Page 65 of A Class Act

‘And then,’ I went on, warming to the theme, ‘he stamped on the rock as he leapt across the valley. You can imagine a great big giant racing across the moor, can’t you?’

Kath frowned. ‘I think you need a good imagination, Robyn, love, to picture that. Mind you, you’re an arty type. So, who was his enemy, then?’ She drained her glass of port and lemon and looked expectantly at Aunty Bea, who silently ignored her niece and continued to sip at her sherry.

‘Well’ – I smiled – ‘apparently he was running away from his angry wife.’

‘Come back drunk from the pub, had he? What a lad.’ Rick gave a whoop of laughter.

‘Anyway,’ I went on, thinking this would be a great story to embellish and maybe get the kids at school to act out, ‘she dropped the stones held in her skirt to form the local rock formation called The Skirtful of Stones.’

‘Right.’

Maybe it wasn’t such an interesting story after all. I felt a spot of rain and took a surreptitious look at my watch.

‘So.’ Jess obviously had the same idea. ‘Do you think we’d better get on?’

‘How about another before we start on the ashes?’ Rick looked at Aunty Bea. ‘Your round, Bea, is it?’

‘I don’t mind if I do.’ Aunty Bea spoke for the first time since setting off, draining her sherry and offering the empty glass to Rick. No funds appeared forthcoming though, so Jess moved to the front of the car, took out both casks and, handing one each to both Rick and Kath, said, ‘Come on, let’s lay your mum and dad to rest.’

The five of us crossed the road and headed in the direction of the two huge rocks formed years ago of the local millstone grit. It wasn’t an easy walk, Aunty Bea at ninety needing both her stick and Jess’s arm to move slowly forwards, while Rick took up a constant complaint at his every step across the tussocky grass that there’d be hell to pay with his bad back the following day. Kath carried her dad, while Jess, with the hand not assistingAunty Bea, clutched at the green plastic cask she’d taken from a complaining Rick.

‘Where do you think, then, Kath?’ Jess stopped to take a breath, wiping the sheen of sweat from her brow, placing a finger down her shirt collar and giving it a shake to allow the drizzly rain down her neck. ‘I think your Aunty Bea’s had enough now,’ she added.

‘Should have brought the flask of tea with us,’ Bea said somewhat accusingly at Jess. ‘You forgot to take it from the car.’

‘Yes, come on, Kath, let’s get on with it.’ Rick was becoming impatient.

Mavis, in big handfuls, was duly sent to the four corners of Ilkley Moor, Kath wiping at her eyes in between each throw. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the wind had dropped, while looking round for Rick, who appeared to have vanished through the miserable grey sheet of drizzly rain.

He reappeared from behind the Cow, rearranging his genitals in his trousers and zipping his flies. ‘Call of nature,’ he called cheerfully. ‘Have we done yet, Kath?’

‘Dad now.’ Kath sniffed. She reached into her dad’s urn with her hand but then looked in horror at the rest of us waiting expectantly – if slightly impatiently – for the first throw.

‘What’s up, Kath? Has he done a bunk?’ Rick pulled a frightened face. ‘Has he escaped?’

‘I can’t get him out. I can’t get my dad out.’

‘Give him here.’ Rick took the urn, peering in. ‘Well, he’s in there, love.’

‘Yes, but set solid.’

‘Phewff.’ Rick made a sympathetic little noise while banging the contents of the urn with his hand. ‘What do you think, Jess? You must have come across this before, you know, dealing with all them old codgers up at the home?’

‘Can’t say I have, Rick. And, to be honest,’ Jess went on, catching my eye and trying not to laugh as she peered into the urn and began prodding gently at the solid mass, ‘I’m not sure banging Kath’s dad on his head is the right way to go about this.’ There’d obviously been more than a single shot of alcohol in the Cokes we’d downed because I suddenly had the most awful need to giggle.

Jess did just that, laughing until she had to cross her legs and hand the urn to me.

‘You could break the urn around him,’ Rick suggested, peering over my shoulder.

‘Wouldn’t that just leave an urn-shaped lump,’ I asked. ‘You know, to dispose of?’ I tried my very best to look caring, reverential, but found I kept catching Jess’s eye. She was in danger, I knew, of peeing her pants and that made me giggle more.

‘Give him here.’ Aunty Bea suddenly shuffled forward with her walking stick. ‘Put him down.’

‘Where, Aunty Bea?’

‘Here, in front of me.’ Kath did as her aunt instructed and then, hanging onto Jess’s arm with one hand, Bea lifted her walking stick and started jabbing at the contents of the urn with a most amazing vigour for a nonagenarian.

‘Bea, that’s my dad,’ Kath objected, trying to pull her aunt away from the urn.

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