The funeral was a mournful affair, the family cloistering Billie with umbrellas in the wintry wind-swept squalls that blow in from the Atlantic as this time of year. At least it wasn't snowing as the casket was lowered, the last ritual completed and the family escorted Billie back to her home on Elk Street.
At the house wine, beer and whisky loosened tongues and later someone sat at the piano and the black shroud of death surrounding husband Benjamin was chased from the home by drunken family and friends singing songs that Ben had loved.
A week went by and Billie was cheerful again, deciding that day to drop her daily visits to the cemetery, from now on making a monthly vigil. Four months later she decided to make the cemetery visit when she felt the need, a sign that she was withdrawing from mourning.
Widow Jamieson was thirty-two, fit and healthy and childless and Ben had been a fit and healthy 28-year-old the late afternoon he drowned at sea, having some sort of mishap with the high winds, boisterous seas and his aged wind surfer which was never found.
Six weeks after the funeral, the first male to make a solo call was turned away from the door. Perhaps twenty in all made the same futile visit pretending to be making a courtesy call with the ulterior motive of being first to get between the lovely thighs of Widow Jamieson, a former county beauty queen, since the loss of her husband.
Then arrived Fergus Lennan who walked in, uninvited, as the door opened.
"Please go, you're not welcome."
"Come on, Billie, you can't let that body of yours remain in self-denial."
"What about my grief, my loneliness the end of life as I know it – aren't those telling emotional impacts on my present life of interest to you?"
Billie thought she had cornered Fergus, whom she'd known since they were seven-year-olds. He would express remorse, she'd remind him he was married to Paula and he'd leave, apologizing for disturbing her peace.
"No – not at all. It's about time you exorcised those negative thoughts and empty holes and rebuilt your life."
"That's unkind of you Fergus, you should be ashamed talking like that to a young widow."
"I'm here to begin your rehabilitation."
"Oh yes, and what do you have in mind?"
Fergus took her hand and kissed it. "To take you to bed, to remind you what life is all about."
"You're disgusting, Fergus. Please leave."
"Undo your shirt and bra and let me fondle your breasts, Billie."
Ignoring the audacity of her friend, Bill said coolly, "If you're not going may I fetch you coffee?"
"Yes, a touch of milk, no sugar – two biscuits if that's not too much trouble."
Billie arrived back with the coffee and a plate of biscuits.
"You men are all the same, Fergus. You have the opinion that what hangs between your legs is the reason women have for living."
"So you are an authority. How many men have had you sexually, Billie – five, ten?"
"Just two, if you must ask. You on my graduation ball night, and Benjamin."
"Ohmigod, little wonder you are in jeopardy, you lack experience."
Billie found this conversation most stimulating. "What do you mean?"
"I gather among the men calling, you have been exposed to excellent potential suitors – but unless you react favorably soon they will stop arriving at you door and you will be left on the shelf, your vagina shriveling from neglect."
"How incredibly insensitive you are," Billie said, and added unwisely, "Anyway, what interest is my vagina to you?"
"If you allow me to enter it, I'll show you. We were green teenagers when I last plumbed your depths."
