The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1522 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

When I recovered, an hour or so later plus a cuppa, I discovered that the school choir had done the Faure Requiem at Easter, and as Sister Maria wanted the school represented at the funeral, she had them practicing it for the days leading up to their gig at the crematorium.

Something I hadn’t bargained on was the press being there–well, the story of Billie’s death was in the local rag–so I suppose it was to be expected. The reporter, a young woman was blown away by the choral ending to the service and spoke with Sister Maria afterwards.

I saw the article in the paper the following day when Stella came home with it.

‘It was a tragedy, a young woman out with her mother for a bike ride when she lost control of her bicycle going down the notorious Portsdown hill crashed and died from her injuries.

The Camerons are great supporters of the school, having three other girls attending there and it appears the school is an equally good supporter of the Cameron family, demonstrating it in such an exquisite form and making everyone who was there come away remember the funeral for a very long time and of course, remembering the unfortunate young woman in whose name it was performed. Requiescat in pace, Billie.'

By normal standards, the author was both more erudite and accurate in her reporting and thank goodness there was no mention of miracles or absence of the same.

Going back to the aftermath of the funeral, Henry, who I hadn’t noticed at the funeral, arranged for refreshments at the nearest pub, which had a function room–thankfully. Somehow, Simon and Henry had half carried me back to the car and let me rest there in peace and quiet. When I recovered, I was taken to the refreshments, to say thanks to Sister Maria and the girls for their magnificent rendition of the requiem. Okay, I’ve heard better from professional choirs, but the poignancy was memorable and the motivation very laudable.

I tidied myself up as best I could in Henry’s Mercedes and was led by Simon to the function room at the pub. The whole place, which was buzzing with conversation, went quiet as we entered, me clinging to Simon’s arm and probably looking every bit as much of a wreck as I felt.

I was led around the room by Simon, shaking hands and thanking everyone who’d attended. Everyone said that they would miss her and there were many red looking eyes glistening with fresh tears. I’d never realised how much people liked her, she was such a quiet thing at home–but then with Trish about–most people would seem quiet.

After a quick cup of tea, I thanked everyone for coming, and Henry took the children and me home. The donations in lieu of flowers raised several hundred pounds and we had that sent to Mermaids, a self help group for the families of transgender children.

On the same day as the newspaper report of the funeral, which would be the day after it, Sister Maria came to see me. She wanted to know how I was–I showed her–a total mess, and to see how the other children were dealing with it.

They were less buoyant than usual but certainly not as depressed as I felt, which is normal–children are egocentric and as such see the world as orbiting their suns–whereas parents are aware of the multiple galaxies represented by their children. In one of mine, a significant star had gone out, and it showed.

Sister Maria presented me with a bouquet of flowers, which Trish immediately snaffled and went to arrange, almost before I could say thank you to their generous donor.

“Thank you again for the choir, it set the thing off magnificently. What a shame the only person who didn’t hear it was the one they performed it for.” I felt tears in my eyes.

“Ah well that’s where I’m at an advantage–I believe she did hear it as she ascended up to heaven.”

“I won’t argue with you, Sister Maria, but I think we’ll have to agree to differ, nice as your belief is–it still doesn’t resonate with me.”

“You’re entitled to your beliefs as much as anyone else, Lady Cameron. We stopped sending the inquisition round many years ago, you know.”

“Please don’t get me started on that one, and for goodness sake don’t mention it to Simon.”

“Why? Is he a scholar of the mediaeval period?”

“Not as far as I know, but he is of Monty Python, and one word about it will get you the whole sketch performed from memory.”

“Oh dear.”

“Sadly, a case of arrested development,” I offered, and she chuckled. She stayed for a cup of tea by which time, Trish had turned her offering of flowers into a wet mess on the kitchen floor–she dropped the vase lifting it off the draining board. Julie helped her to clean it up and Trish started again with her creative floral task.

She produced the second vase and we both commented upon her creative genius and how beautiful the flowers looked. I suppose both were actually true, the flowers were lovely and Trish’s arrangement showed that she had some bent for arranging them.

Puddin’ walked by muttering in robotic style, “Oh poo, I dropped it,” which she had obviously heard emanating from the kitchen and her elder cousin.

“Does she always do this?” asked Sister Maria, referring to Puddin’s ability to act like a mobile Dictaphone.

“Not always, but it’s quite common, and like most children, she only does it when any of us say something we don’t really want anyone else to hear.”

“Isn’t it ever thus,” sighed Sister Maria and quoted a few experiences of her own with either her sister’s children or those relating to children she was teaching. Her stories were very funny, especially the way she told them, and for a short time I forgot my grief and enjoyed myself.

She rose to leave and we hugged. “If you need to talk, feel free to drop by the school anytime,” she said, and I thanked her.

“Don’t forget, that the best way to remember Billie is to get on with your life and those of your children. Like Mrs Cunningham said, “Billie’s time with you was the happiest of her entire life. You did your best for her and she appreciated it. Now do your best for the others and for yourself. You’re lucky, you have a large family which you can actually afford to spoil. Do so, but don’t tell anyone I said so.” She winked, and left leaving me feeling a little better, but still with a residual sadness which I had a feeling was going to be with me for a long time.

(For those who haven’t seen the Spanish Inquisiton sketch, try the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uprjmoSMJ-o )