Chapter 4

How Hellish the Pathway to Heaven

In the week since Ebony’s murder, there had been an endless succession of well wishers bearing flowers and gifts: Christians, ministers, nuns and kind-hearted people. Minutes before a man had turned up with a truckload of wood, which was a real blessing. Battlers before Ebony’s disappearance and now too grief-stricken to work, Christine and Peter were already facing tough financial times. Additionally, there were plenty of people staying at the Simpson house and being winter the fire had been burning day and night. Now there was enough wood to keep them going for months. Peter had just begun to help the man unload the gift when he heard the sound of the trail bike.

Tasman was riding around the property on his trail bike like someone demented. He had been going around and around the property, jumping the ramp by the hay shed in a dangerous manner over and over again. Peter was aware that this behaviour wasn’t what visitors were expecting from someone grieving. One visitor had given him a look that said, ‘This is ridiculous; you need to stop your son. Tasman’s in mourning.’ But Peter knew intuitively that the teenager was out of control. The only way that Tasman could deal with his grief was to ride that bike as fast and as often around the property as he could. Peter sighed. He would have liked to reach out to Tasman and Zac, but with so many people to deal with, so many letters, the endless number of phone calls and the media he was just lost.

Looking at Tasman, Peter couldn’t help but think how ironic it was. He and Christine had chosen to move to Bargo because they thought it was a safer place than the city to bring up kids. They had been living in a two-bedroom unit in Arncliffe at the time, almost where the Forest Road meets the Princes Highway. It wasn’t ideal. There had been no yard for the boys to play in and nowhere for Christine to take the youngsters to play. For nine months, she had resorted to walking with them to Rockdale to a bit of a playground where there were aeroplanes going overhead and trains racing by. He had been aware that it was unsuitable, but it was close to his work.

These circumstances had forced Peter to scour the real estate pages for a farm. One Sunday the family decided to have a look at a small acreage that he had discovered. He had rung the owner and organised to stop off on their way back from one of their weekly drives to Kiama. The farm was run down. Peter remembered thinking that the place would give any normal person a heart attack, but he fell in love with it. It was as they were driving back into Arncliffe that he had asked Christine what she thought of it. She loved it, and they decided to build a life there.

Peter smiled. He hadn’t seen the farm in the daylight for two years as he had commuted to Sydney for work, but the kids loved it. They had chickens and goats and Shetland ponies. He had watched the farm change as he walked through its paddocks on moonlit nights. They had even chosen to send their kids to Bargo School rather than Tahmoor because it was more provincial. Everybody knew everybody. His kids had their own piece of the earth. He thought they were safe. They weren’t.

Since finding out her daughter was dead, Christine felt her life had become a blur. Worst of all she couldn’t motivate herself to do anything. Everything reminded her of what she had lost.

She couldn’t feed her children in the kitchen that reminded her of her little girl. She could see her sitting at the kitchen table, writing her grandmother a letter about what she would like for dinner on their next visit, carefully drawing each item of food, then sealing her work into an envelope so that they could post it the next day. Lately, her sisters and friends had been doing all the cooking.

Christine couldn’t get up in the morning. She would lie waiting for her daughter to wake, as she always had, and crawl into bed between her and Peter. Every morning, she had let Ebony climb in and fall asleep. Then, she had covered her with the doona. Later, she had brushed the nine-year-old’s hair and they had talked about the day ahead. She couldn’t hang out washing without noticing that Ebony’s clothes weren’t there. She couldn’t go outside without passing the abandoned netball ring, or walking through the garden they had planted together. Every time she went to bed, she saw the opal Ebony had made. The nine-year-old had taken a piece of wood into the shed, painted it like an opal, and then stuck it on her parents’ bed head.

Christine couldn’t sleep. Lately, all she could do was think about her daughter. She would go into Ebony’s bedroom and look at her treasures. Her brand new bed-set, white with little sprigs of flowers, her feather collection and the merit certificates that adorned the walls. And there was her doll, sitting silently on her bed, and Barney, her pet goldfish circling his bowl.

 

Funeral directors Bill and Mary Groves had been dreading Peter Simpson’s telephone call. They had heard a child was missing, but it wasn’t until they sat down to dinner late on 20 August and photos of her flashed up on the television that they knew it was Ebony.

‘When I realised that it was her that was missing,’ says Bill, ‘I’ll tell you, it leaves a big vacuum for ten seconds.’

Ebony had often visited Bill’s parlour with her dad. They came to deliver sand and soil, back when Peter had his landscaping business. On those days she had run giggling all over the place. Bill could still see her standing on a rock at the side of his pond, waiting for his koi carp to rise to the surface. It was a large pond, surrounded by rocks and greenery. He had built it under an awning at the end of his gravel driveway. It was his peaceful place. Bill had shown Ebony how to wait until the carp rose to the surface. They were clever fish and soon learned to recognise her. When she approached and stood on the rock, there would be a flash of colour – oranges, reds, yellows, blacks and whites, as the fish swirled to the surface. Some of them were quite large. She would throw in a handful of fish food pellets that she had collected from the food trough on the opposite side of the pond.

‘My God,’ says Bill. ‘She was a damn pretty child … (She would) giggle and laugh and run all over the place … She was getting prettier and prettier … beautiful.’

The job of dressing Ebony fell to Mary. She always dressed the females, Bill the males. She had completed the task many times before, yet dressing this child was the hardest thing she had ever done. She cried as she worked. Ebony had bruises everywhere. Mary felt her heart lurch when she saw her wrists and ankles. First, she hand-bathed her and washed her hair. Once her hair was dry, she dressed her slowly and carefully started to cover her bruises with cosmetics.

The mother of six thought of her son Tony. She had watched him, incapacitated by an accident, struggle to cope with life for three years, and then give up. He was only 20 when he had been hit by a car while walking across the road. He was paralysed down one side of his body, and Mary had nursed him until he had ended his life. It had changed her easygoing nature. She couldn’t even visualise what it would be like to have had a child murdered, to be in Christine’s and Peter’s shoes.

Mary finished applying Ebony’s make-up and began to brush her hair. She had beautiful long golden hair. A few nights before, Bill had had a call from Peter, who had been in a real state.

‘Bill,’ he’d panicked. ‘I’ve just heard they’re going to cut Ebony’s hair off.’ It was true – the usual procedure in an autopsy is to shave off a person’s hair.

‘If they shave off my daughter’s hair,’ he had warned, ‘someone will pay!’

Bill had been silent for a moment, then he had said: ‘Leave it me. She’ll not lose her hair.’ Jesus, he’d thought, I’ve got to get this stopped.

Over the years Bill had had a running battle with Ebony. He would chase her around the cartons near the fishpond. The joke was that he was going to catch her curl and cut it with scissors. Then he would tie it in a ribbon and keep it for himself. Three days before Ebony’s death, he had been outside hosing his front garden when Christine had driven by. From the car window Ebony had yelled: ‘Bill, you haven’t got that curl yet!’

Bill knew a professor at the city morgue. He had rung him after Peter’s call and said: ‘Excuse me, sir, I wonder if you could lend me your heart. I know you have a job to do. I too have one. We are the ones doing Ebony Simpson’s funeral. I know if you don’t go through the system in the manner it should be done, you’re in a terrible situation and I’m not telling you your job, far from it. But, is it conceivable that you could possibly go another way around the autopsy and save the girl’s hair?’

Bill knew there was an alternative way to conduct the procedure that would save Ebony’s hair, but it wasn’t his place to tell to the professor what to do. ‘I’ll tell you why,’ he had elaborated. ‘I got a call from the girl’s father. He’s devastated. I thought if I asked you it might be feasible to seek a different method.’

‘I’ll ring you back,’ the professor had replied.

Still not satisfied that he had completed his task, Bill then contacted a detective sergeant whom he knew was on his way to the morgue that night. ‘Listen,’ he had requested, ‘do me a favour? You’re going down to the morgue tonight. Have a word to the professor in charge. I have already spoken to him, but you also know the family and the circumstances and you having a word to him about her hair could add weight to the case. When Peter comes to see that girl, it is essential that her hair is in place; if that hair’s not there, I’m not going to be around. Jesus, he’ll be ripped apart.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ he had replied.

Ebony’s hair remained intact. Mary brushed and brushed it until it shone. When she had finished, she called Bill and together they gently carried Ebony to her coffin and lifted her in.

The night before Ebony’s burial was chosen by the Simpson family as a special time to say ‘goodbye’ face to face to their daughter. The casket was opened and each family member was given the opportunity to enter the special viewing room and spend some time with her. As a gesture of love, everyone took a carefully chosen keepsake that would be closed inside the coffin with Ebony, to keep her company. The four remaining Simpson family members attended, along with a number of relatives who came to support them outside the viewing room.

For Peter the decision as to whether his boys should see their sister’s body was a straightforward one: it would be entirely up to them. He remembered visiting his mother in hospital before she died. She had been in a coma for weeks. Since losing Ebony, he had become aware of the enormity of his own father’s loss when his mother died. Back then he had just married Christine and they were embarking on a new life together. Not long after his mother’s death, he and Christine had gone overseas for an extended period and he had missed seeing the worst of his father’s grief. Now, he knew what grief was. He was also acutely aware that he had taken away his brothers’ choice to say goodbye to their mum, and he wanted his boys to have a choice. Both Zac and Tasman decided to say goodbye to their sister. Peter hadn’t thought Tasman would, but was glad that he did.

Christine and Peter were the first to enter the room. Christine went in empty handed, as she had already selected what Ebony was wearing. She had chosen her daughter’s favourite pyjamas as all she wanted to do was tuck her little girl in and say goodnight to her, as if she were putting her to bed for the last time. When Mary asked Christine what she would like Ebony dressed in, she had looked at all the clothes in the cupboard and finally decided on the pink and white pyjamas.

Christine could see her daughter walking around in her pyjamas, her long blonde hair hanging down. She could feel her snuggling up against her before going to bed. They would talk about her day, and then read together. Ebony loved a picture book of Bible stories. Christine could almost smell her. ‘She had such a sweet smell about her because she’d rub cream into her hands and face,’ says Christine. ‘We thought she’d be here forever.’

Ebony appeared almost natural, but as Christine looked closely she could see the greyness of her skin beneath the make-up. She reached down into the coffin and tucked Ebony in with the satin covers. Then she kissed her face, tears falling down her cheeks. She was as cold as a tile. Mary was called in and fixed Ebony’s hair for Christine, then she retreated to another room. She knew Christine would have liked to place her daughter into the coffin herself, but she couldn’t have allowed that. Children’s bodies were so fragile, especially following an autopsy, she had reasoned. You only had to touch them … No, she couldn’t put anyone through that.

Peter’s gift to Ebony was a red on black opal. It wasn’t a large stone, but it was very pretty and he had always felt there was an affinity between his daughter and opals. Two years before, the Simpson family had made their first trip to Lightning Ridge. Peter and Christine had been running a very busy landscaping supply business. Despite employing occasional casual helpers, they had run the business alone, which meant working 17 hours a day, seven days a week. The hours and stress had taken their toll on their health and relationship so they had decided to close down the business. Peter would return to his trade as an electrician. But, before he did, they had packed up the kids, the dog and a caravan and headed for Lightning Ridge, for a well-earned break.

The holiday was such a success that Christine and Peter had decided to buy a claim. On the afternoon preceding every school holiday after that, the Simpsons’ car could be seen outside the school gate, caravan in tow. Peter had spent a lot of time setting up the equipment in the mineshaft. The boys had used those days to ride their trail bikes in and out of the bush. It was hot, but Ebony was happy to fossick over the mullock heaps, looking for opal chips she could keep in little jars of water. Peter was sure she had found more opal like that than he had down his mine. She had a keen eye and plenty of patience.

When Peter had first entered the viewing room, he’d felt apprehensive. It wasn’t the thought of seeing Ebony’s body. He’d seen a body before – when his sister-in-law’s first husband had died. It had been comforting to see him and say goodbye. It had given him closure. The reservations he had about seeing his daughter were related to her hair. The first thing he did when he walked in was search for stitches in Ebony’s scalp, where her hair might have been sewn back on. But, there were none so he relaxed a little. As he reached down to hold her, Peter still felt annoyed that her body had been tampered with during an autopsy.

The day before Ebony disappeared, Peter had seen her run in a mini-marathon, at her sports carnival. ‘Eight hundred metres,’ says Peter, ‘quite a long run for a little girl and she had done her very best. She had actually come third but it was touch and go and the other girl got the ribbon.’ Ebony had looked across as she finished and been aware that she had just pipped the other girl. That night Peter had tried to comfort her, but she was upset. He felt for her. He enjoyed running as well, a reason why he wasn’t a strong follower of sports was because of how she felt. There would always be people who beat you.

On the morning of 19 August, he and Christine had talked to the teachers at Ebony’s school and it was agreed that her achievement would be acknowledged. Nobody had had a chance to tell Ebony before she disappeared. She didn’t know that she had in fact received third place. Peter’s stomach then tightened. There was a rumour that Garforth had been at the carnival that day. Then he stroked his daughter’s hair and kissed her. He still felt he should have identified her. He had needed to see her as she had come out of the dam, if only to put the many pictures in his mind to rest.

After saying their goodbyes, Christine and Peter left the viewing room. It was their sons’ turn to see their sister for the last time. Zac was the first to go in. He took Ebony her sun hat so she wouldn’t burn her nose where she was going. When he had finished, he and Christine watched his younger brother enter the viewing room with Peter. Tasman was the last to go in, and there had been some concern over his reaction. The token he had chosen to give Ebony was a pair of pink and white roller-skates. Christine wasn’t sure if they would be left in the coffin due to their size, but she could understand why he had chosen them.

After escorting him inside, Peter left Tasman to say goodbye to Ebony. The teenager seemed to be handling it, but after a while and with the encouragement of relatives, Peter went back to check on him. The first thing he noticed when he walked in was that Tasman was smiling. It was strange, he’d never been one for any kind of supernatural mumbo jumbo, but his son appeared to be bathed in light. Again, Peter felt comfortable to leave him. He went outside to wait.

Mary waited until all of Ebony’s visitors had left, then she went to fix up the casket. Had the family chosen to cremate Ebony, she would have had to check for anything explosive or large bits of metal, but as she was being buried, she didn’t. Instead, Mary gently closed the lid.

 

Three mourning cars left the Simpson property on the day of the funeral. The first held Ebony’s family, the second and third carried other relatives, among them Peter’s brothers, Christine’s mother and her siblings. At the same time, two hearses left Bill Groves’s funeral parlour and went directly to the church. The foremost was Ebony’s. It held her little white coffin and a multitude of flowers. The coffin was covered in golden wattle, Ebony’s favourite flower. Sitting in the front passenger seat, Bill Groves was aware that every August wattle day she would fill his thoughts. The second hearse was a mass of colour: it was filled to the brim with floral tributes.

As Mary Groves drove one of the mourning cars out of the Simpsons’ front gate, her mind crossed to the day she and Bill had gone to see the family about the funeral arrangements. Christine had been sitting in the corner, completely oblivious to what was going on around her. There had been a lot of support people, both friends and relatives, doing chores to help out. It could be comforting to have so many people come in good faith, she realised, but it could be equally devastating. Peter and Margaret, Christine’s sister, had sorted out the funeral details.

Mary looked in the rear-view mirror. The family was silent. They had wanted the service to be held at a small local church, but Bill realised the public attention the funeral would draw. It had to be a large church, like St John’s Anglican Church, the big one on the hill at Camden. He had been right about the attention. Bill and Mary’s phone had not stopped ringing. There had been a lot of media interest plus numerous offers of help, many from dubious sources, which was the reason they had chosen only family and people they trusted to work that day. The size of the funeral meant that Bill not only had to use his regular staff, but also had to ask ex-employees to return for the day. Their daughter Michelle would also be among the staff as well.

Among the offers of help had been genuine donations and proposals, and a number of them were quite special. The staff at one of Australia’s leading companies had paid for a great deal of the funeral but had sworn Bill to secrecy. Equally benevolent was the coffin manufacturer, who donated the casket. Bill and Mary quietly covered the rest of the costs.

Mary pulled in near the church. There were hundreds of people. She decided to wait outside near the mourning cars. The night before, she had telephoned the Willesee program. Despite it being the eve of Ebony’s funeral, Denise Dellit, Garforth’s partner, was on the show being interviewed. ‘I gave them a real tongue lashing … and that’s very unusual for me,’ says Mary. ‘(They were) aiming at getting the biggest coverage they could get … but when you’re hurting that’s the last thing you want.’ She was still angry about those antics. She glanced at the crowd again, and then opened the car doors.

‘Well, this is it,’ said Peter. Everyone got out of the car and headed for the church. Inside, a long red carpet led the mourners between two sets of wooden pews to the front of the church. There, a bronze podium shouldered the little white coffin, covered in flowers. Resting against it were two huge heart-shaped bouquets. People were placing posies near or on it. Peter, Christine and the boys took the front pew, to the right of the coffin.

St John’s is a beautiful brick church, capped by a tall grey spire and clock, and fronted by a circular driveway. Inside, an arched roof stretches towards the sky above a web of beams. A multitude of stained glass windows project coloured images of Jesus and his life on the congregation below. That day, there were at least 600 people at the church, plus an assemblage of national media. Three hundred were within the church walls. After a great deal of negotiation, a camera had been set up out of sight, alongside the organ in the choir loft. The Simpsons had been advised of this and agreed that the Australian public should be able to witness the service.

Reverend Wayne Tildsley led the service. As the organ music ended, he said:

 

Please be seated. Today is a very sad day. We have come here today to do something that we don’t want to do but need to. We have come here to say goodbye to someone who made a big impression on the people who knew her. And the pain that you are feeling right now is because of your care, your love and your concern for Ebony and her family. I wish to thank you for coming to this service. I realise how hard it is for you to be here.

 

He explained that just being there said more than words could and that it wasn’t necessary to worry about what to say to the family, that faces would say it all. The minister reflected on the way in which the Simpsons had described their daughter’s smile. They had said it was the first thing everybody noticed about her. Ebony had been a peacemaker. Her father had recounted an occasion when he had been driving and Ebony had pushed a lolly into his mouth to settle a dispute. They had said she had a love she just gave and gave.

‘Why would God allow this to happen? Why?’ Reverend Tildsley continued, as a multitude of eyes abruptly looked at him. This was the question everybody was asking. He had been concerned about this and after much contemplation had decided on his answer. God values human life more than anything else. That was why God had sent his Son to save us. People who move away from God move away from what he values, and when they move away, they use people and abuse them. That’s what he believed had happened in this case. ‘Unfortunately, we’ll never know exactly why, but we do know that God has allowed each person a free will. God does not treat us like robots. He does not control everything we do.’

The church bells began to toll. Reverend Tildsley had seen the Simpson family’s grief from the beginning. As the honorary police chaplain for the area, he had been asked to counsel the family when Ebony had gone missing. He had sat with them during those first terrible hours, watching their despair. Concluding his remarks, the minister urged the gathering to stand as the organ struck the first chords of the hymn ‘The Lord Is My Shepherd’. Peter, Christine, Zac and Tasman stood arm in arm.

After being asked to do the eulogy, Barry Edwards had taken his time to find the right words. Now, as he rose to make today’s tribute to his niece, he contemplated the events of the last few days. It was like a bad dream. ‘My dear family and friends, what we wish to do here today is say goodbye to Bonnie.’ Barry’s voice carried softly throughout the church as he continued:

 

To say farewell to an extraordinary person whom we loved. Ebony Simpson was a beautiful example of all that is good in human beings. She embodied qualities which every one of us admires.

She was a gentle, loving and happy little girl, who had an abundance of the attributes which make us fully human. On this day that we say goodbye to her, we do so knowing that she has left us with an indelible message of love.

We have learnt so much from her. It sometimes seemed as though she was teaching us about life, instead of us teaching her. It was as though she was an angel, who was only on loan to us, to help us through a period of our lives, when we needed her example.

Bonnie gave pure joy to everyone who knew her. To us, she was pure perfection. I now say this farewell from Peter, Christine, Zachary and Tasman … and from us all. Good bye, dear little one, goodbye, sweet Bon Bon.

 

Reverend Neil Mayhew was the last to speak. An assistant minister with the parish of Picton, which covered the towns of Bargo, Tahmoor and Thirlmere, he taught scripture classes at Ebony’s school as part of his duties. Standing before the congregation, he affirmed that the passing of a young person often hits people harder than when a more mature person dies, and that in this world, in which God created both good and evil, evil had touched everyone through Ebony’s murder. ‘However,’ he continued, ‘God is the good shepherd. He sent Christ to conquer the enemy death so that a new life can come. God brings about change and death is not final.’ He said:

 

A caterpillar leaves his body behind to become a butterfly … tadpoles can turn into frogs. We see at summertime a cicada shell is halfway up a tree with his back open. He’s up there, singing away, his shell left behind, as Ebony’s shell is left behind. But Ebony is still alive. She is alive with God.

 

Reverend Mayhew pointed out that Christ’s death was the recognition that evil will touch everyone. Every night, he saw evil highlighted on the television. He thought momentarily of the helicopters, the mobile phones and the cameras that had greeted him when he arrived at the church. The church had been alive with noise and confusion. Rarely did a funeral service receive such publicity. He concluded with a look at David, in Psalm 23: ‘The Lord is my Shepherd, I have everything I need…’ He bowed his head. ‘Let us pray. Our father in Heaven, hallowed be thy name...’ It was the Lord’s Prayer. The congregation of mourners then stood to sing ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus’ before the final prayers.

The service was over. Funeral director Bill Groves helped lift Ebony’s coffin, passing it into the hands of her porters. Ebony’s brothers, Zac and Tasman, were among the men who hoisted her little coffin onto their shoulders, carried her from the church and gently placed her into the hearse. Reverend Mayhew watched as everybody slowly filed out of the church, Ebony’s family and friends following her body through a blue guard of honour formed by her uniform-clad classmates, teachers and principal.

The funeral procession travelled from Camden over the Razorback Mountain and into Picton. Just that section was a long trip. Christine and Peter hadn’t wanted their final journey with Ebony to be over quickly, as some people had suggested it should be. Peter glanced at some of the police in the escort. He had heard Ebony’s procession stretched a long way. It felt like a reaffirmation of what his daughter meant. He looked out the window. The weather was perfect.

‘To me that was the nicest remembrance that I could have. It was the last trip my family would ever take together and it took a long time,’ says Peter. ‘It was almost like I had enough time to address what had happened. I could sit in the car … and I was aware of almost everything and it seemed significant to me that that was a final goodbye to her and everything was in keeping that day … It was just a reaffirmation of what that girl meant to me.’

Christine just wanted to sit in the car and remember and cry. Recently, the Simpsons had completed a happier trip together – a holiday to Central Australia. It had replaced one of their usual trips to Lightning Ridge. Rather than joining a tour group, they had gone on their own with a caravan and 4WD and camped out. The expedition had taken them to Tennant Creek, Alice Springs, Uluru (Ayers Rock) and Kata Tjuta (the Olgas), among other destinations. They had travelled quite a distance. Christine had watched her youngest child sitting, decked in her sun hat, with a pencil, drawing wild flowers. Some of Ebony’s sketches had been handed out at the funeral. They’d seen wedge-tailed eagles, and collected three of their feathers. They had seen the oddity of the balanced boulders of Kata Tjuta and watched Uluru change colour, then climbed it. Uluru was quite a climb for a nine-year-old, but Ebony had managed it. They had signed the book up at the top and taken family photos.

The main streets of Picton were lined with shopkeepers and residents as the cortege travelled through, past the courthouse where Garforth had been remanded into custody, towards Thirlmere. In the car, Peter recalled the day when the detectives had driven Christine and him to the dam. He had sat in the exact spot, at the water’s edge, from which Ebony had been thrown into the dam, and then he had tried to relive her last moments. He had since relived them again and again and again. He could feel her fingers reaching up and stroking his ear, his cheek. He couldn’t imagine Father’s Day without one of her hand-made cards. He would never be able to walk her down the aisle.

Bill Groves watched the familiar sites as the cortege drove past his parlour and out of Picton. First, they turned right and went over the hill. The view was mostly of trees. As they came down the other side, the Queen Victoria Memorial Hospital was on the left. Then, at Thirlmere, they travelled through the roundabout and right at Station Road. The railway yards were on the right, a little further on the left the cemetery. Bill felt the hearse pull in.

Usually, the cemetery was a peaceful place, with many trees and birds. It reflected Ebony’s life on the farm and in the bush and had been chosen as her last resting place because it wasn’t like the average burial site behind a church, amid the traffic of suburban streets. Bill and some of his workers had risen early and wired up speakers so the crowd sure to be there could hear. Chairs had also been carefully set up.

Reverend Tildsley watched the mourning cars and hearses arrive. He had reached the cemetery ahead of the funeral procession as he had driven there separately to have some time to prepare. In his experience, the burial ceremony was the hardest time for everyone. During the funeral service, it was easy for family and friends to feel that they were in an endless nightmare. It is almost surreal. ‘When they lower the casket into the ground the reality of the separation really hits hard,’ says Reverend Tildsley. ‘That’s a time I find really hard at funeral services because the grief just comes with a gush.’

The Simpsons arrived at the cemetery and were escorted by their friends and family to the side of the grave prepared for Ebony. Christine looked up into the trees. There were about 15 or 20 black cockatoos dropping pine cones down on the crowd. Over the years, Ebony had collected an assortment of feathers. She loved the black cockatoos, in particular. Whenever they flew over the farm, she would run out onto the verandah to watch them. They were here today. Christine could almost feel Ebony flying free with them. Equally bizarre was their other name, the funeral bird.

Mary Groves was also keeping an eye on the cockatoos. She was worried that one of the pine cones might hit the hearse. ‘It’s the strangest thing,’ says Mary. ‘The day my son died kookaburras were laughing in the tree and the day Ebony went it was black cockatoos throwing cones.’

Reverend Tildsley began to commit Ebony into God’s hands. His words and prayers were joined by those of Reverend Mayhew. Peter stood protectively close to his family. He had placed his arm around his wife for support as they left the church. She was his best friend. Since the day they had met on the beach as teenagers, they had done nearly everything together.

The assistant minister looked towards the trees where the media was keeping a safe distance. Christine reached out and clutched Tasman’s and Zac’s hands as Ebony was gradually lowered into the ground. The casket finally reached the base. Ebony had been so scared of the dark that during the night she would run past open doors, on the way to the toilet. She always thought something might be lurking. Today’s journey would be made alone, with only a few keepsakes for comfort.

The army of police standing nearby saluted, and Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder’s song ‘Ebony and Ivory’ was borne through a loudspeaker. Bill Groves looked about the gathering. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place. Then the crowd slowly dispersed. Mary took the Simpsons home, then pulled the car to the side of the road and reflected, before making her way back to the parlour. It was a huge relief that everything had gone so well. Bill had organised that the staff all return for a drink to unwind. It had been a hard day for them and he wanted them to leave it at work.