The Kicking the Bucket List. Cathy Hopkins

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      ‘I know. I’m sorry Dee.’

      *

      I tried to call Rose but got the answering service. I felt so angry, I went straight over to Anna’s with a bottle of Pinot Grigio and the intention of getting very drunk.

      ‘Why did Rose call Fleur and not you?’ she asked on hearing the latest.

      ‘No idea.’ I found wine glasses in Anna’s cupboards and poured us both a large drink. ‘Maybe it was because she knows it wouldn’t be the end of the world to Fleur if she didn’t get her inheritance either. Fleur has her own money and so does Rose. Rose probably knew I’d give her a harder time for not taking part.’

      ‘They’d seriously let an inheritance like that go?’

      ‘Maybe, if it didn’t fit in with their plans.’ I knew that finances were hard for Anna too, and the thought of my two sisters waving goodbye to a life-changing sum was hard to take in.

      Anna looked at me sympathetically. ‘I am sorry, Dee. Do they know how much you need the money?’

      ‘Fleur does now. I filled her in when she called about Rose.’

      ‘Get her to tell Rose.’

      ‘Rose won’t care. She only cares about herself and her family, and with both she and Hugh being high earners, I guess she can afford to say no. Either that or the thought of spending time with Fleur and me is so abhorrent to her.’

      ‘But you’re sisters. They can’t be that unfeeling.’

      I took a gulp of wine. ‘What I feel or need doesn’t matter to either of them.’

      ‘Want me to make voodoo dolls of them both and stick pins in?’

      ‘Yes. No. We haven’t even begun Mum’s tasks and we’re already at war with each other.’

      ‘You’re going to have to call her Dee. Call her up and tell her how much it means to you.’

      ‘You mean beg. No. Never. You know what she can be like – what both of them can be like.’

      Anna nodded. ‘You mean the funeral?’

      ‘And the reception. If we couldn’t be supportive of each other at times like that, it’s not going to happen now.’

      *

      It was back in July. I’d stood outside the open doors of the chapel in the blazing sunshine, Anna by my side, and watched the swarm of people go in and settle into their places. Some had been familiar, the last surviving friends of Mum’s; some family, distant relatives that I hadn’t seen for years. Rose, with Hugh and their two children, Simon and Laura, went in. I remember thinking that Simon would be in his third year at university; Laura, tall like her father, and stunning, in her first year. They’d grown so much since I’d last seen them. Rose was the petite one of my sisters, taking after Mum at five foot three. Hugh had put on weight and, with his thinning silver hair and rotund chest and belly, resembled a plump pigeon. Rose had got thinner and looked strained, but she was immaculate as always in a black dress as well cut as her hair. They didn’t see me on their way in.

      Anna nudged me when she saw Rose. ‘Have you spoken to her lately?’

      I shook my head. ‘She called a couple of times to talk over funeral arrangements and rub in how she was having to organize it all. Mum wrote out what she wanted years ago, even the hymns and prayers, though she wouldn’t reveal what. She’d said she wanted it to be a surprise and that she might get Jean to sing “Ave Maria”, which she would do magnificently out of tune, and Martha could throw away her walking stick and do some interpretive modern dance, like Marina Abramovi´c, the Yugoslavian performance artist who likes to fling herself at walls in her birthday suit. “That would make the vicar sit up,” she said.

      ‘And that wasn’t all. She said she might have “Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead” and an entourage of male strippers to carry her in.’

      Anna laughed again, causing an old gentlemen to frown at us on his way inside. ‘I loved your mother.’

      ‘Despite her jokes, I am sure it will all be dignified and appropriate. Although eccentric at times, Mum had class and knew how to behave in public.’

      ‘Unlike us,’ said Anna, as the elderly man found a pew but turned and continued to stare.

      ‘When Rose called, she didn’t ask about my life at all. You’d have thought after so long she’d have had some interest.’

      ‘And did you ask about hers?’

      ‘I suppose not.’

      ‘Then you can’t be too pissed off at her.’

      I gave her arm a gentle pinch. ‘She made me feel crap for not sending Lucy the airfare to come from Australia, but she couldn’t have come even if I’d had the money – or maybe she could have but not for long enough to merit the cost of such a journey. Lucy likes to stay for weeks when she comes, have a proper stay. She’s got that planned for next year, after we’ve both had time to save up. I’ll send her what I can towards her fare. I always do. It’s OK for Rose, she and Hugh earn loads between them.’

      ‘You don’t have to defend yourself or Lucy to me, Dee.’

      ‘I know. Sorry. Guess we’d better go in.’

      We went inside and took our places behind Rose and her family who were on the front pew. None of them turned around.

      Fleur hovered at the back of the chapel when she arrived, but was soon ushered up to the end of our bench. Even in the tense atmosphere of the crematorium, people couldn’t help but turn to look at her. Like the rest of us, she was in black, a knee length A-line dress and cowboy boots.

      ‘Very rock chick,’ Anna commented.

      ‘That’s Fleur,’ I replied. She looked great, ten years younger than her forty-six years, like she’d been cracked fresh out of a polystyrene pack that morning, her body and legs toned and tanned, blonde hair just past her shoulders, beautifully cut and highlighted and her skin glowing – which was surprising, considering the amount she’d drunk and smoked in her life.

      Glancing around, Fleur spotted me and we nodded, polite. Fleur stared at Anna, though. She too stood out in a crowd, but more because of the fuchsia-pink highlights she’d had put in last week. Today her funeral black dress was accessorized with ruby red lace-up boots and a pink pashmina.

      It had been strange to see Fleur and Rose for the first time in three years, so familiar and yet so removed from my life now. Both of them looked like Mum and had her blue eyes and fine features, though Fleur was a couple of inches taller than Rose. I took after Dad, with the same honey-brown eyes and height.

      ‘Do I look like Morticia Addams?’ I whispered to Anna. I was wearing a long black dress and kimono-style black devoré jacket. I’d thought it looked appropriate but, next to my sisters, I wondered whether it was more fitting for a Goth party than a funeral.

      ‘From the movie? No. More like Lurch,’ Anna whispered back. ‘Stop worrying. You look fine.’

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