boat, he was the one who flew the air-plane, there was nothing that he couldn’t turn his hand to if he wanted.’
‘So, if life was that good down there, how come he ended up back here working at Marshalls with me?’
‘Well, you see the lovely Marjorie was, I suppose you might say, parachuted into his life. On a beautiful sunny summer’s afternoon they leapt together out of a perfectly good aeroplane and drifted slowly down for 12,000 feet. In tandem they call it, him behind her, the two of them squashed together like two spoons. Then when they land, of course, they quite naturally roll about on the ground a bit before they finally manage to extricate themselves. They tell me that it’s such an intimate and personal experience being strapped so tightly together while the adrenaline flows. It was in that moment that Marjorie wormed her way through his defences and his life was never to be the same again. Before they knew it along came little Roger and that was the beginning of the end for his casual hand to mouth existence, he had responsibilities now and he was forced to settle down.’
‘But surely with all those talents at his disposal they should have stayed in Cornwall, his future down there must have been amazing.’
‘Well, I don’t know, perhaps Marjorie didn’t want him intimately spooning with all of those other attractive wannabee parachute groupies. I’m afraid that’s one you’ll have to ask the man himself . . . but don’t expect to get an answer any time soon.’
Harry laughed but inadvertently managed to synchronise the sound with the precise moment the vicar paused in his eulogy for dramatic effect. In front of him a couple of heads turned in disgust. The ground did not open up beneath him, which was what he was wishing for, so he pressed himself down into his seat and tried to make himself less visible. ‘Well, that went well, didn’t it?’
Richard grinned. He knew that Simon would have seen the funny side of it too but he also knew that no-one else in the chapel would have agreed with the sentiment. He leant down towards the almost invisible Harry. ‘But he did do quite well at Marshalls in the end, didn’t he?’
‘Well, yes, I know,’ came a muffled voice. ‘Personnel Manager: Senior Staff Canteen, bonus shares in the company and all that other white collar crap but he always stayed the same old Simon to the lads.’
The sound of music heralded the start of the hymn and the congregation rose to its feet. Harry did not know the words and had not managed to find the thing in the book so he mouthed along with the music hoping that if the grumpy couple in front happened to look back again he would appear to be displaying the required degree of reverence.
The hymn over they all sat while the final prayer was delivered with great solemnity and then, after all that necessary stuff had been endured, the vicar announced that the final piece of music for their departure had been selected by Simon himself for the occasion. As the opening few bars of Surfin’ USA by The Beach Boys began Harry buried his head in his lap with his hand firmly clamped over his mouth to stifle any irreverent sounds. They waited until the song was coming to an end and until the entire congregation had left the chapel before they themselves felt able to leave in an orderly fashion.
Outside the bright sunlight hurt his eyes and Simon had to squint to see which path the mourners were taking to view the floral tributes. They all seemed to be taking the long way round, sticking to the gravelled pathways but Richard and Harry instead struck off across the grass towards a distant mound of lawn ablaze with colour.
As they approached they saw a figure crouched down beside a wreath carefully arranging the blooms and the card to their satisfaction. With a cautious glance towards the approaching mourners the figure arose. She was tall and elegant, an expensive long black coat concealed her trim figure, a black veil covered her face; the only relief from the severity was a cascade of white hair which flowed like a waterfall as she moved. She glanced over her shoulder at Richard and gave a brief nod of recognition before hurrying off towards the car park.
Richard had an overwhelming urge to follow her but before he did so there was one thing he had to do. He crouched down beside an exquisite bunch of white lilies framed by a wreath of green myrtle with a single blood red rose at its centre. A plain white card bore just one single word.
Richard rose quickly and took Harry’s arm. ‘Come on, quick, before the others get here. I think we might have to strike her off the bucket list.’