Free Unexplained Laughter by Alice Thomas Ellis

She had wanted to ask the Molesworths too, but Lydia wouldn’t let her. ‘There are some people,’ Lydia had said, ‘who, as it were, belong in my house, and there are some that I can tolerate. And then there are those than whom I would rather have mice, and into this latter category fall the Molesworths.’ She had not spoken so elaborately for some time, and Betty knew the warning signs; so, whereas with anyone else she would have appealed to their better nature, in this case she held her tongue.
    ‘I’m going to make some cheese straws,’ she said, ‘and maybe fry some onion rings. I’d get some sausages, but I don’t know what’s in them.’
    ‘Pure pig,’ said Lydia. ‘That’s pig lips, pig toenails, pig . . .’
    ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Betty.
    Beuno said, ‘There’s a funeral in the church tomorrow.’
    ‘Someone must have died,’ said Lydia. She had wakened in the night with the fear of death upon her and was presently inclined to a harsh and flippant approach to the subject.
    ‘That is usually the case when a funeral is planned,’ said Beuno.
    ‘Yes,’ said Lydia, ‘a funeral would feel pointless without a body. I like funerals. They’re so much more satis factorily final and distinguished than weddings; and christenings always fill me with great unease and pessi mism and I don’t like sugared almonds.’
    ‘I think weddings are the worst,’ said Beuno. ‘There’s always someone with their fingers crossed. I think it’s usually the mother of the groom. What will I do when I have to officiate at one? I shall have to have a long talk with the Lord beforehand.’
    ‘And the bride and groom,’ said Lydia. ‘You’ll have to invite them into the vicarage and try and dissuade them, and then when they’re stubborn you’ll have to elaborate on the Christian concept of matrimony.’
    ‘The Lord will provide,’ said Beuno. ‘Did I tell you how people die in this valley?’ he asked.
    ‘Do they have a special mode?’ asked Lydia.
    ‘They put clean nightdresses on, and they straighten their bed, and then they lie down with their hands crossed on their chest. I see it like this. The Angel of Death looks in and he says: “You’ve got five minutes to get your clean nightdress on, and arrange your effects, and put the cat out, and tear up that compromising letter, and then I’ll be back for you.” And instead of arguing about it – they do.’
    ‘I wonder if I would?’ mused Lydia. ‘Or would I start screaming that I’d left a soufflé in the oven, or forgotten to get the coat back from the cleaners, or I was too young to die . . .’
    ‘Die?’ asked Dr Wyn with professional interest, manoeuvring himself and April over the stepping-stones.
    ‘Hi,’ said Lydia. ‘Go on up to the cottage while I get my shoes on.’ She whispered to Beuno that they must both be very boring now, very staid, because she utterly refused to amuse Dr Wyn. She thought that it was odd that she should be so certain of Beuno’s allegiance with her against one of his countrymen, but she had no doubts of him. ‘I didn’t know April was coming,’ she said. ‘I don’t think we asked her.’
    ‘He’ll drag her round everywhere for a time,’ said Beuno, ‘and then he’ll get sick of her, or find some other girl who takes his fancy. He’s been doing it for years. You may not have noticed, but there’s an awful lot of bachelors in the valley. Their mothers tell them no one is good enough for them. It happens in rural communities.’
    Lydia watched Betty ushering the guests into the cottage. ‘If you see me drinking too much,’ she said to Beuno, ‘you must tie up my throat like a cormorant, or I shall start speaking wildly.’
    ‘Wyn disapproves of me,’ said Beuno. ‘He thinks the ministry is an affectation and a waste of time, and on the other hand he thinks priests should be very good, and he doesn’t think I am because he’s known me for so long, so he’s annoyed with me. He’ll probably