The Funeral, by John Perry

I sit in a house with a mixed race child I met once before. Her parents are at the funeral of the family matriarch. They said she would not cope, or that’s the story that sees me here. She is a charming little lady, of mixed race. The Nigerian coffee-coloured face is wreathed in smiles. She is hungry. The Filipino half sings, “A, B, C, D, E, Eth, G.” A year ago, she had no English. My partner, Denise, places a sandwich by her. We will play dollies soon.