The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1272 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I did not want to wake up or worse still, open my aching eyes. I hadn’t taken my makeup off properly because Si was in such a rush to get to bed–and yes it was a good night–I was still sore and my eyelashes were all stuck together where the mascara had clogged up. My own fault, but that didn’t make it any less nuisance.

Trish and Livvie were poking me and asking me to wake up–how I didn’t blast them verbally or physically, shows how inhibited I am. Why couldn’t they annoy Simon?

“Mummy, Mummmmmmeeeee, can we order breakfast?”

Order breakfast? Just wait and I’ll get up and come down and get it. What are they on about? I prised open my one eye and remembered we weren’t at home, we were in the hotel. I poked Simon none too gently.

“Ow, Cathy, why have you got such sharp elbows?”

“All the better to poke you with.”

“I thought that only applied to eyes and teeth?”

“It was next on the list, but wolf elbows are fairly insignificant compared to women’s.”

“I can believe it.”

“I could of course just bite your leg off, like a wolf would.”

“No thanks.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“No, the children have ordered you sushi from the room service menu.”

“Thanks, I’ll have it lat... They what?” He sat bolt upright, “I can’t stand raw fish, unless it’s salmon and has been smoked very carefully over oak chips.”

“The original fish and chips, eh?”

“Quite. Now which of you two ordered me raw fish?” He accused the two girls.

“We didn’t, but we’d like some breakfast, Daddy.”

“That’s your mother’s job---wife,” he poked me, “see to it.”

I staggered out of bed and into the bathroom, where after relieving myself and washing my hands, I managed to unclog my eyelashes and see what was going on about me. Two waifs, still in their pyjamas stood waiting expectantly. “What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock,” said Trish looking at her watch. Livvie grabbed her wrist and examined the watch and nodded. It was half term, and I suppose they had given me an hour’s lie in. I gave each of them a cold wet flannel and told them to go and wash their father. They ran off giggling. I jumped in the shower and locked the bathroom door.

Simon had calmed down by the time I’d finished showering and drying my hair. He’d also ordered breakfast for all the kids plus a full English for himself and a poached egg and toast for me, with lashings of tea.

We departed the hotel at nearly ten when I remembered I had a funeral to attend with Danny. He was in Jenny’s car as we drove home so I asked Trish to call him on his mobile and remind him. He hadn’t forgotten–not completely.

I left Jenny and Stella to organise lunch–Simon had to go to work–Stella showed up just before Danny and I left. Danny wore his school blazer over his new shirt and trousers and looked quite smart. I wore the YSL suit with a white blouse and blue court shoes. I was reminded that I had agreed to say something at the funeral though I hadn’t had time to write anything down–oops, this was going to be an improvisation. Just as well I’d had some practice with a few hundred students.

We drove to the crematorium and parked, it was quarter to twelve. If I’d had some paper I could have thought about something to say and written it down, but it was too late and I’d have to do what I could as I could.

We entered the crematorium and were met by Julian Sangster, “Lady Cameron, how nice to see you again and looking very elegant as always and this is?”

“This is my son, Danny, who actually attended the school where Mr Whitehead taught.”

“So you knew him, then?”

“Yes, sir,” said Danny, shyly.

“And you’re still happy to say something?” Sangster asked me.

“Yes, but only for a couple of minutes.”

“Great–ah, here’s our funeral director, Mr Grace and the master of ceremonies, Mr Baxter.” He introduced me to both as next of kin which I suppose I was technically, but only because the deceased had said so.

“Have you known him long?” asked Mr Baxter who was a humanist funeral organiser.

“He taught me English in the third form.”

“What down here?”

“No, in Bristol.”

“Oh, I thought he taught at a boy’s school.”

“I was the only girl there.”

His eyes widened, “Oh, you learn something new every day.” He looked at his folder, “I’ll do the intros and so on and keep it all to time, we have an ex colleague to say something about him as a teacher, perhaps you can say something about him on a personal level? Max time I can give you is about four minutes–that okay?”

“Fine.” When I was in school we had to do off the cuff talks on a subject of the teacher’s whim–like boiling an egg or polishing shoes. It wasn’t Whitehead in that class, sadly, it was one of the other English teachers who didn’t like me. I was told to talk for five minutes on doing a manicure on myself. As I’d done this for the Lady Macbeth period, I stood there and told them. I got barracked by some whilst others actually gave me positive feedback, saying I had more guts than they did. So I had some experience of dealing with awkward moments.

The celebration, not service, as out MC pointed out, went well–at least I thought so, the colleague was the Headmaster of Danny’s school and he spoke well saying what an excellent and dedicated teacher Whitehead was and how his sacrifice at the school was typical of him.

The celebrant then spoke about death and read some poetry and then something from another text before calling on me. “Our next speaker is Lady Catherine Cameron, who is a former pupil of Alexander Whitehead. Lady Cameron.”

I was acutely aware of my clip clopping as I walked to the front of the crowd. The place was absolutely packed. Okay, here goes.

“As Mr Baxter said, I’m a former pupil of Mr Whitehead’s but I’m not going to speak about that, save to say he was an honest and courageous man who did what he thought was right even when he was very much on his own against corrupt systems.

“I was there when he was stabbed.” There was a gasp from the congregation. “We’d had a very frank and honest discussion about a misunderstanding that had occurred earlier in the day. We cleared it up and were walking to our cars when we were confronted by the two thugs who killed him.

“He pushed me away and told me to run, he knew they were up to no good and tried to delay them to let me get away. One of them subsequently stabbed him, the other who came after me, I managed to disable with a lucky blow.

“He was man of principle who was prepared to put his life on the line to defend his beliefs. I saw him do this time and time again, standing up for the underdog when it wasn’t really in his interests to do so. He is someone for whom I have enormous personal respect, and whose life was cut short standing up to the violence and bullying against which he’d campaigned all his life.

“Although the case against the perpetrators is pretty conclusive, it seems wrong that a great man’s life is ended by someone who wasn’t fit to polish his shoes. But then that is perhaps the irony of life, our existence is ultimately futile, but during it, those of us who are so minded, try to do some good before we journey to oblivion. Alexander Whitehead,” I said facing the coffin, “thank you for the good you did while you were able, I shall try to follow your example and exhort everyone here to do the same. Thank you.”

I walked back to my seat and put my arm round Danny. “That was great, Mummy,” he said, tears running down his face.

The committal took place and after the coffin disappeared behind the curtain, we were led out through the side door, where people walked past and shook hands with Mr Baxter the funeral director and me–why me?

People formed groups and chatted, many obviously knew each other. The Headmaster came and spoke to me and thanked me for my bit and I did the same to him. Then someone approached me from behind.

“Ah, Watts, I thought it was you–still in skirts then?” I looked into the ice cold eyes and felt sick.