The Three Widows

-x-

The barmaid of the Three Widows Inn watched with a vague curiosity as the funeral party filed in. It never failed to amaze her how people were still able to laugh and joke at times like these. The chatter of the mourners always seemed forced and tense, though, as though everybody was treading a fine line between laughing politely and bursting into floods of tears. She noticed that there were an awful lot of young people at the wake. It troubled her. She hated it when young people died. There was just something so… so wrong about it – so unnatural. She pondered this as a handsome young man kissed a girl on the forehead and walked over to the bar.

'Uhh…' drawled the man in an American accent, 'Two red wines, one white, two ciders, one lager, one bitter with a straw, one G&T, three bourbons - two with soda, one on the rocks. Oh, and could you put a cocktail umbrella in one of the soda bourbons?'

The barmaid shook her head. 'Sorry. Don't have any.'

'Hmm.' The American nodded at a pile of glace cherries on the chopping board behind her. 'Could you put a cherry on a toothpick instead, then? That'll probably keep him happy enough.'

The barmaid nodded, and started pulling the pints. 'Getting the first round in, eh?' She chattered, conversationally. 'Talk about drawing the short straw.'

The American shrugged. 'There's worse places to be at a funeral than at the bar buying the first round… I reckon the guy in the incinerator's probably got it worse than me right now.'

The barmaid flushed. 'Sorry.'

'Ah, don't sweat it,' sighed the American. 'I'm just in a bit of a bad mood today. No idea why. The sun is out, the birds are singing, there's a beautiful aroma of cut grass, starch and burning human remains in the air…'

The barmaid had no idea how to respond to the man at the bar. She placed the pints in front of him with nothing but a slight furrow of the brow and turned to measure out the spirits.

The man sighed again, and softened his tone.

'So,' he added, 'you're kinda a long way from home, aren't you?'

She glanced over her shoulder at him, quizzically.

'Your accent,' clarified the American man. 'So, what brings you all the way over from the Emerald Isle to sunny Norbridge? The sparkling Nightlife? The Culture? The Architecture?'

She gave the man a small, sideways smile. 'Summer course at the Uni,' she replied. 'I get free board with my cousin if I do it here, so a couple of days bar work a week can all go to beer money.'

'Good girl,' beamed the man.

'Anyway,' added the barmaid, pouring out the wine, 'you can talk about being a long way over the water.'

The man shrugged, taking a sip of the iced whiskey. 'Don't let the accent fool ya, Doll. This is just as home as home can be for me now.' He paused. 'Wanna get yourself a drink while you're at it, uh…?'

'I'll have an orange juice, thanks,' replied the barmaid. 'And it's Kelly, by the way.' She held out her hand to shake.

The American accepted it, warmly. 'Spike.'

'So.' Kelly opened up a bottle of orange juice. 'Pardon me for prying, but I do really have to ask…'

'Shoot.'

Kelly nodded at one of the men at the table that Spike had taken the drinks orders from. 'Why is that fella wearing pink rabbit ears at a funeral?'

Spike grinned. 'Cause he didn't have the stones to wear the full outfit.'

'What?'

'Apparently, there was an agreement made with the deceased party a few years ago over copyright of certain recordings taken at a concert.' Spike smiled wistfully to himself. 'From what I could make of the paperwork, Party A was complaining that he felt he had the rights to several songs due to the fact that he had written and performed said songs, which Party B disputed since he had made the recordings at an event that he had overseen, and had, he claimed, contributed to the songs, insomuch that he had suggested Party A should "whack up the metronome" and "use more F Major". It seems that an agreement was made in Party B's favour in return for twenty pounds and several "sweeteners", including a clause in the contract that, should Party A meet his demise before Party B, Party B must attend the funeral of Party A dressed as a giant pink rabbit.' He shrugged, merrily. 'He tried to get out of it, but it's all down in black and white. In the end, the Committee decided that just the ears would be humiliation enough.'

'"The Committee"…? A group of you actually had a meeting about it?'

'Spike waved a hand in dismissal. 'Nothing that sinister. It was a general meeting. The rabbit costume was, like, eighth on agenda or somethin'. Or was it ninth? I'd have to go through the Minutes to be sure.'

Kelly started to ring up Spike's order. 'And you don't think that's a bit mean, at all?'

Spike shook his head with a giggle. 'It had to be done. Believe me, if anybody deserved to get the last laugh on Colin Mathews it was Kenny.'

'Kenny…' Kelly echoed, with a slight frown. 'That's…'

'That's the guy whose party this is. Kenny Phillips.' Spike took another sip of his bourbon. 'Talk about the good dyin' young.'

'Oh.' Kelly's hands faltered over the till. For some reason she couldn't fathom they had become weak and tremulous.

'You OK?'

'I…' Kelly rubbed her face. 'I'm not sure, I… the name rings a bell, that's all.'

Spike blinked. 'You knew Kenny?'

'I…' Kelly shrugged in confusion. 'I don't know. Isn't that stupid? I… can't put a face to the name at all…'

'Oh.' Spike already had his wallet out to pay, but after he'd pulled out a couple of notes he rifled through the back of it until he found a feathery, yellowed newspaper clipping and opened it out for her. 'Here. It's a few years old, but he's the guy on the far left. Know him?'

Kelly gently picked up the cutting, squinting at the picture. 'I don't think so. I don't know. It's… it's like Déjà vu or something…' She reached up to her face, and caught a tear that she hadn't even realised she'd shed. 'It's like I should know him… Kenny… Kenny Phillips…' She blinked hard, and suddenly all the pieces fell together. 'Oh God!'

'Kelly?' called the Bar Manager from the other till, 'what's wrong?'

Spike gazed at Kelly. 'You did know him.'

Kelly nodded, sniffing. 'It's a really long story.'

'Hey.' Spike put a hand on her shoulder. 'You wanna sit with us for a while?'

Kelly looked over her shoulder at her Manager, who gave her a sympathetic nod of permission. Miserably, she removed her apron and carried her orange juice over to the table of mourners, seating herself between two equally unhappy looking young women. The brunette to her left gave her a brief, joyless smile.

'You another friend of Kenny's?'

'Yes,' sighed Kelly, 'and no. It's… it's a bit complicated.'

'Tell me about it,' empathised the Blonde at her right.

'He…' attempted Kelly. 'He made me feel good about myself. I barely knew him, really, but he was… special.'

'He was sweet,' the Brunette agreed, in a wistful tone. 'Clever, thoughtful…'

'Gorgeous,' added the Blonde.

Kelly nodded in agreement as Spike brought over the drinks for the other women.

'I'm Kelly, by the way,' she added.

'Jenny,' replied the Brunette.

The Blonde reached for her Gin and Tonic. 'Sam.'

Spike remained standing as he passed around the rest of the drinks.

'Anyway,' he announced, quietly. 'Here's to Kenny.'

'Kenny,' chorused the table, and, in unison, they drank.

-x-

'Lynda.'

Lynda looked up, her face set in the same tight expression it had been all day. In front of her was her mother, arm in arm with Mrs Phillips. Inwardly, she groaned.

'Typical,' she said inside her head, 'all I wanted was to get through today intact. These two are going to want to talk about Feelings and all that twaddle.'

'Be nice to my Mum, you!' Kenny ordered. 'She's had a horrible couple of weeks.' He waved, unseen, at Lynda's mum. 'All right, Mrs Day?'

'Do shut up,' she told Kenny, and focused on the two middle aged women with a polite smile.

'All right, love?' Mrs Day asked her daughter rhetorically before powering on. 'Liz here's got something to ask you.'

Lynda paled. It sounded important. She didn't want to be asked an important question by her dead best friend's grieving mother! 'It's not about Sarah's hat, is it?' she gabbled, 'I mean, I told that girl it was inappropriate the last funeral she wore it to…'

Liz Phillips, pale and wan, shook her head weakly. 'No, love,' she managed. 'I just… I just wanted to say…'

She broke off momentarily. Lynda's mum offered her a tissue, which she accepted gratefully.

'I appreciate what you're doing so much,' continued Mrs Phillips, 'really, really, I do… Kenny was such a good boy…' Her voice strained, and she took a few seconds to recover herself. 'So thoughtful,' she continued, 'always wanted to make a difference. This campaign you've started up… making a difference in his name… it's right. It's absolutely the right thing to do…'

'I thought it was what he'd have wanted,' breathed Lynda.

'And you're right!' Mrs Phillips exclaimed. 'I'd have never thought of something like that.' She smiled a little. 'You two were always so close. You… you knew aspects of my boy that I could never hope to… That's why… that's why… I've decided it would be best if…'

She stalled again. Lynda's mother squeezed Mrs Phillips' arm.

'Kenny's parents would like you to have the ashes,' she explained.

Lynda took a sharp intake of breath. 'What?' She shook her head, incredulously. 'I thought you were going to inter him in Australia.'

'No,' Mrs Phillips sighed, 'the idea of him in the hold for a 24 hour flight… and Australia wasn't his home, not really. It was here. He never made another friend like you Lynda. You were with him at… at the end, and… I just think it's Right.'

'But I don't know what to do with his ashes,' Lynda protested.

'You will, Love.' Mrs Phillips nodded. 'I believe that you'll know the place to lay him to rest, when you see it.'

'Um…' began Lynda, but her mother was already leading Mrs Phillips away.

'Oh for Christ's sake,' she moaned in her head, 'am I going to be stuck with you forever?'

Kenny just smiled and shrugged.

-x-

Tiddler was already in the Ladies', at the mirror, when Liz Fish walked in.

'All right, Tidge?'

'Stupid make up,' sniffed Tiddler, wiping around her eyes with a wet tissue. 'I look like a Panda.'

'Rookie mistake, kid.' Liz pulled a face at the first toilet cubicle and settled for the middle one. 'Always wear waterproof mascara to your funerals, your weddings and your sad movies. I think Julie's brought some if you want to borrow…'

'Nah.' Tiddler set about wiping off the rest of the runny make up. 'I'm pretty enough without it.'

'Speaking of pretty,' Liz continued from her cubicle, 'what's with the Sirens of Titan?'

'Eh?'

'Those three girls at our table,' clarified Liz, 'I've never seen them before.'

'Oh. The Brunette's Kenny's Ex Girlfriend. He helped to expose the shops that had been feeding her brother's glue habit, she ditched him by letter. Talk about gratitude.' Tiddler ran the cold tap to rinse her face. 'Although by the look on her face today you'd think it was him who dumped her.'

'We all do things we regret, I suppose,' Liz replied.

'Sam was head of Graphics after Julie,' Tiddler continued. 'Her and Kenny had this… this thing. I don't know… they were always flirting, you could tell they fancied each other like mad, but they didn't do anything about it. I tell you, what with those two dancing round each other and Spike and Lynda, we were starting to think there was an epidemic of terminal dithering going around.' She paused, impishly. 'A bit like the relapse we had just before Christmas,' she added.

'Oi!' exclaimed Liz from the toilet.

Tiddler grinned to herself. 'Only, Spike and Lynda were finally talked into going out with each other, but Kenny and Sam… it never got going, I suppose. They just kept leaving it and leaving it, and then she went off to art school and she still didn't have the nerve to ask him out, but I suppose she thought she would always know where to find him when she did.' She blotted her lips. 'Too late now. I don't know who that Irish girl is, but I heard her saying something stupid about being soul mates with Kenny, and always trusting fate to bring them together.'

Liz unlocked the cubicle door, and walked over to the sink. 'I don't think that's stupid. It's quite sweet.'

'Yeah,' replied Tiddler, 'but look where she is now.' The teenager turned to go. 'I wouldn't trust Fate with my love life, would you?'

Tiddler left, and Liz found herself alone, frowning at her reflection.

'No,' she sighed. 'I suppose not.'