The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2140 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Why is it always me they ask to read the lesson?” I asked no one in particular. Callum and his mother had gone and we were dining with Mrs Cuddy and Mr Dunstan at my behest. We were sitting in the nicest restaurant in Perth and I was getting the bill–well on Simon’s card. I’d ordered a very nice tuna jacket and salad. Danni had accused me of always eating the same, then she had a burger and chips while our two guests explored some Italian dish with chicken. I must admit I nearly succumbed to the tuna pasta bake but decided after eating David’s version of it, no one else would come close to it–hence the half dressed spud.

“I would suggest you have a lovely reading voice, ma’am,” offered Dunstan.

“How would you know, Mr Dunstan, what have you heard me read?”

“I once listened to you read to your daughters when you were here before, it was very guid, if I say so myself.”

“Aye ye’ve a bonny voice an’ ye’re used tae public speakin’ when ye’re lecturin’, we heard ye on the television,” Mrs Cuddy added. Teach me to ask silly questions–no it won’t, I seem to specialise in them.

“Whit is the readin’, ma’am?” asked Dunstan.

“Um–I have it here, Matthew seven verses one to twelve.”

“I ken why they asked ye tae read that,” smiled Mrs Cuddy.

“I have a feeling which one that is too,” I said hoping I had the right one.

“Aye weel, we’ll find oot later, won’t we?”

“We will indeed, Mrs Cuddy.”

“Which one is it, Mummy?” asked Danni.

“I’ll show you when we get home.”

She shrugged her curiosity piqued. Trish or Livvie might well have recognised it and if I was right, it was quite appropriate for the occasion.

I was tired that night and despite being away from home I slept well and woke at seven in the morning feeling refreshed. The morning was dreary–it was Scotland–and I suppose my mood wasn’t filled with sunshine considering why we were there.

I dressed in a jeans and sweater and made my way down for breakfast. Danni was already there eating a huge bowl of cornflakes. I asked Mrs Cuddy for toast and received some with a poached egg on top of it. When I looked to protest she gave me an old fashioned look and I surrendered and ate it. It was delicious as was the tea I drank to wash it down.

The service was at eleven and Paul was coming to collect us at ten thirty, the church not being far from the castle. I knew what I was wearing to the service and and Danni knew what she was wearing too. I did warn her that she should use waterproof mascara because she might have a few tears and she nodded, not far from them already.

After chatting for a little and reading the Guardian for a while I repaired to my room to shower and change. I decided to leave my hair down and just combed it after drying it. Then I dressed in my silk blouse with a pinstripe of thinner material woven in the garment, the collar was rounded on the ends and bore a slight frill as did the cuffs. Over this I pulled on the wool and silk mixture of a grey skirt and then the jacket. It would do–it was Chanel–so I supposed it would. Over the tights I wore I drew up the black leather boots with their three inch heels, given the coolness of the morning I decided I’d keep my feet warm in the draughty old church.

I kept my makeup and jewellery simple, my sapphire necklace and earrings, the ones my mother left me and which matched my ring. By ten I was ready after a quick squirt of No5–well it seemed to go with the suit and blouse and was the only perfume I’d brought with me.

Knocking on Danni’s door I went to see how she was doing–not well. She was sitting on the bed in the dress and leggings as we’d agreed but she’d been crying. I went and sat with her. “What’s the matter, darling?” I asked putting my arm round her.

“I was thinking of Billie and couldn’t stop crying.”

“I’m sure your sister would be very pleased that you thought of her, but she’s in a better place now and we need to sort you out or we’re going to be late and as Lady of the Estate, that would be very poor behaviour.

“Okay,” she said blowing her nose in the tissue I gave her.

“You can stay home if you’d prefer, Alice would understand.”

“No, I’m coming–I have to be there.”

“C’mon then, let’s sort your face out.” I handed her a facecloth I’d run under the cold tap and she held it to her eyes for a few minutes to try and cool them down. After patting dry, I used just a touch of grey shadow to her upper lids and then some mascara to her lashes. She did her lip gloss herself, a pale pink. I tidied her hair and she gave herself a squirt of her cologne–you don’t give thirteen year olds expensive perfumes–and the one she had she chose herself from John Lewis.

The temperature was quite cold and I decided to wear my coat, and she buttoned hers up while we waited for Paul with Mrs Cuddy and Mr Dunstan, clutching our bags and in my case a copy of the King James Bible–I’m sure William Tyndale would have been pleased.

The church was quite full when we arrived, although we could have used a side entrance which would have taken us into the choir and bypassed the hoi polloi, I chose to walk in from the west door, holding Danni’s hand as our heels clicked on the stone flooring. The murmur followed us as we moved towards the altar, “Is that yon Laird’s wife–pretty girl,” was one comment I did register and I didn’t know if it referred to me or Danni–probably her.

I wanted to sit with the congregation to show solidarity with them because I approved of them being there but the church was quite full and we couldn’t have sat at the back–it wouldn’t have been proper. So, much to my discomfort, we were led to two rather nice chairs which were just below the choir, Danni and I sat there and Paul sat behind us, we were thus sideways on to the congregation.

The minister who was going to run the show came and spoke to me and I asked him if I might say a few words as well as the lesson. He stepped back in surprise, “If ye’d like too, Lady Cameron, I’m sure the folk would like to hear them.”

“I don’t wish to steal your thunder,” I offered I hoped as conciliation.

“Don’t worry ye’self about that,” he said, “I’m always glad to share the burden.”

The small organ started and we all rose, Callum entered the church and carrying a photo of Alice and wreath of roses walked solemnly to a small table between us and the altar and laid them there. Danni was already sniffing and I handed her another tissue.

The minister started it with a prayer for the soul of the departed and then said this wasn’t a funeral but a celebration of a person who was much loved in the community, and the tragedy was that few would ever have known the real person.

There were one or two readings by estate workers and Callum’s mum read beautifully a letter Callum had written to his deceased friend. I really had to hold back the tears at that.

Some more of Alice’s favourite music, some Scottish group I’d never heard of, then it was my turn. “I’ll ask the Lady Cameron to read the lesson and to say a few words efter it,” the minister nodded at me and I rose and walked to the lectern having taken my coat off earlier, it had become warmer than I’d expected.

It got even warmer when the west door opened and in walked Alice’s parents. There was gasp from the congregation and the minister tensed waiting to see what happened. The two grieving parents stood and looked at me. I opened the bible at the bookmark and started.

“The reading is from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter seven.

1 Judge not, that ye be not judged.
2 For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.
3 And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
4 Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?
5 Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.
6 Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.
7 Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:
8 For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.
9 Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?
10 Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?
11 If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?
12 Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.

I expected some sort of challenge, instead her father slipped down to his knees and began to sob. His wife stood by helpless. The minister nodded and two men approached and helped her father to his feet and off to a chair at the back of the church.

“Please continue, Lady Cameron,” urged the minister.

It might have been better had I prepared something, but I hadn’t so this was off the cuff and I really didn’t know if it was as appropriate as I’d first considered, but here I was and with a hundred people watching me, I had to do something–I was the Laird’s wifey.

“Thank you, Reverend Smallpiece. I travelled about five hundred miles to come to this celebration of Alice’s life because I felt it was important, as did my daughter, Danielle, who asked to accompany me. We both knew Alice for only a short time but we learned of her personal difficulties and felt great sympathy and respect. I too had a daughter who began life as boy, who alas died even younger than Alice through a brain haemorrhage. She told me that the months she spent as she really felt herself to be, were the best of her life. Alice only spent few days with us as she wished to be before she became overwhelmed by the enormity of what she was doing and decided she couldn’t face it.

“Since my daughter Billie died, I’ve helped several children and adults who were gender variant–that is they felt different to the gender to which they’d been born, and each of them has prospered and felt happier living as they felt themselves to truly be. I’m sure that Alice would have felt so too, and I thank you all for showing your support by coming here today, and I hope as we understand these things better, so fewer of these tragedies will occur and instead of ostracising we shall welcome and include people of all sorts of difference, of gender, colour, sexual orientation and faith into our communities.

“Alice’s death has brought us all together, let us strive to stay together to prevent any such tragedy ever happening again. Thank you.”