The Flared Black Skirt

By Annie-Louise Buswell

With the pressure mounting and only months left, her precision driven, faultless, pregnant boss wants Annie to be nothing short of a perfectionist in this new career.
Cremation or burial?
Church or chapel?
Celebrant or priest?
Coffin, flowers and music choices?
Have you got the GMO?
Where is the DC?
Don’t forget the BDM!
And the hearse needs a wash!
Not only does Annie need to quickly learn to ask all the hard questions while supporting a grieving family, but also to be behind the scenes of a busy and demanding funeral directors’ business, all at the same time.
However, while painstakingly and meticulously getting more confident in her new role, a family tragedy finds Annie having to deal with much more than possibly imaginable, while continuing to be professional and caring to her grieving families and drive the hearse in the bloody high heels!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781528999687

Annie-Louise Buswell

Annie-Louise Buswell was born in Melbourne in 1959. She has been in love with books and reading for as long as she could remember. With true life events being her favourite reads, she decided to put pen to paper in her late 50s and record some of her own. The Flared Black Skirt is her first novel. She has two amazing children and the Nana of seven more grandchildren at the time of publishing! Although inspired by true stories, the events and characters portrayed have been created for dramatic effect and is based loosely on the author’s real-life adventures.

Book preview

About the Author

Annie-Louise Buswell was born in Melbourne in 1959. She has been in love with books and reading for as long as she could remember.

With true life events being her favourite reads, she decided to put pen to paper in her late 50s and record some of her own. The Flared Black Skirt is her first novel.

She has two amazing children and the Nana of seven more grandchildren at the time of publishing!

Although inspired by true stories, the events and characters portrayed have been created for dramatic effect and is based loosely on the author’s real-life adventures.

Dedication

For my sister.

You had faith in me that I didn’t.

I wish you were still here to see it!

You said I would be great.

Copyright Information ©

Annie-Louise Buswell 2022

The right of Annie-Louise Buswell to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528999670 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528999687 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Chapter 1

Oh God!

I should tell them.

I should say something.

I feel so sick.

It’s bad. It’s really, really bad.

Taking a deep breath slowly through my nose, the air is hot and lifeless. Lightheaded and dizzy, I stare out of the window again. Squeezing my clammy palms together and trying to focus on the view is hopeless. The sight is a wash of coloured flashes. Every now and then, in between the streaky gaps, I glimpse at something familiar, something that gives me an inkling of where I am. A sign. A building. A bridge.

I continue sitting very still, stubbornly choosing to say absolutely nothing, and keeping my mouth firmly snapped shut!

My eyes, staring.

My head, regretting.

I hate this road, this route to the city. I always have. Why do they call it a freeway when it is not free at all? It is congested and blocked, and everyone, every day is impatient. Cars, vans, utes, trucks and the risk-taking motorbikes darting between lanes with millimetres to spare, in and out, hoping to get there a fraction of a second faster.

‘Slow run in, congestion, traffic incident here, breakdown there,’ the radio announcer has no relief in his regular traffic updates. A semi-trailer, almost the size of a small house, blocks my side view again and I redirect my gaze out the front, head spinning and achy. The bright red of brake lights are forever flashing on and off, appearing and disappearing in every lane, traffic starting and stopping, accelerating and braking, over and over.

It’s so hot. My bum is stuck like glue to the seat.

My empty stomach flips over again, dizzy waves through my head. Little cracks deepen into large trenches above my brow with every breath more rapid than before.

Almost panting now, my heartbeat is pounding in my temples.

Throbbing.

Thumping.

Today is unnervingly unlike anything I have ever felt before.

I am getting confused, questioning myself over and over.

Is it the heat or the traffic?

Is it the constant accelerating and braking?

Maybe my empty stomach?

I am sitting in the back seat.

I hate the back seat!

Instantly, hundreds of sweat beads are gathering on the back of my neck and I feel my stomach cramp up again.

OK, I should tell them.

Yeah?

Now, you crazy woman! Now!

But I don’t.

I sit still and swallow the unpleasant substance that has gathered for a party in my mouth.

Yuk! Oh!

Staring again out of the window, my driver is excellent, alert and attentive, but I clearly hear her cursing comments at her fellow drivers throughout the journey. The radio announcer continues the updates of the morning congestion. I wish he would just shut up! I try and slide down into the sticky seat and take another slow deep breath. Leaning forward, I slip my right shoe off and rub my toes trying desperately to keep my gaze looking forward at the same time. The seat belt pulls across my empty tummy, squishing it, and I immediately sit up again, the party back in my mouth, I’m feeling worse than ever.

I really should say something!

Now!

Oh God.

I try and open my mouth to speak. I shut it instantly for fear of more than words coming out. Some cool air hits my face, I think from the car air conditioner vent but it’s definitely not enough. Nowhere near. My hair, drenched from perspiration, sticks flat against my skin. I must look a sight! A hot flush spreads through my body like an electric surge. Hundreds of butterflies are partying wildly in my tummy. Oh hell. I’m being silly. I should tell them, now! I glance at the temperature gauge on the dash. It shows 36 degrees. Suddenly, without any warning, the seatbelt tightens itself across my chest and tummy. I lurch heavily forward against it. The butterflies in my tummy push up towards my throat.

Arrrrrrr…!

I hear a car horn. Louder now, and again! My eyes dart between the front seats and out the front windscreen to see what’s happening. Just for a moment, I forgot my horrendous situation. Extremely loud and very colourful language projects like vomit from my driver! I’m still leaning forward against the seatbelt as I realise that I cannot breathe. My head is going to explode! Stomach contents about to burst out!

Ohhhhhh!!!

One more second and my driver releases the brake, my seatbelt loosens with immense relief. The tightness is gone. I take a huge gulp of hot air.

Oh…breathe.

‘Is the baby OK?’ comes an inquiring voice from the passenger front seat.

Shit! SHIT! SHITTTTTT!

I gasp, holding my breath again!

Holy, shit! The baby!

My head jerks right so fast it hurt.

Oh no!

My hand shoots out and onto the small white box nestled next to me on the seat. With overwhelming relief and the worst headache ever, I answer.

‘All good,’ I replied, ‘all…good.’

I run my hand over the small white box. Surprised how smooth and cool it is. It is safe. Safe and sound.

But, I don’t feel safe. I feel dizzy, sick, scared, overwhelmed and terrified. Closing my eyes, I feel trapped.

What the hell am I doing?

Where am I going?

Why am I here?

Am I bloody crazy?

And my feet are fucking killing me!

Chapter 2

Six weeks ago, I was a disability support worker. I loved my job. I was in control. I was very happy. However, with new management restructure, the position I had been in for over 13 years was thrown upside down overnight. I never dreamed I would be researching the internet to rewrite my out-of-date resume. However, this brand-new job had a completely new list of key selection criteria for me to address. This was a whole new ball game for this 56-year-old. I needed a new cover letter too and it had to be professional. With virtually no knowledge of the funeral industry, I googled away, reading everything I could find for my new position. I had no idea there were so many new and exciting tasks as well as a whole new language I will need to learn. I was keen and ready.

I’m not too old for a change, yeah?

Staring blankly at the TV, I am unable to relax. The couch is hard and the cushions are lumpy. I have no idea what I am watching. It is 6:30 pm and I have been home for just over an hour. I can’t remember the drive home, which is bad, really bad. I’m questioning my decision after my very first day.

I cannot seem to take any of it in.

My mind is all over the place, confused.

I am exhausted, mentally and emotionally.

My first day was certainly not physical at all, however, the information overload had my brain doing a half marathon!

Since I walked through the door, my husband has been educated by my newly acquired funeral knowledge bubbling over and spilling from me like a scared but animated child. And it is only the first day. My boss has just scratched the surface with me and the feeling is overwhelming. The enthusiasm soon turns to heaviness as I ponder on all of today’s information, still knowing that there is so much more to come. Mountains of new facts, new tasks and a whole new language of the funeral industry still to enter my tiny little 56-year-old brain!

***

Looking back, the morning routine was a total blur. The black flared skirt and heels may look great but I am awkward. I can feel it. Standing five foot eight inches, I’m pretty tall and in these heels, now five foot 11 inches, I feel slightly clumsy. In fact, I am clumsy. I have two left feet. No hiding it! And it has been a long time, possibly over 30 years, since I needed to wear heels and pantyhose to work!

‘Don’t trip getting into the car,’ I keep repeating to myself over and over until I’m safely strapped in my car.

‘So here goes Annie, your first day in your new job, and it just happens to be a baby funeral.’ I tell myself confidently. I talk to myself a lot.

Easy! No!

All of a sudden, I’m in a sweat.

My heart is racing.

I’m squeezing the steering wheel.

I’m holding my breath.

This is bizarre!

This feels crazy!

I am crazy!

‘Oh for goodness sake get a grip, Annie!’

I’m still sitting in the garage!

***

My brain is frazzled, when I eventually arrive at the funeral home for my first funeral service that very morning. The 40-minute drive had me quizzing and second-guessing myself over and over. I have clammy armpits and a sweaty back in anticipation of the day’s events. The temperature has already climbed to 27 degrees and as I swing my bag over my shoulder, I walk nervously through the front door of my new employment office. At least I look the part, prepared for the day in my new shoes and new black flared skirt.

Susan, my new employer, was very specific!

The black flared skirt was a very precise requirement that I had to purchase as the uniform for the funeral services. ‘It must be flared. You must be able to spread your legs around the graves!’

Spread my legs?

Was that what she said?

What is she thinking?

What does she mean?

And what did she say again about a pencil skirt and a nine-foot hole…?

Oh hell, and I am the clumsiest person in the world.

Burials! Of course, we do those! I hadn’t thought about burials.

How many of those do we do?

And in heels?

***

Susan and Bharti welcome me to the funeral home, my first day and my new work environment. It was all very familiar as I had been here for my interview taken on the tour back then!

However, my mind is far from the tour and my flared black skirt as I stand awkwardly staring at the small white coffin sitting on the table in front of me. Susan did mention to me something about a baby funeral when she called me the day before. ‘Might as well throw you in the deep end,’ was Susan’s casual instruction for me to start on my first day. I was certainly not prepared for this. Who would be on their first day of work in a new job? Even this one?

I stood there just staring, baffled, confused and lost. Boy was I lost!

Lost in my feelings of discomfort and apprehension.

Voices. Were there some voices? I hear voices?

‘Annie. Annie? You’ve got time for a cup of tea,’ Bharti struggles to get my attention from my incomprehension of the tiny box. Bharti is Susan’s right-hand girl and does all the bookkeeping, assists on the funerals and is a whiz in the mortuary apparently!

‘Eh, tea? Yes, please!’ Oh God, I’m useless. Where’s my brain?

I turn towards her and the steaming kettle. Demandingly loud meowing coming from under the table distracts me immediately. I met Chilli, the funeral home cat, on the day of my interview curled up on the couch in the chapel. The fluffy ginger tabby adopted her new home over three years ago and has never left. She lives very comfortably under the table with a never-ending food supply and lots of hugs and kisses every day by cat lovers, Susan and Bharti. Chilli is very spoilt! She has now found a new pair of legs in the office, which just happen to be mine, and is rubbing herself all over them as I pick up the kettle.

‘We will be heading out in 15 minutes to meet up with a small family gathering at the cemetery for simple baby service. Have a quick cup of tea.’ Bharti heads back to her desk and computer with her coffee.

A simple baby service?

What does that mean? I pour the hot water over the teabag.

I have so many questions already and my brain is starting to spin with not just the confronting little box sitting on the table but the whole setup here at the funeral home and we are leaving in ten minutes! Chilli is purring and meowing at the same time. I bend down to scratch her head.

Wondering?

Thinking?

Questioning?

I am one of those women who think too much.

Is this a good idea for me in the funeral industry?

There are folders spread over the table next to the baby coffin. Three more services are booked for the week: two cremations and a burial. I look up at the whiteboard on the wall with all the services listed for the coming week.

I will be helping out on them all I am told, as I need to get to know everything about this job pretty damn fast. Susan’s pregnant and her baby bump is growing by the minute.

My thoughts are all over the place.

What will I need to do?

What I will be confronted with at the service today?

Will I be able to do this job?

Will I say the wrong thing?

Will I be able to walk in these heels?

Oh…suddenly…I feel sick.

I am abruptly distracted again when Bharti has appeared and asked me if I would like to see the baby.

The baby?

Confused at first with her question, I wasn’t sure what she meant, then it clicked! She meant the baby!

Gosh, where has my brain gone again?

Chilli is meowing loudly requesting more and curling around my ankles as I stop caressing her. I am hesitant in answering Bharti but then say, ‘OK!’ with a small element of curiosity.

I’m in this business; I have to be able to deal with every aspect.

Bharti opened the lid carefully.

Was I prepared for what I saw?

Short answer. No!

Inside dressed in a teeny tiny cream gown and swaddled in a pink bunny rug was a very small baby girl.

So, so miniature. I lean just slightly towards the box.

I was speechless and for me, that’s quite difficult!

Bharti puts the lid back on and seals it up. I stand there stiff. Then shaking my head, questions emerge like bubbles out of my brain. But I stay quiet.

I think about our gathering with the grieving parents today.

What do you say to a mother and father that have lost their baby?

What words do you use to ease their grief? Losing a baby is…well…arr…

See I can’t even find the right words here.

It’s just the…arrrrh. There are no words!

None!

Unphased, Bharti pops a mint into her mouth from the huge jar on the table and heads back to her desk.

I am left alone again for a moment so I silently sip the hot tea and purposely look around the office, diverting my eyes from the white box. I just don’t want to look back at the tiny little coffin.

Awkwardly, I stand at the table and flip open the folder in front of me.

Reading through a funeral agreement for the following day, I start to squirm in my new shoes. The heels are higher than I am used too. The day is heating up quickly and even though I love my tea, today it tastes bitter. I don’t really understand what I’m reading and close the folder again.

My first day.

A baby funeral.

Oh hell!

In the bathroom, I straighten my new black flared skirt, flick off any loose cat hairs and check my hair and lipstick.

I take a deep breath.

A baby funeral.

It rolls around in my head, over and over.

Oh…

But there’s no time for thinking. I take a deep breath. Before I know it, Susan and Bharti have rounded me up. They are calm, composed and ready.

Is it the mints they have both popped in their mouths on walking out the door? Rolling the cool mint over my tongue is doing nothing for me except feeding the butterflies in my tummy. With the seatbelt stretched tight, I try and settle in for the long drive to the cemetery. On our way, Susan gives me a pep talk.

‘You’ll get this. You will. Believe me. You have confidence, you are professional and you have the right chemistry. I know it. I’ll just have to mould and tweak you!’

In the back seat, right next to me, is the tiny white coffin.

I certainly don’t feel like moulding and tweaking right now!

Chapter 3

Staring out of my side window I am so relieved that we have nearly arrived at our destination. However, I am feeling only slightly better. The traffic has eased some and