There was a great gathering in the church hall afterwards where everyone talked loudly into each other's faces, sipping their tea and chewing away all the while on Auntie Pish's rock buns - she must have made hundreds of them. I kept close to Maman for protection, hid behind her whenever I could. Everyone was kind, but too full of questions I didn't want to answer. They all wanted to talk about their memories of Auntie Snowdrop, of the songs they'd sung with her, the concerts they'd been to, the coastal walks they'd done. But I had my own memories, and I'd keep tehm to myself. Again and again they kept telling me how proud she was of me, how she never stopped talking about me.
The tea party seemed to go on forever, and would have been quite unbearable if I hadn't thought up the brilliant excuse that Jasper needed a walk. Maman said it was a good idea, but not to be too long. So I escaped and went running off together along the beach. I ran till I could run no more. I skimmed stones, Jasper barked at the gulls, and afterwards we both sat side by side and stared out to sea. It was a dull day, the grey of the sky meeting the grey of the sea on the horizon. It seemed as if Auntie Snowdrop's death had left the world a colourless place. Grief is grey, I discovered that day.
Eventually Maman came out to find me and fetch me back into the hall. I couldn't face those people again, I told her. I just wanted to go home. To my great relief, she agreed that we had stayed long enough. She told Auntie Pish I had to be at school the next day and that I had some homework to do, so we'd better be getting home. Auntie Pish came out and walked us to the car, carrying Jasper under her arm.
"Who were all those people in there?" I asked her.
"All your Auntie Martha's friends," she said. "Martha sang in the church choir, you know, and in the bath too every night. She had a lovely voice. She loved singing - and football, did you know that? Her two great passions: singing and football. Her favourite team was Arsenal - The Arsenal. She always said I have to call them The Arsenal."
"Football?" I said, amazed. "She never told me that."
"Didn't she? Oh, she was a real Gunners fan, but she kept it to herself. Let me tell you, young man, there's a great real deal you don't know about your Auntie Martha, a very great deal. Oh, she was a dark horse that one, but..." Her voice faltered then and she turned away. "She was the best of sisters, and the best friend I've ever had." She was still tearful when she hugged me goodbye, Jasper licking my ears as she did so.
"You'll be all right?" Maman asked her.
"Pish, I've got Jasper, haven't I?" she replied, recovering herself as best as she could, and trying to smile through her tears. "Jasper and I, we shall be fine. But you will come and see us, won't you? And thanks for being here today. She'll be so happy you were with us." She bent down then and chucked me under the chin. "Your Auntie Snowdrop loved you, you know, like a mother loves a son, that much." She hugged Maman then. "And they say that no one loves more than that."
"Quite true," Maman said.
"But," I said, "how did you know we called her Auntie Snowdrop? We thought it was a secret."
"I have ears," Auntie Pish said, reaching out and tugging gently at my ear lobe. "This boy of yours, he talks to Jasper sometimes, often far too loudly. I may be deaf, but I'm not daft. Boys are always too loud. Don't wory, I like being Auntie Pish. It suits me, and she loved being Auntie Snowdrop." She laughed then. "Truth will out in the end. Secrets, like the seasons, they never last, you know. And by the way, Poodle, I shall be sending you a parcel in the post, a present from Auntie Snowdrop; or maybe I'll bring it up myself one day, turn up out of the blue at your house. I'd like that. I haven't been to London in ten years or more - not since the War, come to think of it." She put Jasper down. "Come along, dear," she said to him. "Let's go home."
And off she went up the hill, her stick tapping, Jasper running along ahead. He did stop once to look back at us - his way of saying goodbye, or maybe of telling me that he was thinking what I hoped he was thinking: that he really wanted to come home with me, but he couldn't.
Later, in the car on our way home, I was lost in my thoughts. Something was bothering me and I couldn't work out what it was, not for a while. Then it came to me. I asked Maman, "And how did she know I was called 'Poodle' at school? Did you tell her?"
"No, of course not," she said. "You must have told that dog, just like you told him about their names, too loudly, probably. She's really not as deaf as I thought. That'll teach you to talk to dogs, to tell them your secrets. You can't trust them, you know. How embarrassing to be found out like that."
"But funny," I said.
"Oui, funny, mon petit chou," she laughed, "very funny."
All the way home, I was wondering what Auntie Pish was going to send me.