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chair.
    “Shut up.” she shouted, the tears coining faster. “Shut up. I can’t bear it.”
    She ran into the kitchen and stopped in front of the sink, head bowed, shoulders heaving, her arms by her side.
    “Can’t bear what, love?” I said standing behind her. “What is it you can’t bear?”
    “Me dad,” she said. “Me dad. He’s bloody dead, isn’t he?” She turned towards me. “Isn’t he?”
    I put my arms up and she fell against me. I pressed her to me and let her get it over with.
    After a while she straightened up and I poured her a fresh cup of tea. This time she took it. I sat down on the red leatherette-topped high stool next to the sink unit and watched her alternately drinking out of and looking into the cup. I wondered if it had all been just because her dad was dead through in the front room or was there something else. I couldn’t really tell. Last time I saw her was eight years ago and then she’d been seven so I didn’t know what she was like. I could guess though.
    She was older than her fifteen natural years. I could have fancied her myself if she hadn’t been who she was. You could tell she knew what was what. It’s all in the eyes. I wondered if Frank had known she was no virgin. Probably, but he’d never have let on to himself. And if anything had been worrying him he wouldn’t have let on to her either. That was the way Frank was. So there was no reason why she should know anything unless she’d seen something or heard something that Frank didn’t know she heard. If she had I’d find out, but not today.
    I got off the stool and went into the scullery and turned the wireless off. It was half past eight. Outside, a milk trolley was whirring by. I went back into the kitchen.
    “Would you like a fag?” I said.
    She nodded and put the cup down. I lit us up. She didn’t smoke too badly even though she was conscious of it. After a few drags, I said:
    “What do you intend doing now?”
    “I dunno.”
    “Well, you won’t be staying here, will you?”
    She shook her head.
    “Look,” I said, “I know you don’t know me very well and what you do know you don’t like, but I’m going to suggest something to you. You probably won’t be very keen on the idea, but I want you to think about it over the next few days: I’m off to South Africa next week. With a woman I may or may not end up marrying. We’re flying on Wednesday. I’ve got three tickets. Why don’t you come with us?”
    She looked at me. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
    “Think about it. I’d like you to come. If only to square certain things with your dad.”
    “Charming,” she said. “You make me feel real wanted.”
    “I’ll be here all over the weekend,” I said. “So you’ve time to think about it.”
    “No thanks.”
    She carried on looking at me. I looked at my watch.
    “They’ll be here at quarter to,” I said. “Do you want five minutes with him before they come?”
    She looked away. She was her fifteen years again.
    “No.”
    “He’d want it,” I said.
    She sobbed, once.
    “Go on,” I said. “You’ve just time.”
    She put her cigarette down on her saucer and went through. Five minutes later she came out. Her face was wet and her eyes were red.
    I put my jacket on and went into the front room. I stood next to the casket. The face looked up at the ceiling. There was never anything so still as that face.
    I heard a motor outside and then there was a knock at the door.
    “Ta-ra, Frank,” I said.
    I turned away and walked out of the room via the door that led into the hall. I opened the front door. The man in the tall hat was there.
    “Good morning, sir,” he said, in that voice they all have.

    We left the church and got into the car again. Doreen and I got into the back and the Vicar got in next to the driver. We drove along the back streets. At one point an old josser on a bike just as old gave us right of way at a junction and slowly and gravely raised his hat.
    After a