MY old friend Ena planned every detail of her funeral. When she told me that she had written the eulogy to be delivered by her daughter, I said: ‘Don’t you think that’s cheating?’ ‘No!’ She snapped. ‘I want to set the record straight. I was a very good mother!’
When the day arrived, the dutiful daughter read her mother’s script. Word for word. I don’t remember Katie looking up once. What I’ve never forgotten was the exit music: Edith Piaf’s Non, je ne regrette rien.
I could see the humour in her choice. Luckily, I prefer Piaf to Sinatra and I think we’ve. It required rather more effort to see the funny side at the wake back at the house, when we were served Prosecco. After she was diagnosed with her fast-moving cancer, Ena asked me to get four cases of Champagne from the Wine Society for her ‘Kingdom Here I Come’ party. ‘Your Champagne!’ Katie said. ‘Mother called it her Twilight Wine. She claimed it was the only thing that agreed with her. She ordered the Prosecco from Tesco last month, insisting the “hangers on” wouldn’t know the difference.’
