"I asked all the parents whether they wanted to say something at this service and it was understandable, I think, that most of them declined. Alex's father, though, said that he would like to say a few words about his daughter."
I stood. Katherine and I had talked about this and she was OK with it. I felt at the time we were asked that something should be said and that it was my responsibility to say it. I wished now that I had kept my mouth shut. Katherine reached up and squeezed my hand and I looked down at her. She gave me a smile and nodded. Now was the time.
I stepped forward and up on to the newly empty dais at the front. I had the words I wanted to say written out and I unfolded them on the lectern in front of me. It was brighter on the dais than I thought, but I could still see the crowd spread out in front of me. I cleared my throat. They all looked at me, expectant. I remembered advice about focusing on one person to make it personal, and my eyes found the one person I should not have looked at. I found Kayleigh.
As soon as I noticed her, her eyes brimmed and she turned and buried her head in her mother's midriff. I could hear her sobbing from where I stood on the dais. I looked down at the words and they blurred. No matter, I knew the opening words by heart. I had been through it enough times.
"I…" The lump in my throat became a stone.
I tried again. "I jus…"
Tears ran down my face. Suddenly I couldn't breathe. A hand was on my shoulder and then an arm. I was shepherded to the side by Fionh who guided me into Blackbird's arms, while Garvin gently pried the notes from my hand and stepped up the dais.
"My good friend, Niall, wanted to read these notes for himself, and for his daughter," he said in a clear voice that rang across the hall, "but he finds himself momentarily indisposed. So I will read them for him and, if you will, I would ask you to imagine that it is him speaking rather than me."
He paused and then started to read in slow measured tones.
"Alex was my only daughter, the child of my marriage to Katherine, her mother, who grieves with me. She was a normal girl in ways that were entirely special to us. She was bright and creative and full of passion and determination. While she claimed not to like school, she found it stimulating and challenging, a place to grow. She liked her teachers and was doing well in her work. She made some friends; I'm thinking of one in particular who is here with us now and grieves every bit as much as we do.
"It is hard for me to believe that she is not still at home, leaving her clothes and belongings strewn in a trail of detritus around the house, texting her friends after lights out with secrets and speculation, waking late on weekends with her curly hair in a messy halo around her face, her mood terse and monosyllabic until she'd had some coffee.
"She could be argumentative, rude, moody, and then all in a moment full of affection and love as if nothing had been said and all was forgotten. Her mother and I struggled to cope with her moods until we were finally forced to accept that it was just the way she was; a normal girl.
"At the time, I viewed all of these as irritations, bumps in the road to perfect parenting. Only now do I see them in their true light, as treasures to be kept in my heart. How will I manage without her turning up on my doorstep unexpectedly, bags packed, swearing that she's left her mother for the last time? How will I function without text messages about things I barely recognise, written in words I can't decipher?
"For those of us who knew and loved her, this is the burden we must carry, but we will carry it in the knowledge that it is ours and without it we would be diminished, we would be lesser people.
"Alex, wherever you are, my own sweet daughter, we love you."
The only sounds in the hall were Kayleigh sobbing and me sniffing. Then a solitary hand-clap turned into a pattering and the room filled with a sound like rain falling on a roof. It expanded, rippling from person to person until the room reverberated with it. Then slowly, softly, it faded away. There was a collective sigh, a deep and profound release and the tension in the room finally dissipated.
There were things said after that, but I don't remember any of them. The memorial service was over. Fionh handed me a tissue, pressed her hand to my cheek and told me how sorry she was. Garvin brought me back the notes, pressing them in to my hand. "Words that are worthy of her, Niall," he said. "Keep them."
Fellstamp patted my back and Tate pressed his hand on to my shoulder, squeezing gently. A lanky man in a dark suit stood before me and bowed slightly and put his hand over his heart. It took me a moment to realise it was Slimgrin and that this was the form he took to pass amongst humanity. Most surprising of all was Amber. I had never seen her show emotion, but she came to me with tears in her eyes and hugged me long and tight. She kissed my cheek and brushed back the tears. "Be strong," was all she said.
Lady Kimlesh reappeared when the Warders had paid their respects and took her leave. She took my hand and assured me once again of the heartfelt condolences of the High Council. Then she left by a side door, Fionh in front and Slimgrin behind.
Katherine was talking to the vicar, who nodded solemnly and spoke in low tones. She smiled weakly and then captured Barry's hand in hers and turned to me.
"We should go," she said.
I nodded, still unsure of my voice.
She stepped forward and hugged me tight, then hugged Blackbird. "Look after him," she told her.
Blackbird smiled and said she would try. Fellstamp and Amber escorted them out.
The Welhams stood up and hurried out together, perhaps to some other gathering more to their liking. The Tolly clan followed in their wake, the girls noisily comforting their mother while the boys followed, hands in pockets, stares sullen. The Longmans waited until they had all gone and then left quietly, Mrs Longman's face a blank mask while her husband laid his hand over his son's shoulders as they walked away, more for his own comfort than for his son's, perhaps.
I was left with the remnants of the gathering, the head teacher, the staff, a few stragglers.
Garvin turned to me. "We've brought the car round to the side entrance. Tate will deal with any remaining press. Any time you're ready."
Blackbird caught my arm in hers. "We should go too."
I nodded and was about to let her lead me out when the vicar caught my eye. He looked expectant.
"Would you ask the driver if he'll wait a few moments?" I asked her.
"Will you be OK?"
"Yes, just give me a moment."
I nodded to Garvin and he walked Blackbird to the side door, escorting her out.
The vicar stepped forward, hands clasped at his waist, expression calm and solemn. "I wanted to say how much I appreciated your words, Mr Petersen. They were a comfort to everyone here."
"It didn't work out quite how I'd planned," I told him.
"Nevertheless, you managed to put into words what everyone was feeling, and provided a focus for their grief."
I nodded.
"The death of a child is the hardest to bear," he said. "In my line of work we do births and deaths quite a lot." He walked towards the side entrance and I walked slowly with him. "A child, though, that's the hardest."
"My daughter was so precious to me."
"The hardest part will be the weeks to come. She'll be in your thoughts when you least expect it. You'll find yourself looking for her at the oddest times. Our hearts, they trip us up sometimes."