The Eulogy a short story by Charles Roberts

 This is a part of a story/book I have been writing for a number of years called 'The Dance of the Mayflies, from a play of the same name.  One day I will collate all the stories and finish the book, when I get the ideas and inspiration

          Marianne looked to her left to see her daughter Sally sat glassy eyed and bored, picking at the hem of her dress.  She then looked to her right and saw Michael, her son staring up at the church roof and looking just as bored as his sister.  The speaker, who had said that he would keep the eulogy short, but had been droning on for at least half an hour, said something and Marianne let out a laugh, but managed to turn it into a cough.  I am only his wife, she thought, what the hell would you know about him, if you’d had to live with him and put up with his philandering and womanising you wouldn’t be saying what you’re saying.  But you only knew him on the golf course, batting your little balls about with a bent stick trying to knock them into a hole in the ground.

          How long did I have to put up with him and his women?  I was three months pregnant with Michael when he started, although I didn’t find out until Sally’s christening five years later.  God he was clever at hiding things, like the flat in town, it was Michael who found out about that.  Thirty four years I had to put up with other women, why didn’t I leave him, why didn’t I take the children and go?  Because that business is mine and I knew that he would just sell up and flitter the money away.  Daddy always said that if I married Geoff then it would be good for business, so I was pushed into a loveless marriage with a womaniser, who couldn’t keep his dick in his trousers.

          She glanced to her left and Sally was looking at her quizzically, she smiled, then turned to look at Michael, he too was looking at her.  “Am I thinking out loud?” She whispered, looking from one to the other, they both nodded their heads.  “Well what does this lot know about your father?  Really know about him.  They only played their silly game on a Sunday, or did business with him,” she looked around to see if anyone was watching or listening to her.  They all seemed to have their eyes fixed on the droning speaker who appeared to be coming to the end of his eulogy.

          They didn’t know that her husband was running the company into the ground, well trying to.  Marianne was keeping an eye on the books and was managing to turn things around without him knowing or realising.  He’d bought that flat in town with company funds.  He’d bought a Porsche, when she insisted on a Ford, and wrecked it the first winter because he didn’t go on the driving course she’d paid for.  The end had come while she was thinking and everyone was trooping out, touching Marianne on the shoulder or shaking Michael’s hand saying mundane things that they didn’t mean or had no intention of doing.