The Funeral

Clive would have enjoyed his funeral. But then he’d planned it over the last couple of years of his life as he was dying of cancer.

He'd remembered his parents' funerals, which had been austere affairs with lots of tears, hurt, solemn words and obscure miserable hymns of sorrow and repentance. Afterwards Aunts who smelt of mothballs, accompanied by submissive husbands, had then raked over his parents possessions for a memento of someone they hardly saw and definitely didn't know.

He had decided that his funeral was not going to be like that.

To Clive, God had been something that had been invented to control, fleece and oppress the people and make them feel guilty. So although the funeral was in the typically English country church just a hundred metres from their house, God was only to be allowed in as an observer. All of this was with the active connivance of John, the vicar, who had always been Clive's adversary and dear friend since Clive and Patricia had moved into the village, ten years previously, with their teenage family.

***

Patricia had been very dubious about Clive's plan at first, but she knew that it was what Clive wanted and as their four daughters seemed to be behind what her husband had wanted, she decided that as in most things about his life, he was absolutely right.

The plans had started six months before at Christmas, when on Boxing Day, Clive had given his two sons-in-law and his other two daughters’ boy-friends tickets for the Boxing Day match at Fulham. He’d also told his daughters in no uncertain terms, that he wanted to have an important family discussion with the five grown-up women in his life.

As Patricia lay in her bath on the morning of the funeral, Clive's fateful words from that day returned to her. 'My dear girls!' It was always how he described his troupe of five feisty women. 'You all know, that I don't have that long with you all. The quacks gave me six months, two years ago and they're still giving me no more than four. So perhaps, I ought to plan my funeral.' He had paused. 'And plan it so that it gives me a good send off, the few who deign to turn up a wonderful time and propels all of you, my oh-so beautiful blond sirens, into the next phase of your lives. I want you to look back on me and smile. Not cry! No tears!’

Patricia chuckled as she remembered that day and how they had all laughed as he unfolded what was going to happen when the end finally came. They didn't believe he would go so soon and she still expected Clive to walk in to the bathroom, slip into the enormous bath beside her and then play with and tease her body. That memory made her part her legs slightly and move her hand between, just as Clive had done so many times in the past. She felt it perhaps wasn't the time and quickly regained her composure. She laughed again at her prudishness, as she realised that Clive on this of all days would not have wanted her to deny herself anything. He had said it was to be her's and the daughters' day and he was to be treated as an ephemeral means to an end. A few minutes later and she had teased herself to orgasm.

Patricia and the daughters had done the difficult bit, in that they had bought the cheap plywood coffin, dressed Clive in his favourite suit and laid him to rest. The coffin was then placed solemnly in the conservatory at the back of the house. She'd always thought that he had wanted to be cremated, but now he was to be buried in a woodland plot, with a chestnut tree over the top. She laughed at how he had described how his body would make a strong and vigorous tree and not contribute to global warming through being incinerated.

***

Clive had decreed that his funeral was not to be a sad occasion and with the exception of Patricia, no-one was to wear black. If anyone disobeyed he would find a way to haunt them. Or that's what he had said on the invitations he had written himself, which he gave to Patricia on that Boxing Day. She had been very surprised at who was invited. None of their friends were missing, but Patricia noted that several people had been included, who really weren't on the same wavelength as Clive and had fallen out with him years ago. His answer had been that they had helped form his business plans and create his success. Clive hadn't believed any grudges should be carried to his grave.

The exquisite made-to-measure dress and matching jacket in black linen, that had been Clive's own creation for her to wear, was not suitable for a funeral.

Clive had been an unusual man.

He had been a designer par excellence of anything engineering, from car interiors to mobile cranes and from simple writing implements like pens and pencils to something more sophisticated like computer draughting machines. It was all down to the engineering skills taught him by his father and uncles and something that a proper education at Cambridge, had been unable to drill out of him. He had also been taught to make clothes, such as the dress and jacket Patricia would wear by his mother.

It was the latter that gave him a diverting interest in the last months of his life.

Clive had deliberately cut the dress very short and almost several centimetres shorter than anything she had worn in years. But as he said, she had very good legs and she would be wearing black stockings to hide any small imperfections. He had cut the skirt tight without any pleat or slit and this hid the tops of the stockings well. It also forced her to walk carefully on the very high black patent stilettos he had ordered her to wear.

But the most outrageous part of the dress was that it had a halter neck, which, as the neckline dived between her breasts, revealed an enormous cleavage. Not very funereal at all! The jacket was skimpy, short sleeved and hardly made any difference to her modesty.

Every part of the dress and jacket had been cut, tacked and lovingly stitched by Clive. Towards the end, the last stitches had been difficult, but every part of that dress had been totally his own work.

Clive had also insisted that she should wear a hat and veil, which he had helped to design but had not made.

The outfit in itself would have been outrageous, but what she wore underneath made it even more so.

The corset that she needed to wear to have a small enough waist for the dress and jacket was the most formidable she had ever worn. Not only did it compress her waist, but it also introduced a straight severe stem section about three centimetres high. As with most of her corsets, it supported her breasts, but left the nipples exposed and this one had the six suspenders that Clive always preferred. She had worn the corset twice before for practice and despite knowing it was seriously demanding, she was determined to wear it in Clive's memory.

As she struggled to tighten the corset, there was a knock at the door and it opened slightly. Alice, her eldest daughter, who was in a silk dressing gown, put her head round. ‘Do you need help, Mum?’

Patricia started and modestly turned away from the door and Alice. ‘Yes! Please! Shut the door!’ She held the laces of the corset out behind her. ‘I need to be a lot tighter than this!’

***

'This is just like old times!' Alice was giggling. 'I seem to have been lacing you in like this for years.' She readjusted her hands on the laces at the back of the corset, pulled long and hard, and then expertly evened everything out working from the top and bottom to the middle. 'I must have been about fourteen when you first asked me to do this, one day when Dad was away. I think you wanted to surprise him!' She laughed embarrassingly. 'I wasn't very good then. Was I?’

'You were about fourteen! Yes! And rubbish at lacing me up!' She smiled at her daughter, who expertly repeated the tightening of the laces. 'Your father always liked me to be corseted under a formal suit or an evening dress. I'll correct that as he usually insisted.' She caught her breath as Alice applied more pressure. 'Ow! But, I can't say that I didn't enjoy the benefits!’

'I used to think you were mad wanting to be trussed up like this!' Alice giggled and pulled hard again. 'But not any more! I know now the feeling well and realise those benefits.' She laughed loudly. 'Dad was absolutely wicked to expect us to dress like you but in red! But then he knew that it's a question of like mother and like daughters!' She pulled her mother in again. 'It's just a pity he didn't have time to make all our dresses!’

'Seriously!' Patricia laughed. 'I always thought you all felt that your father making dresses for you was a bit embarrassing.'

'A few years ago, the answer would have been yes!' Alice took another pull. 'But it would have been wondrously erotic to go out in a sexy low-cut evening dress that had been made by your father. It would have been like being wrapped up as a present! All for your man!' She giggled and continued the tightening. 'Totally, with your father's blessing! It would have been a licence to do anything!'

Patricia winced slightly as she felt another pull. 'Steady on!' She also knew there was still a fair way to go, so she'd have to grin and bear it. 'Your father was a very sexual person and he brought the best and the worst out of me!'

‘We know that!’ Alice was more serious now. ‘I can remember about six or seven years ago one hot summer night, we were all in my room and we could hear you screaming for more.’

‘No!’ Patricia hadn’t realised, how the sound travelled between the rooms. She also hadn’t realised that Clive and herself had been overheard.

'Well not actually in as many words.' She paused as if waiting for approval to continue. 'You were actually asking Dad to stop, as you thought you'd wake us up! In the end, you asked him to put that gag in your mouth.'

Patricia blushed. 'What gag?' She tried to play the innocent, but she knew exactly what her daughter meant.

'The rubber one in your bedside drawer!' Alice walked to the side of the bed and produced the gag with its attached straps and locks. She fitted it carefully between her teeth and pushed the straps behind her head, before coming in front of her mother as if to ask her to fasten the buckles and close the locks.

'I don't think we have time for this now!' Patricia reached in front of her daughter's face and removed the gag from her mouth. 'Have you ever been gagged? Or tied up?'

Alice had never expected such a question from her mother and didn't answer. 'It fits me well. Can I borrow it?' She took the gag back from her mother. 'Was Dad good at bondage? Did he hurt you?'

'Yes!' Patricia thought it best to answer. 'And No! Well! Not much! You are so naughty, if you weren't too old now and stronger than me, I'd put you over my knee and spank you!'

'Perhaps I'd like that! You liked it when Dad did it to you!' Alice giggled. I'm sorry, but we shouldn't have listened!' Alice hugged her mother to say sorry. 'But four inquisitive girls are going to find out about their parents' sex life! You certainly set us all a very good example!'

'I didn't hear that last remark, if I think it means what I think!!' Patricia paused. 'I'll forgive you!' She turned away from her daughter. 'You better finish me off! What else did you hear?'

'Lots!' Alice finished the lacing and tied the laces with a proper corsetiere's knot. 'That's it! We used to keep a book with notes and counts of all your orgasms and the things we overheard. I've got it somewhere!'

'You didn't!' Patricia turned and hugged her daughter. 'Remind me to have a search! I'll burn that book!' She laughed uncontrollably.

***

‘You look wonderful, Mum!’ Alice had pulled away from the embrace. ‘Do you want some help with the stockings?’

‘Yes! Please!’ Patricia was trying to use one hand to cover her breasts and the other was hiding her sex. ‘I do feel a bit exposed.’

'Why?' Alice stood back and prised her mother's hands away. 'There's nothing wrong with your body.' She put her hands to her mother's waist and felt it to emphasise the small size. 'You're so tiny!'

'Clive wanted me to be the smallest I've ever been today!' She put her hands on her daughter's. 'C'mon. Get those stockings done!'

Alice bent down and started to attach the stockings to the suspenders on the corset. 'I'm sure Dad wanted you to be so desirable too, so that you can find yourself someone else!’

‘I doubt I will!’ She grinned as Alice stood up after finishing the stockings. ‘But I am going to have fun! And lots of sex! With every type of man I can find! Black, brown, white, yellow, fat, thin, ugly, handsome…’ She stopped abruptly and started to cry.

Alice hugged her. ‘It must be very difficult!’ She then produced a tissue from the dressing gown pocket and started to wipe her mother’s tears away. ‘When did you last have sex?’ She paused. ‘Or an orgasm?’

A smile broke on her mother’s face. ‘About half an hour ago!’

***

Alice had told her mother to sit the wrong way round on the stool by her dressing table and she expertly started to do her make up. ‘It is like old times, isn’t it?’ Patricia smiled. ‘I remember when you used to make all four of us up and then we’d do it to you. I suspect you used to go straight in the loo, wipe it all off and then do it again.

Her mother laughed. ‘I also know that for years all of you used to pinch my make-up!’

‘Sorry again!’ Alice kissed her mother on the forehead.

‘Did you ever notice why it was all bits and pieces? Nothing was the same make.’ Patricia laughed. ‘I used to leave the rubbish for you and buy cheap brands in Woolworths. You never found my good stuff.’

‘Stand up!’ Alice ordered her mother to her feet. ‘Are you wearing knickers?’

‘No!’ She winked at her daughter. ‘As you know from your listening, I don’t have any!’

Alice broke in. ‘You also don’t have any tights, trousers or shorts as Dad never allowed you to wear them. We also heard that you once burnt them all in the garden.’

‘True! I also only have open-fronted bras or corsets!’ She thrust her breasts towards her daughter. ‘It’s so I can show off my pierced and jewelled nipples. You ought to get yours pierced, as it keeps them erect and aroused!’

Alice undid her dressing gown. ‘Dad sent me a letter and four matching jewelled earrings a month before he died.’

***

‘That’s it!’ Alice had pulled the zip up on the side of the dress and clipped the halter together. ‘Turn round, Mum!’

‘Do I look the grieving widow?’ Patricia looked at herself in the mirror. ‘All I need is the jacket, hat and veil.’

‘Dad would be proud of you! You look fabulous!’ She looked her mother up and down. ‘You’d pass for thirty-five!’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Yes! Well you could easily attract a man of that age!’ Alice smiled but couldn’t avoid the obvious comment. ‘I’ve never seen your tits like that before. They are fabulous. If they don’t get you a new man, there’s no justice in this world!’

‘Don’t be cheeky!’ She smiled at her daughter. ‘But! Thank you! This really is going to be the strangest funeral!’ Patricia glanced out of the window. ‘At least we’ve got good weather though! You had better go and get your sisters! If you get dressed in here, I’ll do the corsets and help with the make-up.’

***

The identical twins, Beatrice and Charlotte, both in dressing gowns, were first to enter Patricia’s bedroom. They almost spoke in unison, as they often did. ‘My God, your tits, Mum!’ They hugged her from either side.

'Alice said the same!' Patricia put her hands either side of her bust. 'Who needs plastic surgery? I think the corsets and the dresses are Clive's last act towards his dear girls.'

Beatrice pointed at her mother's breasts. 'You don't need anything more in that dress and corset! Dad has done his best for us!' Beatrice removed her dressing gown, to reveal a red corset that showed her nipples, matching stockings, and a pair of red knickers to preserve her modesty. 'It's funny, but we've all been topless on the beach together many times. I feel a bit embarrassed now.’

‘It’s funny isn’t it?’ Patricia smiled. ‘I felt the same when Alice put my corset on! Now let me get you tightened up!’

At that moment, Alice arrived ready in her red dress, jacket and shoes, dragging a reluctant Danielle. Her youngest sister was dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt. 'I'm not sure about all this, Mum!' Danielle spoke and held up her identical red outfit, with its corset. 'This isn't really my scene!'

Patricia was about to say something, but Alice broke in. ‘Danielle! You may be a bit of an afterthought and the baby in this family, in that you’re six years younger than me and five younger than the twins. But that doesn’t mean that you’re not fully part of it and when we do something together, you are outvoted!’

Danielle stuck her tongue out at her eldest sister. ‘You're rotten, Alice! Why can’t I wear a nice trouser suit?’

‘With trainers! No doubt!’ Alice added the extra thoughts, she knew her little sister would have.

Patricia didn’t want an argument on this of all days. ‘You had just as much a say as the others, when your father put his proposal! You should have said you weren’t happy then!’

‘But I didn’t think it would happen!’ Danielle was in tears. ‘I do miss him so!’ Charlotte moved to comfort her sister.

‘We all do!’ Beatrice spoke. ‘But if Alice was Mum’s favourite, Charlotte and I had each other, then you were Daddy’s girl!’

‘I suppose so!’ She started to undress, by first removing her tee-shirt and jeans. ‘I’ll do it for him, but I won’t wear a corset ever again! Never ever!’

‘I said that once!’ It was Alice who spoke. 'Look what happened to me!' She twirled herself round in her dress, whilst Patricia and the twins nodded.

***

‘'Is that so bad, Danielle?' Patricia had just zipped her youngest daughter into her dress. 'You look great! I don't think I've seen all of you dressed the same since you were bridesmaids once!'

'That was awful! All that pink silk!' Danielle looked at herself in the mirror, thrusting her bust forward. 'Does a corset always make my tits look big?' They all laughed.

'We've all said that to Mum! It's one of the benefits!' Charlotte answered her sister's question. 'You also get a very trim waist, a beautiful posture, lots of male attention and plenty of fucking from your husband…’

‘Cut the language, please!’ Alice broke in to try to control her sister.

As soon as she could Charlotte continued. ‘I’m like Mum!’ She smiled at her mother. ‘Any excuse and I’m in a corset!’

‘I’m with Charlotte and Mum!’ Beatrice added her opinion. ‘I think both my children were conceived when I was corseted!’

‘Perhaps, I shouldn’t wear one, then!’ Danielle observed. ‘But it does make my tits look good!’

‘My dear girls!’ Patricia deliberately used Clive’s collective phrase for all of them. ‘Let’s gather round, have a communal hug and think of my dear husband and your wonderful father for a minute!’

***

Patricia had led her daughters in order down the stairs into the living room of the house. Like the others she now had her jacket, gloves and hat on, but whereas her hat was black and veiled, her daughters’ straw hats were red, jolly, jaunty and floral. ‘Tom!’ She called to Charlotte’s husband. ‘As you know, Clive insisted, that everybody have a drink of champagne before we start! Have you got the two bottles and the glasses ready?’

‘I took the liberty of pouring them earlier!’ He handed Patricia a glass of Laurent Perier Rose. ‘Here’s to Clive!’

‘Yes!’ Patricia said. She helped Tom make sure that everyone had a glass, before offering a full toast. ‘To Clive! We’ll all miss him!’

***

The little church was bathed in the June sunshine streaming through the windows and was packed with people standing in the aisles and at the back. The congregation had obeyed the non-black rules, almost to the letter. Perhaps some just don’t think you can go to a funeral in anything but a miserable garb. But as Clive had asked, nearly every lady was in a proper flowered hat and most of the men were sporting outrageous and almost silly buttonholes. Florists had had a field day.

As the vicar entered, they got their first surprise.

He did not give the usual greeting, nor was he dressed in his surplice. He was not even wearing a dog-collar. He just welcomed everyone to a gathering to say good-bye and give thanks for Clive’s life and work, and also to wish his friends and family well in the future.

The next shock was the site of the cheap unvarnished plywood coffin, unadorned with any flowers, wreaths, emblems or tributes, being carried in on the shoulders of Clive’s four daughters. Patricia followed with her veiled head held high a couple of metres behind. A pace further back, her daughters’ husbands and partners formed a solid line of support.

Suddenly a pair of hands started clapping. Then another! And another! Finally, everybody clapped the coffin, born by the four daughters, as it approached the nave.

As Clive had promised this was not going to be a normal funeral.

***

‘Fuck!’ The vicar was unapologetic from the pulpit. ‘I’ve always wanted to say that at a funeral! I should have said it when my wife died three years ago, of the same cancer as Clive! Fuck!’ Some in the congregation gasped, but many got the vicar’s point. ‘Fuck! I’ll say it again, as why should someone die at fifty three, when they have done everything right! He didn’t smoke, drink too much and he ran marathons for fun! He created jobs for many and his company helped make a better world! He had a beautiful family and all those absolutely gorgeous blond daughters! What a waste!’ The vicar paused. ‘No! What a fucking waste!’

‘Vicar!’ An elderly woman, who Patricia recognised as one of Clive’s austere aunts, had stood up in the congregation. ‘You are a disgrace! And a blasphemer!’

'Thank you for your interruption!' He paused and pointed in an unthreatening way at the woman. 'It's funerals like this that call all my beliefs and my faith into question. Why can't I question that faith publicly, just as my dear friend, Clive, and I argued about it in private at the pub in the village? Life and faith are all hard. If you are totally certain of everything about your faith, then you are fooling yourself! Good people seem to die just like the righteous!'

She stood up again. ‘You’re still a disgrace!’

‘Madam!' He paused until she sat down. 'Thank you! I knew Clive well and we were good friends but total enemies with respect to religion. He bet me that I wouldn't use the words I just did at his funeral and I just did. Patricia! You owe me a grand from Clive's estate for the church!' He looked towards the widow and she nodded. 'In some ways he'd be horrified to see himself in this church. But in other ways, in his crap plywood coffin, he'd see that he was completely taking the piss’

‘Let’s have another long ovation for Clive!’

The congregation, or was it an audience to a special event, responded loud and long. Only a few didn’t.

***

Alice walked slowly to the front followed by her younger three sisters. All had discarded their jackets.

Alice then stood at the lectern with the others behind. ‘Fuck! I’ll repeat what the vicar said.’

‘Fuck! It’s a good word and it sums up my feelings now. Why should my father be taken so young? Is there a God? If there is, he’s not a very humane one.’

She raised what looked like a school exercise book and waved it to the mourners. ‘This is a terrible document, but it describes the observations of four evil daughters on their loving parents. My room was next to theirs and I used to listen to what they said in bed at night. Sometimes, the twins joined me and later on, Danielle got in on the act. Quite frankly some of it is unrepeatable in polite company such as this, but much of it shows how much my parents loved each other and now how sadly missed he is by my mother, myself and my sisters. But especially my mother!’

‘Consider this set of entries for July the second, nineteen eighty-eight.’ Alice paused for effect. ’22:01 Stop it, Clive! 22:04 Oh! No! Oh! No!’ Most of the congregation laughed. ‘22:09 That’s naughty, Clive! 22:12 Oh! No! Oh! No! 22:16 Not there, Clive! And so on.’ More laughter!

‘How do you replace that part of your life, where you have lived faithfully with someone for over a quarter of a century?’

‘Quite frankly! You can’t!’

Alice turned, embraced her sisters and they all quietly walked back to their seats.

***

It wasn't the longest of celebrations of life and after twenty minutes or so, everybody was filing out into the churchyard. Patricia had caught up with the vicar. 'Well done, John! I think, that went well!' She shook his hand. 'Except for the Aunt! And there was a bit of hissing as to his name. His family all knew him as Horace!' She laughed. 'An awful name! I had been married to him for three years, before I found out it was his first name.’

'You'd be surprised at some of the names I've called children!' He gave the widow a serious hug. 'But then he was a friend and always Clive to me! I didn't even know he had another name.' The vicar turned to shake hands with several mourners before turning back to Patricia. 'Are you OK?' He gently took her hand.

'I'm fine!' As if to emphasis her statement, she took off her hat and smiled strongly at John. 'We must get everybody over to the grave.' She waved so that everybody listened. 'Girls put Clive in the back of the Volvo! Who's driving?' Alice held up the keys. 'Everybody is welcome! Just follow and then we'll all see you back in the pub at about three!' She turned back to vicar. 'Are you coming for a drink afterwards, John?'

'Yes! Of course!' He paused. 'But I won't be there until the early evening, as I've got to see someone in London. Don't worry! I'll be there, but not until about seven!’

***

It was about that time when the vicar entered the pub and started to search for Patricia. She had seemed so calm at the celebration and he wanted to be there, if she needed any support.

John quickly found Beatrice and asked where her mother was. She didn't know and neither did any of the other sisters. He suspected she'd slipped away from the pub completely and had probably gone home. He hoped she hadn't gone to cry by herself. It was all too common in these circumstances, as he knew from his own personal experiences.

He walked past the three or four houses that separated the pub from Patricia's house and through the iron gates into the courtyard at the side. He couldn't see Patricia, so he passed through the unlocked back door and into the kitchen. The house was completely quiet. 'Patricia!' He called louder again. 'Patricia! Are you there?'

'Yes!' He heard her voice in the distance. 'I'm coming down!' Now he could hear her heels on the stairs and went to the door of the kitchen to meet her. She was still in the black halter neck dress, but her jacket had been long since discarded.

'I came because I was very worried for you.' He shook his head as he looked at her. 'You look absolutely stunning!' John stated the obvious. 'I could fancy you myself!'

'Why not? You've had a rotten time since Carol died.' She smiled at him, drew in close and put her hands around his waist. 'We're both widowed and we live almost next door.' She kissed him!

'I couldn't!' He laughed, but didn't draw back. 'You're the smart and beautiful City lawyer and I'm the humble fat decrepit village vicar.'

'But then I was once the sweet innocent girl, whose father was a man of the cloth like you!' She giggled! 'I thought, I was destined to be a boring solicitor. That is until I met Clive, who swept me off my feet and instructed me in everything sexual. And of course commercial! The one thing he didn't teach me was driving a car.'

'I just thought, Clive was just the gentleman there, as he was always the driver!'

'Now my family have all left home, I suspect it's time that I moved on too!' She kissed John. 'I'm buying a flat in the Barbican so I can be near work. But I won't forget you and all you've done for us over the years.'

'I will come and visit!' John pulled back and smiled warmly. 'Did you know he offered me five thousand for Church funds, if I slept with you before the end of July? And I'm a man of the Church, who's supposed to be above all that sort of thing. He certainly knew how to test people to the limit!'

'He really was the most terrible scoundrel!' They laughed and then burst into floods of tears, hugging and kissing each other deeply.