-Track Twenty-Four -
It began to snow. Silver flakes fell softly over the cemetery, upon the mourners and headstones, upon the living, and the dead.
Journalists, photographers, and fans stood outside the Cleethorpes cemetery metal railings as the funeral service for Steve got underway in the small chapel at the centre of the large cemetery. Apart from one, they hoped to get a picture of one mourner in attendance, the current focus of England’s media attention, Kipper. The fans and media remained outside the cemetery and away from the ceremony at the superstar’s request and out of respect for Steve and his family.
The service was a sullen affair, with Lucy, Bernard, and close friends in attendance.
With the Thai style casket now on a gurney, the vicar conducted a service. Five mourners giggled when the priest described Steve, which was a far cry from the wild, Viagra taking, snuff connoisseur and raunchy old rocker who they had known and loved. Mrs Chew kept looking back at Elvin, Charles, Wayne, Cosmo, and Kipper, glaring at them as they chuckled.
Service over, four pallbearers came in and wheeled the gurney and casket out to Steve’s final resting place followed by the small procession. A light layer of frost covered the soil around the plot as the pallbearers lowered the coffin into the grave. The vicar stood in front of wreaths and colourful floral tributes as each mourner filed past the casket, looked down, scattered a handful of soil onto the lid, and said their farewells. They all strolled to the cemetery gates where people snapped photographs of Kipper as he got into a hearse with Cosmo, Elvin, Charles, and Wayne.
The journalists rushed to their vehicles and followed.
‘So, that obnoxious landlord who told me to fuck off knew more than he let on.’ thought Ollie when he saw Cosmo. He walked over to Steve’s grave as a bobcat pushed earth over the coffin. Ollie smiled when he saw Steve’s headstone leant against a tree. He smiled and thought, ‘If those other idiots weren’t so focused on the fraudster Kipper, they wouldn’t have missed this.’
Ollie snapped a photo as the marble headstone’s put in place.
R.I.P. Steve ‘Strat’ Baker
Beloved father
Cherished Friend
Fossil.
Wellow was bedlam and packed to capacity inside and out. Even though some people came to pay their last respects to Steve, most were there to see Kipper.
The remaining Fossils, Kipper, Lucy, and Bernard, went up to Cosmos living quarters to avoid the rabble.
“Sorry Cosmo. I didn’t expect it to be like this,” said Kipper, sniffing back his tears. “I wanted to say goodbye to Steve and see you all. But I’d better go.”
Lucy hugged him while Cosmo went to his private stash and poured them all a fine single malt whisky.
He handed them each a glass and said. “Okay Kipper, but before you do, let’s toast the old reprobate,” he looked at Lucy. “No offence Lucy.”
Lucy smiled. “None taken, Cosmo… that’s exactly what the old bugger was.” She raised a glass and toasted, “My Dad… and your friend… Strat.”
“Strat!” they repeated, and clinking glasses.
“I’m proud of you Kipper, you are keeping your word and being sensible,” said Lucy and kissed him on the cheek.
“Yeah, well done mate,” said Cosmo. “Come on, I’ll take you to Fossdyke and you can pick up your car.”
Cosmo drove Kipper the two minutes to Fossdyke in his new BMW 5 series, where Kipper got into his Aston Martin and sped off.
Cosmo returned to the Wellow, got on the microphone, chuckled, and announced. “Kipper has left the building,” some people rushed out in search of Kipper.
Cosmo, Lucy, Bernard, and Fossils sat at a table in the noisy pub as the ‘Hope’ album played over the speakers and people chatted.
Cosmo claimed he no longer needed to do dodgy deals with his newfound wealth and intended to buy the Wellow from the brewery. That claim lasted all of ten minutes as a regular customer came and spoke to him. They disappeared to the man’s car boot, where Cosmo bought twenty new iPhones that had fallen off the back of a lorry… apparently.
The others stayed in the lounge chatting, and then Charles jolted and gasped.
“What’s wrong Nobby?” asked Elvin sounding concerned.
Charles looked at Wayne and Elvin and said. “Ollie Smith. He’s over there.” Charles pointed and then looked again.
“Who?” asked Lucy.
“He was the creepy journalist who found us in Cambodia,” Wayne told her.
“Where Charles? I don’t see him,” said Elvin looking.
“He was standing over there,” said Charles looking around, “but I don’t see him now.”
They looked over at a crowd gathered by the door.
Charles, Elvin, and Wayne got up, squeezed their way through the noisy crowds, and looked around.
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” said Charles as they returned to their seats.
“I can’t see Ollie Smith being here,” said Elvin. “He couldn’t have known we had come home or where we were. Besides, what would be the point?”
“You’re right,” said Charles. “Everybody now knows Kipper is Fossils, so our band no longer exists.”
“Only in our hearts,” said Wayne smiling.
“We have to leave now,” said Lucy. “I will come to see you in a couple of days.”
They said their farewells as Cosmo returned to the table after taking his purchase up to his quarters and said goodbye to Lucy and Bernard.
Elvin, Wayne, Charles, and Cosmo sat drinking beer and then Cosmo frowned. “Can you smell that?” he asked, sniffing the air.
The others looked puzzled.
“I can’t smell anything,” said Charles.
“Me neither, only booze,” said Elvin and chuckled.
“Why, what can you smell buddy?” asked Wayne.
Cosmo stood up and said. “Some bastards let off a stink bomb again,” he glared around the lounge as the three old men smiled and looked to the heavens.
The afternoon celebration went on into the evening and after Cosmo persuaded the last three customers to leave and the staff went home, he poured himself a scotch. He sat alone and smiled as he reflected the events of the hectic, but incredible few months, and looked around the empty lounge. He would miss Steve and knew things wouldn’t be the same without him and then thought, ‘Where is that bloody awful smell coming from,’ as the foul odour again drifting around the room.
The last three staggered out of the Wellow shitfaced. Holding on to each another, they meandered unsteadily along the icy pavement back to Fossdyke, singing ‘Life is Too Short to Be Sad.’
Four days later, on a mild frosty morning, clumps of crocuses bloomed and new daffodils grew through patches of melting snow with their buds waiting to blossom into flowers. Three old men stood by the headstone of their friend and fresh turf now lay over Steve’s grave.
“It's peaceful here,” said Elvin looking around. He took a trowel from his overcoat, knelt, and dug a small hole in front of Steve’s headstone.
Charles removed the contents from a bubble wrap envelope and handed them to Elvin, who placed a small tin in the hole and said. “That’s from your Filipino family mate.”
Wayne took something from his wallet and handed it to Elvin. “Something for your journey, buddy,” said Wayne as Elvin put the item next to the tin.
Charles chuckled and, taking a small cardboard box from his overcoat pocket, handed it down to Elvin and said. “And something for when you get there, old friend.”
Elvin put the box with the other items, covered the hole, patted down the soil, and stood.
The three smiled and walked away. They could imagine the grin on Steve’s face as he looked down on them burying a tin of Kendle medicated snuff brand number 6, a box of Viagra, and Steve’s old plectrum.
Viagra, Snuff, and Rock ‘n’ Roll.