The Rapturous Farewell

Scene: A suburban living room. Sofa, two armchairs, drinks cabinet, French windows at centre back, table with buffet laid out. On the wall, next to the windows, is hung an array of replica flintlock pistols and swords.  

Lights go up, revealing a woman dressed in black in one of the armchairs, crying quietly into a handkerchief. As lights finish rising, she stands up, walks over to the French windows and speaks.

Marianne: They’re late. I knew they’d be late. (She walks back to the armchair and sits down again)

Sounds of laughter in the near distance can be heard.

Marianne: No one has any respect these days.

Three people enter, cousins, through the French windows, Toby, Clara and Sally. Suits and black dresses but very dishevelled. They have obviously been drinking.

Toby: What ho, Auntie! What ho!

Clara: What ho? That’s hilarious! What ho!

Sally: Come on you two. We have to show respect.

Toby: Do we?

Sally: Yes.

Clara: Why?

Sally: I don’t know. We’re just supposed to.

Toby: If we must, we must.

Clara: No Toby. Not because we must but because we’re supposed to.

Toby: Sorry old girl. I’m a bit muddled today.

Sally: Maybe you don’t get on too well with Wednesday’s

Toby: Oh, no. I don’t. I hate Wednesday’s

Clara: Why?

Toby: What?

Clara: Why do you hate Wednesday’s?

Toby: How am I supposed to know?

Clara: I see your point. Hullo Auntie, old girl. Cheer up, it might never happen.

Marianne: It has happened.

Toby: Has it?

Clara: Oh no.

Toby: Are you sure it’s happened, Auntie?

Marianne: I think I’m sure. It’s been rather a long day after all.

Toby: It’s just that a friend of mine, Hugo Tufnell, came running into the club crying about how he had crashed his brand new car against some railings across the street. We rushed out to investigate and, finding no car there, confronted old Hugo on said absence of motor vehicle. He suddenly clasped his hand to his head and announced what a silly fruit he had been and that it had all been a dream. We all laughed out loud, especially Hugo.

Marianne: Didn’t he notice that the car wasn’t there before he entered the club?

Toby: What? Hugo?! He didn’t even notice his wife had died last year. It was a week before he stopped calling for his dinner and noticed the smell.

Marianne: Disgusting!

Toby: I should say it’s disgusting. Leaving a poor chap without any dinner while she swans off and dies.

Clara: Inconsiderate.

Sally: Un-filial.

Toby: Un-womanly

Clara: Votes for Women!

Sally: Hurrah!

Toby: Now, that’s enough politics for the day, ladies. Remember why we are here after all.

Sally: Because we are supposed to be?

Clara: Because we must?

Marianne: Because your uncle has died!

A stunned silence follows. The three cousins look to each other questioningly. They start gurning at each other, trying to make each other laugh.

Toby: (triumphantly) That’s it! of course! Hallelujah!

Marianne: I beg your pardon?

Toby: (pointing his finger at her) Never beg Aunty. Uncle George would never have wanted to see you end up a beggar. At least, I think he wouldn’t have wanted you to. He was a funny old bird after all.

Marianne: (quietly, almost to herself) I loved him. (bursts into tears, buries head in her hands)

Sally: (drunkenly stumbles over to comfort her Aunt) There, there, Aunty dear. You see Toby, you see? That’s where pointing at someone gets you. She-doesn’t-like-it.

Marianne: We met in Spain.

Toby: I was merely pointing out a point by pointing.

Clara: (helping herself to spirits from the drinks cabinet) Pointy pointy pointy. (giggles to herself) pointy Toby pointing his point.

Marianne: He looked like Dirk Bogarde. Hair all curved and shining. He called me his ‘little love bug’.

Toby: (looks at Marianne as if she’s mad) I do believe her pickles slipping off the old plate.

Sally: (sympathetically) tell us Aunty, what was Uncle George like? I mean, really like.

Marianne: Well, if you really want to know. He always loved to...

Sally: Ooh dip! I love dip! (Runs to the buffet and starts filling a plate) come on you lot! There’s dip!

They all rush over and start vying for position at the buffet, pushing with their shoulders.

A ‘bun-fight’ breaks out, dip and crudités been thrown by all of them at each other. Marianne stands and watches them. With clothes covered in dip and various salad pieces, they turn to face her. They stop laughing when they see the stern look in her face.

Marianne: (points to windows) get out!

Toby and Sally speak in child-like, impetuous tones.

Toby: But we loved Unky Georgy Porge!

Sally: It’s not fair! I wanted to see the vicar doing his routine. You’re such a spoil sport Aunty Marianne.

Clara: (serious tone) please let me see the bastard get mud chucked on him. Go on, be a ducks. (Wipes the dip off her face and takes a swig of brandy from the bottle)

Toby, Sally and Marianne look to her, surprised/shocked/baffled

Sally: I say Clara old girl. That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? We were only having fun.

Toby: Because we must.

Sally: Because we supposed to.

Marianne: (holding her hands to her ears) Oh, will you all just shut up and leave!

Clara: He called me his favourite.

Toby: Nonsense. I was obviously his favourite as my middle name is George.

Clara: Do you remember, Aunty, when he used to give me extra maths tuition when I was sixteen?

Marianne: (hesitantly) what about it?

Clara takes a long swig, not taking her dark stare from Marianne as she did so. She put the bottle down and walks slowly up to her aunt, until they are almost nose to nose.

Clara: Nothing at all. It’s just that, if you must know, he called me his ‘little love bug’.

Marianne: (quickly) I think you should leave.

Clara: The party’s only just started.

Marianne: It’s not a party; it’s your Uncle’s funeral.

Clara: As I said, a party.

 Marianne slumps into her armchair and just stares into the middle distance.

Toby: I know a good party game. Would you like to play it?

Sally: Oh, lets.

Clara: Say we will.

Toby: Very well then. Now, first we need some space. Ah, this will do.

Toby puts his arm on the surface of the buffet table and with one sweeping motion knocks all the food onto the floor.

Toby: Perfect. Now, I’ll be Uncle George. (He lays himself along the table, crossing his arms on his chest) You, Sally, can be Aunty Marianne and Clara, you can be the vicar. Ok? Let’s begin.

Toby begins a ghostly wail, then dramatic ‘aaargh!’ death cry. Sally starts wailing tragi-comic style, overdoing her part wonderfully. Clara moves around the table and stands behind it, looking down at the prostrate Toby.

Clara: We are gathered here today to dump the carcass of a bloke called George. His was a pathetic life, filled with regret, self-aggrandisement, failure and deceit. Where there was joy, he brought despair; where there was light, he brought in the dark; where there was love abundant, he brought only hate, and where there was trust, he brought betrayal. We commend his body into the dirt where it belongs, and may the worms have little mercy on his flesh. Amen.

Sally: (pretend crying) Amen! Amen!

Marianne: (rising) you evil little cow!

Clara: (bowing) Charmed, charmed.

Marianne: You didn’t know the man I loved.

Clara: More than you know Aunty.

Sally: I’ve got a joke!

Marianne: My husband was a great man.

Sally: There was this horse.

Clara: Did he leave us any cash?

Toby: I love horses.

Sally: Me too.

Marianne: You don’t deserve anything!

Clara: What? Nothing for services rendered? Or payment in lieu?

Sally: And there was this barman.

Toby: I love barmen

Sally: Ooh, get you!

Toby: This isn’t vaudeville dearie.

Marianne: The hearse will be here soon.

Sally: Goody! Can we ride in it? We could ride the coffin like one of those inflatable bananas that trial behind speed boats on lovely summer’s days. It’ll be a hoot!

Toby: Bagsy the front!

Clara: Let’s take some drinks along! When daddy died it was terribly boring in that gloomy old crematorium. I had to wait nearly two hours before I got a drink. And, my God, did mummy simply MOAN to high heaven when I suggested we all nip off to the pub! After all, it’s what daddy would have wanted. He did die in the pub, after all. Well, I say in the pub. To be more precise he technically died ‘in’ the barmaid, on a mattress in the cellar. Dear daddy.

Sally: Do churches allow alcohol?

Toby: I assume so. Look at all that wine the parishioners knock back, the blighters!

Marianne: That wine happens to be the blood of Christ!

Sally: Don’t be preachy Aunt Marianne. It’s not very becoming in a merry widow.

Marianne: I am not ‘merry’.

Clara: No, you’re not, are you?

Marianne: Would you be very merry if the man you loved had just died? Well?

Clara: I’ve never loved a man.

Toby: You heartless beast, Clara! You don’t love me?

Clara: Oh, I’m terribly fond of you Toby. But I could never love a man. (Looks to Marianne) I’m no one’s ‘little love bug’...not anymore.

The sound of an approaching car can be heard off stage.

Marianne: No one has any respect these days.

Exeunt Marianne. Clara’s gaze follows her.

Toby sidles up to Clara, smirking. He taps her on the shoulder.

Toby: I say, Clara? All that waffle about Uncle George. It was all drivel, wasn’t it?

Clara: (haughtily) I don’t know what you mean.

Toby: You see, I was at all those extra maths lessons with you, and Uncle George seemed more interested in me than in you. So, why tell Aunty all that guff about old George?

Clara: I was bored, I suppose. (Giggling) It was rather naughty of me, wasn’t it?

Sally: You are incorrigible, Clara.

Clara: (smiling) isn’t that why you both love me, darlings?!

Sally: Because we must?

Toby: Because we’re supposed to?

Clara: Let’s decide in the car. It’s been waiting a while now. Let’s not miss all the fun!

They all start laughing and amble out.

The End