June's Story

June McCoy just felt sad this morning. The sadness hung around her shoulders and seemed to push down on her chest. She had been close to her aunt Sheila and the funeral today would be tough. Sheila had been in her eighties, and poorly for a while, but her passing had hit June harder than she thought it would.

Maybe after the service today June could start processing things. She shrugged into her black jacket, grabbed her handbag and headed downstairs.

Her husband Michael and her son Charlie, were sitting at the breakfast bar. They were dressed in their black suits and ties, ready for the funeral. Michael was reading the morning newspapers, and Charlie was scrolling though social media on his mobile phone.

June paused for a moment. They knew she was struggling, that today would be tough for her, surely one of them would offer to make the tea and toast this morning, of all days. 

‘Dad, did you hear my team could be winning the Porterhouse contract?’ Charlie asked.

Charlie had worked with his father at the shipping company for almost two years. Michael held a senior management position at the international shipping company and was tipped to be on the board by the end of the financial year. He had pulled a few strings to get Charlie the job at the firm and was pushing behind the scenes to see that Charlie progressed as quickly as he could. A lot of the talk at home was of the business, which unintentionally excluded June. 

‘That’s great news, son. I knew you’d smash it. I’ll set up a meeting with the Board for early next week. I’ve heard the Board are having a golf weekend next month. I’ll try and get us on the guest list.’ 

June placed her handbag on the end of the counter. 

‘I’ll make the tea and toast, shall I?’ June said flatly. 

While Michael simply nodded, her son replied with a grunt. 

After slotting slices of bread into the toaster, she waited for the kettle to boil. June stared out the window, wondering quite when things had changed in their home. She knew she was feeling down, and over-sensitive but still, would it have hurt them to be a bit gentle with her on the morning of Sheila’s funeral? 

The church service was sad and sentimental and yet poignant and funny at the same time. Family members spoke of the good times with Sheila. June managed to hold it together until the music started. The Neil Diamond track, singing of the past and of love, reduced June to tears. 

She placed her hands over her face and let it all out, the sobs shaking her shoulders. Thankfully the music drowned out the sound of her crying. A moment later, she managed to compose herself. She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. She sighed. 

She turned to Michael beside her in the pew, and Charlie next to him. To the others sitting in the church they appeared to be heads bowed, in silent contemplation while the service went on, but from where Jane was sitting, beside them in the same wooden pew, she could see their mobile phones in their hands. They were scrolling through work emails on their mobile phones.

June shook her head in disapproval.

‘Could you not?’ She whispered.

Michael mouthed an apology, pocketing his mobile phone and nudged his son. Charlie rolled his eyes before reluctantly putting his phone away. 

Outside the church, June chatted to family members she hadn’t seen for years. There were aunts, uncles and cousins. Condolences were offered, hands shaken, hugs given. Looking around, June wondered quite when everyone had grown so old. Uncles that had been forces of nature, large, barrel-chested, giants of men, were now grey-haired and frail, shrivelled versions of the powerhouses they once were. Aunts that had been beautiful, stunning women, with movie star looks and glamour, now seemed like little old ladies. Mind you, she thought, these relations probably still saw her as the angsty student teenager she had been before growing up and settling down. 

One cousin, Kathleen, hugged June tight, before lighting a cigarette.

‘What a day!’ Kathleen sighed, taking a long drag on her cigarette.

June nodded in agreement. The rather vague comment seemed to sum everything up somehow.

‘I’ve not seen you in years, Junie. Why do we leave it so long?’ Kathleen said.

‘Life just gets in the way, I suppose.’ June shrugged. 

The wake was being held in the social club that her aunt used to frequent. The room had a dated, old-fashioned feel to it. June pictured fellers in flat caps playing dominoes and sipping pints of bitter. The room was perfect for her aunt’s wake. This was her kind of place. June could almost see Sheila chatting with friends at the bar. 

June was on the way back from the bathroom when Kathleen waved her over, patting the seat next to her.

‘Hello you.’ June said, sliding into the seat beside her.

‘So, tell me,’ June continued. ‘what do you do with yourself these days?’

‘I’m a mature student. Or should that be immature student? I got sick of the nine-to-five, and I’d always had this thing in my head about going back to studying.’

‘That sounds very cool. Good for you.’ June said.

‘What about you?’ Kathleen asked.

‘I’m a house-wife and mother. My Michael is the breadwinner. He is doing very well for himself.’ June said.

‘And your boy, Charlie. He’s cut from the same cloth.’ Kathleen said.

‘Yes, Michael has great hopes for him.’ 

‘That wasn’t meant as a compliment.’ Kathleen laughed. 

‘How do you mean?’ June asked.

‘The two of them.’ She shook her head. ‘Let’s just say, I’ve never been handed business cards at a family funeral before.’ 

Kathleen pulled the cards from her pocket and tossed them on the table.

‘They mean well, those two. They have good hearts.’ June insisted.

Her son and her husband were good men, deep down, she was sure of that, but sometimes, she felt like shaking them. Those two just couldn’t switch it off. Did they really think they would make business contacts at a family funeral?

Kathleen grabbed the cards and quickly tore them into little pieces. 

‘That’s what I think of that.’ Kathleen said.

‘I’ll drink to that.’ June said, raising her glass. 

She spotted her husband at the bar, deep in conversation with a family friend. She knew he’d be talking about himself, his job, his golf handicap, the nice house, the family, the luxury foreign holidays, the fancy cars. While June was proud of the life she had, and did love her husband and her son, and did appreciate how lucky she was, right then, she wondered if there was more to this life. Maybe, like Kathleen she should make more of herself, do more with her life.

And maybe she was being picky, but did Michael really think a family funeral was the place to boast and brag and promote your business?

When they had gotten married, Michael had suggested that she give up work to run the house and raise their family. That would be her job, her role. She had been happy to go along with that. And she was happy with being the house-wife. She would organise everything at home, the groceries, the washing and ironing. In her free-time, she would meet friends for lunch, go to the swanky fitness club for tennis lessons and swimming, go to the library, and shopping trips, before heading home to make sure the house was clean and tidy and work on preparing the evening meal for the three of them. 

But looking back, somewhere down the line, she had been taken for granted. What had started out as an equal partnership, a team, with Michael going off to work, and her getting stuck in at home, had shifted over time. Maybe things had changed as their son grew up and no longer needed her in the same way. 

The way she felt now, it almost seemed a master and servant situation. A few weeks ago, while watching a television drama about a stately home, with the lord and lady of the house, and the staff working for them, June had found that she could relate to the cooks, cleaners and workers, waiting on and serving their superiors.

Michael would invite friends over for dinner parties and June would be responsible for putting the whole thing together. While he would play host, June would barely have a moment to herself all evening, rushing around seeing to their guests and supplying the food and drink.

She usually pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind, but right now, with all the emotion of the funeral, and Michael and Charlie appearing to care more about the job than her feelings, it was all she could think about. It wasn’t even necessarily down to anything Michael had set out to do. Maybe she should have spoken up more, insisted on doing her own thing, doing something for herself. She didn’t know whose fault it was, but she definitely felt stuck in a rut. 

June finished the last of her drink, placing the wine glass down hard on the table. 

The barman called out that the buffet was now open. The mourners shuffled towards the tables crammed with food.

‘I need something to eat.’ June said, getting to her feet. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Nah, I like a ham sandwich but not enough to queue up.’ Kathleen said with a grin.

The rest of the afternoon passed as well as these things can. There was a mournful, sorrowful, yet upbeat, resilient atmosphere. One of her uncle’s launched into an old Irish song that the whole room joined in with singing, the sad, rousing chorus. June, like most of the other mourners, had tears in her eyes as she sang along.

As that song died down, one of June’s cousins stood up. He started drunkenly singing the Oasis song, Don’t Look Back In Anger. By the time he reached the chorus, everyone had joined in. Once again, the room was full of song. 

When the song finished everyone clapped, applauding the song, each other, and poor old, Aunt Sheila. 

June overheard Michael telling their son that the band Oasis, and the Gallagher brothers, were very good businessmen, adding that the hype over the comeback gigs must have made them millions. 

A few hours later, people started to drift away, zipping their coats up and saying their goodbyes. June always found that funeral wakes always seemed to wrap up earlier than wedding receptions. After a number of hours, the wake always seemed to fizzle out. Perhaps it was the raw emotion of the day taking its toll.

On the pavement outside, Kathleen hugged June once more. Then she pulled her mobile phone from her handbag. 

‘Gimme your number.’ Kathleen said.

June reeled off her number. Kathleen tapped away on her phone. A second later, June’s mobile phone pinged. 

‘There you go, Junie.’ 

‘Lovely. We should meet up soon.’ June said.

‘Definitely. I’ll hold you to that, love.’ Kathleen said.

The next day, while she was relieved to have gotten the funeral out of the way, the general sense of sadness lingered. She just felt really down about everything. Maybe this was part of the grieving process.

She was halfway through vacuuming the living room carpet when her mobile phone pinged. One new message. She switched the vacuum cleaner of and reached for her mobile phone. The text message was from her son, Charlie. The message simply read Dry-cleaning.  The tone of the message was the usual from her son, but right now it just seemed downright rude. No Hi, no would you mind, no is there any chance? Just an order, an instruction. 

June had had enough. She replied, Sorry, love, not sure what you mean? A moment later, Charlie replied asking June to pick his suit up from the dry-cleaners. While she noted that there was no please or thank-you, at least he was actually asking, rather than demanding. 

June wasn’t sure where things would go from here, but she knew that she wouldn’t be quite the soft touch she had been. If Michael and Charlie were rude to her, then she would make a point of politely telling them how she felt. The next time Michael waved his empty beer glass at her, she would suggest that he ask if she’d get him another beer from the fridge. Or perhaps, if he was feeling adventurous, he went and got his own drink. June could always draw him a map showing him where the kitchen was. 

Yes, while she wasn’t exactly seeking marriage counselling or contemplating a divorce, June would not be quite the walk-over, quite the doting house-wife, that she had been. She would keep the house running but she would make sure that Michael and Charlie appreciated her efforts a little bit more. 

A while later, her mobile phone chimed again. One new message. No doubt this would be Michael demanding something of her. The text message was not from her husband, nor from her son. 

She smiled when she saw the name pop up on screen. It was from her cousin, Kathleen.

Fancy meeting up for lunch tomorrow? We could have a few glasses of wine and a proper catch up. How’s that sound?

June smiled to herself as she read the message. She had to admit that sounded just what she needed. 

The messages back and forth went on all afternoon. June paused in her jobs around the house, to read and reply to her cousin. Even over text message, Kathleen’s humour and personality came through. June stopped cleaning the oven, pulling off her rubber gloves, to check her messages. She found herself laughing as she typed out her replies. 

June sent a message to Michael and Charlie on their family group chat to let them know she’d be out the following afternoon. She mentioned that she would leave their dinner in the slow-cooker, in case she wasn’t back when they got home. 

June arranged with Kathleen to meet at a café bar in Manchester city centre. As they lived on the opposite sides of the city, they agreed that they’d both get the train into the city, neither of them driving, so they can enjoy a few glasses of wine over their lunch.

The twelve-fifteen train arrived exactly on time. June stepped on to the train feeling excitement. Today would be a proper day out, an adventure, rather than the mundane life of being the house-wife of her businessman husband. She found a free seat and made herself comfortable for the journey into Manchester. The train would stop at Deangsate-Castlefield and from there, June would walk across town to the café-bar, where she would be meeting Kathleen. She was looking forward to a laugh, a catch-up and a few glasses of wine with her cousin.

Ten minutes later, the train pulled into a stop. The station sign read Humphrey Park. June had never heard of the place. If she’d been asked before, she would have guessed Humphrey Park was a jazz trumpeter rather than a stop on the Liverpool to Manchester railway line. But, hey, this was all part of the fun, the adventure. She wanted to try new things, and seeing train stops she never knew existed was all part of the fun. 

Then the voice came over the loud-speaker system:  

Good morning, passengers, I’m afraid due to essential maintenance works there is disruption to some of the lines in and out of the city. This train will be terminating at Humphrey Park where all passengers must alight. Replacement bus services are in place.

As one the carriage let out a groan of frustration. Everyone got to their feet, reaching for their bags and belongings, shrugging into coats. It reminded June of when a plane touched down, and suddenly there would be a mass crush for the exits, and for luggage out of the over-head locker, despite the seat-belt sign still being illuminated. 

The passengers complained and chunnered and grumbled as they filed out onto the platform. Well, June thought, she and the mysterious Humphrey Park would be more closely acquainted than she was expecting. Maybe they should complain to Humphrey himself, she thought, smiling to herself. 

Still, hopefully the promised replacement bus service would get her to town in time to meet Kathleen. June followed the flow of people down the sweeping ramp and out of the station. At the station entrance the group disbursed. Some rang for family members to come and pick them up, others tapped at their mobile phones, ordering taxis and the faithful few who hadn’t given up on public transport, headed for the row of buses, marked with numbers and Rail Replacement signs. One bus even had a sign on the windscreen that read Choo-Choo I’m a train. 

June climbed on the bus and showed the driver her valid train ticket. As she slid into the seat, her mobile phone rang. Kathleen’s name flashed on the screen.

‘Hi, love. How are you getting on? There’s problems with the trains.’ June said.

‘Tell me about it, hun. I’ve been standing on the platform for almost an hour and every single train is cancelled. I think we’re going to have to take a rain-check.’

‘It’s chaos, isn’t it?’ June agreed.

‘I would get a taxi, but then I’d have no money for cocktails. We’ll do this again, and do it properly next time. How’s that?’ Kathleen said. 

‘Smashing. We’ll keep in touch and get another date sorted.’ June said.

As the bus trundled away, June tucked her mobile phone into her handbag. Now she had no plans for the day, no catch-up with Kathleen, but she didn’t want to head home just yet. She would have a mooch round the city herself. 

She would do something she hadn’t done for years. She would go round a few bookshops, treat herself to a couple of paperback books, and then stop off for a drink before heading home. There was something special about going out on your own for a book-buying trip and then having a few drinks and a good read of your new purchases. Maybe as well as meeting Kathleen in future, she would have more days like this, days for herself, days to herself. 

June stared out the window as the bus weaved its way down the streets. She had no idea where she was. She would recognise her surroundings when they neared the city-centre, but for now, she really had no sense of her location. She let her mind wander, still hopeful of a day strolling round the city.

Just over an hour later, the bus pulled off a built-up busy street and into the bus station. The driver steered the bus into a bay and switched off the engine. The bus shuddered and stopped. 

‘Right, we’re here. Everybody off. Please make sure you have all your belongings with you, your bags, your coats, your children.’ Called the driver.

The passengers laughed at the joke as they got to their feet. June didn’t laugh. She was more concerned about where they were. The station and the area didn’t look familiar at all. Right then, the only thing she was sure about was that she was not in Manchester. She grabbed her bag and joined the people filing off the bus. 

She paused at the front of the bus and spoke to the driver.

‘Excuse me, I wanted to go to Manchester. Are you going there next?’ June asked.

‘No, love, this is the Bolton bus.’ 

‘But this was the replacement bus for the train.’ June said.

‘You got the wrong bus for Manchester. The replacement bus to Manchester was the number 67. This is the 524.’ 

The driver pointed to the number on the windscreen.

‘So, I’m in Bolton?’ 

‘Yes, love. The best town in the North West.’ He grinned. 

June thanked the driver, and headed warily down the steps. As she stepped off the bus the driver told her to have a nice day. There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice but June ignored the tone.

‘Thank you,’ she replied cheerily. ‘I’m sure I will.’

June walked down the street, in what she hoped was the direction of the town centre. Well, she had wanted a day out. And here she was in a Lancashire town she had never been to before. She would spend her time here and head home only when she was ready.

June walked along, taking in the sights of the town, soaking it all up, like a tourist. She discovered a couple of book shops and made her way leisurely around the stores, treating herself to a couple of paperback books. One of the books was by an author she had never heard of. The novel sounded right up her street. There was nothing better than coming across a new author, and being able to work your way through their bibliography. 

June turned a corner and spotted a little café. Perfect. All this adventuring was thirsty work. When she pushed the door open, the bell on the doorframe jangled. The small café was filled with round tables covered in tablecloths. The tablecloths were a nice touch. June found there weren’t too many places that had tablecloths these days. It was the sign of a good coffee shop. Her husband said it was the same with beer mats in pubs. If the pub had beer mats on the table, you knew the beer would be wonderful. 

Customers chatted and sipped tea from china cup and saucers, and enjoyed an array of fancy cakes.

June took a seat at a table and placed her bags down on the chair facing her. A woman in her twenties with hair dyed a unique shade of pink came over with a small notebook.

‘Hiya, love. What would you like?’ She said with a smile.

June spent a magical few hours, sipping tea, poured from a tea-pot, and eating a selection of cakes including her favourite, Bakewell tart. She flicked through her new paperback books, devouring the chapters. The world seemed to be a nice, kind, place once more, and as she relaxed in the pleasant surroundings, she felt the gloom that had been surrounding her recently lifting. 

A while later, she was coming out of a department store, when her mobile phone rang. Michael was calling her.

‘Hey, love. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.’ She said.

‘June, where are you? It’s almost six o’clock.’ Michael said, with more anger than concern in his voice.

‘There was a problem with the trains. I’ve accidently gone on a bit of trip actually. I’ve ended up in Bolton.’ June replied.

‘You’ll have to get yourself home sharpish. I’ve invited a few boys from the golf club over for a dinner party.’

‘When is that?’ She asked.

‘I’ve invited them over tonight. I appreciate it’s short notice.’ 

‘Sorry, love, you’ll have to cancel. I did have plans this afternoon, you knew that.’

‘It’s done now. I’ve told the lads.’ Michael said.

‘Look, love, I’m tired. I need a break. I was thinking of staying the night in a hotel. I thought it might be nice, a little bit of a pamper, bit of room-service. Cheer myself up a bit. It’s been a tough few weeks.’ 

‘You are not doing that, June!’ He snapped.

‘Why not? You went on that Spanish golfing trip the other week.’ June said.

‘That was different. I am not forking out for you to stay in a hotel.’ Michael said.

‘Then I’ll pay for it myself. I think the money my aunt left me should stretch to a night in a hotel.’

‘You will do as I tell you.’ Michael said.

‘Could you not speak to me that way, please?’

‘You are to get the next train back to Manchester, do you hear me?’ Michael’s voice was now a shout.

She said nothing.

‘June? Do you hear me?’ He yelled.

June couldn’t find the words to respond. She simply hung up the phone. 

June had tears in her eyes as she entered the train station. The announcement on the screens thanked travellers for their patience, and informed that normal service had been resumed. Normal service, June thought, since when had anything been normal?

She walked down the platform to the waiting train, trying to cling on to the happy feeling she had felt earlier. 

June boarded the train, squeezing down the aisle, looking for her seat. She made herself comfortable in her seat and then smiled to herself.

As the train pulled out of the station, the conductor’s voice came over the speakers. 

This is the Edinburgh train. Thank you for travelling with us.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom