CHAPTER TWO

The Funeral - three weeks earlier
Monday 29th September 2025

Moira Rogers saw her own reflection in the glass door as she entered the chapel. It didn’t matter the occasion was a funeral, her eyes hung on the black dress that hugged her curves. Her brown hair landed elegantly on her shoulders and the splash of red on her lips was a nice touch.

She tore her eyes away and held Liam’s arm as they stepped sideways into a vacant pew, catching the eye of a man in a black suit as he lifted his gaze from her cleavage. She suppressed a smile and sat down next to her husband.

The piped music was Bruce Springsteen’s Dancing in the Dark and she looked at the open casket behind the pulpit, bathing in the golden light that filtered through the stained-glass windows. She imagined Charlie laying there, singing along to his favourite song, too sure of himself to know he was dead.     

Her eyes went to a woman sobbing on the other side of the chapel with her stony-faced partner patting her arm. It reminded Moira to take stock of where she was, and she grabbed a tissue to dab her eyes even though they were dry.

She took a deep breath and remembered the last time she had with Charlie, three twilight hours in a hotel, checking out in time to be home before Liam finished work. Moira and Charlie were like chalk and cheese and their encounters usually ended in argument, but he was the best lover she’d ever had. 

But that was all over now and despite the loss, Charlie’s demise was a get-out-of-jail-free pass. He’d been difficult these past few weeks and too much was at stake. Just recently, he’d changed their meeting arrangements twice before committing to a rushed dalliance that wasn’t up to his usual standard, and she was almost caught out in the process.

When she got home, her hair was out of place, and the buttons of her blouse were in wrong holes. But as luck would have it, the Dragons were on TV, clinging to a one-point lead and Liam didn’t notice a thing.

Liam Rogers was a formidable sight with forearms like hambones, but he’d become podgy in recent years and didn’t do much to excite her anymore. To get the gratification she craved, she’d been very careful in covering her tracks.

Liam had been with the same company for twenty years, working his way up from slugging it out on worksites, to the office where he had a plush chair and a club sandwich every day for lunch. 

The years with the company had paid off. In lieu of pay raises and bonuses, he agreed to shares in the organisation and eventually a place at the table with the decision makers. And according to anyone who worked with him, he was solid as a rock and his word was his bond.

And along the way, he looked after Charlie, his old mate, even though he’d never been much good at his job. He had his own desk at the company’s headquarters and was spared hard work on project sites.

Liam wasn’t a religious man, but the concept of a higher power keeping an eye an everyone, was comforting. It was a loose conviction, but one that helped him see things as either black or white. When he did apply a bit of muscle to a situation, maybe break a bone or two, it was because someone had done the wrong thing, and they needed to be reminded how to behave.

Just north of fifty years old, he was like a huge stuffed bear as far as Moira was concerned, content with a quick cuddle before falling asleep each night oblivious to where she’d been.

~

They’d been together for fifteen years, second marriages for both. Liam’s first marriage ended after a ten-year slog of trying to make it work until they mutually agreed that they just didn’t have enough in common.

Moira’s story, however, was more convoluted, the details stretching back to her childhood. As a twelve-year old girl who started developing early, she was the envy of her classmates because she wore a bra and had real breasts. She received attention from the boys, especially Johno Jones, two years older and the toughest boy in the neighbourhood.

He was the first boy she kissed, and when that happened in the lane way behind the shops on the highway, it sent a surge of adrenalin through her body. She had never felt like that before, with butterflies in her belly and a heart that raced when they held hands afterwards.

However, more intoxicating was being the focus of attention from the other girls, especially Kimberly Hart who was jealous as hell. She’d been stuffing a training bra with tissues for months to get Jono to notice her.

Moira never outgrew her lust for the limelight as she grew through her teenage years. Two days after her eighteenth birthday, she said yes to an apprentice carpenter named Jack, when he asked her to marry him. He had a head like a dropped pie, but he was twenty-one and had inherited a Holden Monaro from a dead uncle. When he popped the question, it was a no-brainer.

That marriage didn’t last long, shorter in duration than the life span of MySpace. Jack had had enough after two years of Moira always being the centre of attention. He spent a month of pay packets on new mag wheels for the Monaro and did a midnight runner, the day after she turned twenty. Moira was devastated – she loved that car.

For the next ten years, she played the field and was never short of suitors. Most of her relationships fizzled out after a few months although at one stage she found herself in a brief engagement. That died too when she caught her fiancé stealing her underwear to hang off the branches of the Christmas tree in his mancave. 

Just before her thirtieth birthday, she met Liam at a bar that overlooked the bay in the southern suburbs, a nightspot far more upmarket than her usual haunts. It was a popular meeting place for singles who had plenty of money. 

On paper his description would have come across as ordinary – not quite six feet tall on the old scale, brown hair and stocky build. But in person he was in peak physical condition, as though he was carved out of granite, and the lines in his tanned face and the silver threads of hair said he had lived hard. Over too many Tequila Sunrises, Moira extracted information about his considerable means, and that ticked the last point on her checklist.

A whirlwind romance of weekends away with walks along the beach and their hot, wet bodies diving under breaking waves, followed by restaurants and wine bars, went on for six months before Liam asked her to marry him.

For the first year of married life, Liam was happy as a dog with two tails and Moira was satisfied she’d secured a winner. While he spent increasingly long hours at work progressing the success of the concreting company, she fell into the local scene where well-to-do women recognised each other in the street from Pilates classes and day spas.

By year five of their marriage, the embers had cooled on their fever-pitch romance, and they were both secure in their comfort zones. Liam was happy to be seen with a voluptuous woman on his arm, ten years his junior. And for Moira, a wide frontage house with a wisteria laden veranda in a leafy suburb, was reward for conversation she had no interest in, and an occasional bonk. Win win.

~

By the time Moira was in her late thirties, her biological clock started sending her messages. While her child-bearing days weren’t going to last forever, it was a different realisation that caused her angst. She noticed younger women were stealing her attention and she didn’t like it.

She’d look into the mirror and trace the lines that radiated from her eyes, dip a finger into a jar of miracle winkle reducing cream and massage her face with it. When she held up her arm and flexed her bicep, she was able to pinch some loose skin.

It was time to embark upon an age denying quest and that meant watching closely what she ate and drank, and daily sessions at the fitness centre. She wouldn’t relax until the wandering eyes from men returned.

One set of those eyes belonged to Liam’s good-looking friend, Charlie, and the attention from a piece of forbidden fruit, rekindled the titillation that had faded during her marriage. She needed to be very careful as the first seeds of the fling sprouted, but that added to the excitement.    

~

The chapel was full now as the music of Joni Mitchell began to fade, ‘We can’t return, we can only look behind from where we came’ and Moira wanted to be twelve years old again, in the lane way with Jono Jones, with her entire womanhood in front of her. The only genuine tear she shed all day trickled down her cheek.

A man in black and white robes took to the pulpit and tapped a microphone three times. Heads around the chapel looked up as the clergyman covered his mouth to cough. He stared above the chapel of faces, to the wall behind the congregation where nobody was looking at him.

‘Welcome to the celebration of the life of Charlie Sparrowford, a man called to the Lord’s eternal home too soon for us to understand why…’

Liam’s bottom lip trembled. He took hold of Moira’s arm and squeezed it a touch harder than she was comfortable with. ‘You think you know someone...’

She steeled herself to hold her secret in where she hoped it was safely buried. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, putting her hand on his arm.

‘Mm?’ he replied. ‘I should be asking you that question.’

Moira curled her lip. ‘What’s got into you?’

The minister’s words went on. ‘We can be comforted in knowing his departure from this world is but a part of God’s grand plan…’ 

The words from the pulpit brought her attention back to the service. What a smug prick, she thought. All he knew about Charlie is what he read from a piece of paper about an hour ago, and that sure as hell wouldn’t have said what a great shag he was.

Moira tuned out and let the clergyman’s words wash over while her eyes scanned the congregation. They settled upon the pasty face of Charlie’s widow, Glenda, in a wheelchair at the front of the chapel between the two sections of pews.

Glenda’s sister, Agnes, leant over and held her arm. The widow’s face was expressionless, and Moira wondered if she was ever going to blink. A brick with eyes, some would call her stoic. 

Glenda had brought wealth to her marriage with Charlie, his fee for her landing a younger man, handsome and athletic, just a week before her thirty-ninth birthday. She was a plain woman with a large head and a stocky build and her courtship with Charlie was a mismatch that had tongues wagging.

Five years ago, she had suffered a fall down the backsteps of their large house that broke her back. Charlie was to have repaired the loose step on the leafy veranda, but despite reminders, he never got around to it.

According to Agnes, the accident was all Charlie’s fault. She never let a chance go by to bad-mouth her brother-in-law, despite Glenda defending him during the verbal assaults. For years Charlie dodged responsibility when problems arose; the fall was just another example of Glenda’s clumsiness. If not for him in her life, her outlook would have been even more bleak. Who else would have her?

~

Moira looked at the sisters, a giant set of bookends, and screwed up her nose. It was no wonder Charlie took such pleasure in their arrangement. If not for her, all that manhood would have been wasted.

Moira thought back to the recent drinks Liam had organised at the country club, and how cool Glenda had been towards her since. She wondered if Glenda had finally become suspicious. Moira’s eyes flicked around the gathering; she was edgy, stuck there with these people, and she took a deep breath to calm down.

The recalled the evening at the country club, organised as a celebration for the record profits Liam’s company had made. With the expansion in residential development, there was a lot of money to be made in pouring concrete and Liam had bought two extra trucks in to keep up with demand. As profit margins went up and up, Liam wanted to demonstrate his appreciation to everyone in the company. He organised a party and everyone, from the part-time labourers who filled in on a casual basis, up to the bosses, were welcome to come along and live it up.

Moira thought more about that night, the discreet fondle with Charlie behind the barbeque area in the outdoor setting at the club. It was dark and they were sure no one was watching. She wasn’t worried about Liam; he had a temper but was slow as a wet wig when it came to noticing anything unusual. Nor had she been concerned about Glenda for she was sure to be wheeled up close to the food, washing down savouries with gin.

But since that night, on the few occasions their paths crossed, Glenda had been icy towards her, abrupt and casting stares that made Moira shudder. Perhaps someone had seen them and told Glenda about it. Moira decided it would be wise later at the wake, to keep her distance.

The drone from the pulpit went on. Moira took a deep breath and looked sideways at her husband. Liam looked into her eyes. ‘It should never have come to this.’

Moira held the expression on her face, determined not to give away any hint of her secrets. She was very capable of doing that and felt no shame. There was a time when she’d found her husband attractive, but to be honest, he’d let himself go and the thinning hair and increasing paunch did little to enthuse her anymore. She, on the other hand, still turned heads, even at an occasion such as this. She had an itch to scratch and frankly, Liam wasn’t up to it. 

It didn’t matter she had nothing in common with Charlie. If she was being honest, he was thick as a brick, and annoying when they tried to make conversation.  And that’s why it was an ideal situation; physical pleasure she could tap into and then walk away from without connection.

From Charlie’s point of view, Moira was shallow and didn’t even laugh at his jokes. But the sex was great - a ‘good old hate-fuck’ as he once described a lustful encounter to her. And she loved it.

The minister invited Charlie’s cousin, Simon, to the pulpit. He’d been charged with providing the congregation some insight to Charlie’s life. Moira’s eyes bulged at the sight of this man on centre stage; she knew how much Charlie hated him.

Simon’s voice quivered as he spoke about Charlie becoming the brother he never had as their friendship grew. He stopped mid-sentence to compose himself before relaying an anecdote about a fishing trip. ‘The boat was filling up with water and we were a long way out,’ he babbled. ‘Charlie was starting to panic, and I did whatever I had to, to keep him calm while I bailed out water and somehow got us making progress towards shore…’

Moira was not the only one in the chapel who sat gobsmacked with what was being touted. Charlie was a lot of things, but someone who played second fiddle in a crisis, he was not. And as for panicking, he couldn’t even spell the word.

Surely Simon’s words were a test to find out if Charlie really was dead, Moira half-expecting him to rise from the casket, and grab him by the throat. The spiel dragged on. ‘When we finally made it back to shore, that’s when Charlie told me I was the best friend he’d ever had.’

Moira grabbed Liam’s arm and squeezed it until the red in his angry face began to subside. ‘Keep calm,’ she whispered.

Liam took a deep breath and let it out through pursed lips. ‘I could do Charlie one last favour and deck this clown.’

‘Not in a church,’ said Moira.

‘There’s always the wake.’

The clergyman resumed his place at the pulpit, and Moir’s attention was drawn to Rosie, the petite accountant who’d taken care of the company’s books for years. Her hair was up in a bun as usual, and her spectacles highlighted her high cheek bones.

Moira thought it strange that this pretty woman sobbing into her handkerchief as she sat behind Glenda’s sister, had remained single. There had been times over the years, when she wondered if Liam had more than a soft spot for her. H was always the first to jump to her defence when anything harsh was said about her.

The friction between Moira and Rosie stood out like rump steak on a vegan menu. Rosie was her antithesis, sickly-sweet to everyone around her and always wearing that damn smile. After Glenda’s accident, she called in to their house every Monday and Thursday night to help with housework and cook for them. From Moira’s point of view, no one was that nice unless they were after something… or someone.

Rosie had problems with Moira too. She noticed the look in her eye when she looked at Charlie, sometimes the bat of an eyelid or a small touch of his forearm. And the way she wore her dresses so tight was cheap. 

The preacher’s words droned on, sending Moira’s concentration packing. She thought back to the night at the country club when Glenda turned cold. There was something odd about Rosie that night too; she seemed more irked than usual. She recalled how Rosie dropped her smile as they bumped shoulders at the bar when Moira came inside, holding her stare until Moira walked away. Maybe it was Rosie who’d seen her with Charlie and told Glenda about it. She’d be another person to steer clear of at the wake.

The clergyman tapped the microphone again, sending a pulse of piercing feedback from the speakers through the ears of the mourners. ‘And now, a reading from the bible, one of Charlie’s favourite passages…’

The absurdity of the minister’s words snapped Moira from her contemplation. The closest Charlie had ever come to a bible was when he stole a Gideons edition from the drawer of a hotel he and Moira stayed in for a few hours while Liam was working back one night. Charlie used it as a block under the back tyre of his car because the handbrake was dodgy.

‘John 14, versus 1 to 3,’ began the minister. ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled…’

Moira leant towards Liam. He’d been tense for over a week, distant for most of the time, and she hoped that was all over the death of a friend. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Ssh,’ he replied.

‘Really?’

Moira looked around the chapel for distractions. Who was the young blonde, no more than thirty, sitting alone on the end of a pew near the side exit. Men either side of her were trying to grab a sly look, until the dagger stares from their wives brought their attention back to the service. Moira thought she looked like a harlot, dressed in a scarlet, open cut top that gave a glimpse of her breasts.

She wondered what the woman’s business was in being at the funeral. The thought lingered as the man in robes made a reference to another bible verse from a book called Ecleezi Spastics, or something like that.

The blonde stared straight-faced at the clergyman babbling on, until she saw Glenda from the corner of her eye. They locked eyes for a moment, and Glenda gave her a discreet nod before returning her attention to the pulpit.

Moira thought the blonde’s eyes were like steel, like those of a spy in a James Bond movie. Maybe she was Claudia, Charlie’s niece from Queensland, his late brother’s only child. That would make sense; she remembered Charlie talking about her finishing an economics degree a few years ago.

At last, there was some respite from the minister’s voice as Louise Armstrong sang how wonderful the world was. Charlie might have been hard to get along with outside of the bedroom, but he did have great taste in music.

The last time Moira had heard that song was from the music list on his phone. They’d been at their usual hotel, The Baywater Majestic, a safe distance several suburbs away, and he was in bed under a sheet dozing to the song when she stepped out of the shower. The song mulled over in her head, twisting the reality of Charlie and softening their squabbles into playful banter. Funny how music can do that. 

The tune faded and the minister tapped the microphone, snapping Moira out of her trance. She sensed the proceedings were coming to an end. The minister started to speak, and that was the end of Moira’s melancholy. 

He made an invitation for those so inclined, to view Charlie one last time and pay their respects. Glenda was the first to make her way to the open casket, pushed by Agnes until she was close enough to lean forward and stare at her husband for a moment. She whispered something in his direction, to which her sister raised her eyebrows before turning the chair around and pushing Glenda past a line of people to the exit.

Moira watched an older woman move forward in the queue to look at Charlie, nod in respect and move away, allowing those behind to take a step closer to the coffin. Rosie was the next to step up, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to stifle her sobbing. She leant forward and brushed Charlie’s cold face with the back of her hand. She whispered something about forgiving him, before she turned and walked away.

‘Poor Rosie,’ whispered Liam. ‘Such a sweetheart; she cares too much.’

‘Pff,’ sounded Moira. ‘I don’t trust her. She looks more like the grieving widow than Glenda.’

Rosie walked past, glancing at Moira as she went. Moira forced the hint of a smile, but Rosie closed her eyes and kept on walking. 

The stream of mourners continued to file past the casket, each pausing to say their final goodbye. The blonde Moira thought to be Claudia was the next in line. She stood out like a beacon amongst the mourners, attracting eyes from some of the women and all the men. She stood in front of the coffin, looking down at Charlie and blowing him a kiss before turning around, her hard heels tapping on the wooden floor as she departed.

A woman, who until then had been concealed as best as she could in the back corner of the chapel, made her way to the front. She was slender with long brown hair and a pretty face. Moira had no idea who she was. The woman stopped at the coffin, took a piece of paper from her purse, screwed it up and tossed it into the casket. She turned around to walk away, and Moira noted the distress in her face.

The congregation accumulated in small clusters outside the entrance, as Moira approached the coffin, the last to view Charlie for the final time. She looked at his face, seemingly at peace and it wasn’t a huge stretch in her mind to imagine his mischievous grin.  

From there her eyes scouted inside for the paper she’d seen thrown in. She reached out to touch his arm one last time, and then made a grab for the paper, crunching it into a small ball in her hand. She’d secret it into her handbag at first opportunity. She smiled at the clergyman who had annoyed the hell out of her for the past thirty minutes and turned to join Liam and leave.

Outside, mourners took turns to pay their respects to Glenda in her chair, with Agnes at her side. Moira and Liam were on the opposite side of the gathering, both eager to get past this point in proceedings.

‘How about we get going?’ said Liam. ‘It won’t matter if we’re the first at the country club. We can catch up with people there.’

‘If you like,’ she replied. Liam was being more like his usual self now, and she breathed a little easier about that. She looked around the crowd to make sure she was nowhere near Rosie.

‘We can touch base with Glenda on our way.’

‘I’ll see her at the wake,’ she said. ‘I need to visit the ladies.’

‘I’ll wait…’

Their conversation was halted by a distraction. The woman who’d thrown the paper into the casket was talking to Glenda and the exchange was becoming heated. As the discussion became more emotive, Glenda raised her voice. ‘So, you’re her! You’re Rachel! You’ve got a hide being here!’

‘I had no idea,’ said the woman, holding her hands up pleading. 

Glenda turned her chair away. ‘Don’t you dare turn up at the wake!’ she barked and began wheeling herself away until Agnes caught up to push her towards the carpark.

‘Glenda, wait,’ called Rachel. ‘Glen…’

It was no use; she was not coming back. Rachel looked about, aware of everyone’s’ eyes upon her, and scurried off in the opposite direction.

Moira looked at Liam. ‘What was that all about?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Do you know who the woman is?’

‘I don’t know her name, but I’ve seen her at the country club. She works there,’ said Liam. ‘It’s all very interesting. Maybe…’

‘What?’

‘He did have a reputation; I’m sure you’re aware of that.’

Moira tensed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Charlie was a bit of a lad.’

Moira stared ahead in silence; what did he know?

‘You know we were mates,’ he continued as he began to walk towards the carpark. ‘He wasn’t happy on the home front, and he certainly had an eye for the ladies. He’d tell me things over a drink or two after work.’

‘Like what?’

‘Ah, you know… boys’ talk.’ 

They walked between two bollards towards their car, the butterflies returning to Moira’s belly.

‘I have to say,’ continued Liam, ‘there were times when I’d seen his eyes wander in your direction too.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Moira, trying to control her breathing.

‘But he knew not to stab me in the back,’ said Liam, glancing sideways at his wife. ‘He knew I’d kill him if he did.’

Moira felt a chill go up her spine. Was he toying with her? She thought of the car salesman who sold him a lemon a few years ago and how he was nearly blown to bits soon after, along with the office he worked in.

‘Yeah,’ he went on. ‘And you’ve heard the rumours…’

‘What rumours?’

‘Mysterious person rings 000, when they found him almost naked in a hotel.’

‘I may have heard something about that, but I didn’t take any notice.’

‘Yep, there was more to Charlie than we may have thought.’

Moira’s heart was pounding. Where was he going with this?

‘I shouldn’t really tell you this…’

‘What?’

‘Next weekend, the workers convention at Iluka Bay Resort…’

‘You haven’t said anything about a weekend away for work.’

‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘So you had no idea about it either?’

‘Of course not! Why would you even ask that?’

‘Forget it,’ he snapped. ‘But what I know now is that Charlie was registered in some turnout up the coast; I took his word for it and signed off on it. I’m sure Glenda knew all about it.’

‘I’m not following…’

‘Turns out I trusted him a bit too much… the convention never existed. I don’t want to say any more right now, especially since Charlie’s not here to defend himself, but he played me for a fool.’

Her mind went into overdrive; she remembered Charlie telling her that he might have to go away for a couple of days, just some boring family business he needed to sort out. What was he really up to?

Liam’s words had unsettled her. She breathed deeply to compose herself and slowly her heartbeat settled down. She continued to think things through, settling on the notion that Liam couldn’t have had a clue about her and Charlie. They’d both been so careful to cover their tracks. 

Up until then, Moira had been reluctant to spend any more time at the wake than necessary. She had intended to be seen and stay for an acceptable length of time before leaving, all the while steering clear of Glenda. But now things were different, and her focus had shifted. She knew Charlie was a cheating bastard, but maybe he was even worse than she thought.

‘So, you still need to visit the ladies?’ asked Liam as they got near his car.

‘Mm? Oh, no I think I’ll be okay until we get there.’

The car rolled out the exit and accelerated away. Liam was at the wheel, stopping and starting though the heavy traffic. Moira couldn’t wait to find out what was on the piece paper and as they passed the wide frontages in the leafy streets of this part of town, she dipped her hand into her handbag. When she thought Liam was concentrating on the stream of red break lights in front, she pulled out the paper and flattened it out. Her eyes widened and her mouth was agape as she read it over again.

‘What’s that?’ asked Liam. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Er… it’s nothing… just a receipt from something I bought weeks ago.’

She screwed up the paper again and tossed it back into her handbag. It was a receipt for two nights at the Baywater Majestic booked for next weekend in Rachel Abbott’s name. And at the bottom was a hand-written note. Dear Charlie, I can’t wait XXX.

That was her hotel, the one she went to with Charlie!  It was their hidden gem near the water on the other side of town. She had never really cared for Charlie other than for what he gave her in private. Now he was dead and she was glad. She just needed to get through the next few weeks for things to get back to normal.