As the first notes sounded, Ann started to cry. Thorn was reminded, oddly, of an old cowboy song he and his brother, Robert, used to sing around the bonfire when they camped out with their Academy buddies as kids: ‘There's an empty bed in the bunkhouse tonight…' The memory brought tears to his eyes, and he wept for the first time since his son had died.

As the priest began the funeral prayer, Richard looked away. He didn't want to hear what the man had to say; there was no way the priest could possibly capture the specific essence of his son Mark. Priests and ministers were forced to speak in clichés, but the last thing Richard needed to hear at this moment was some platitude about his only son.

His glance fell on Damien and what he saw held his attention. The boy was looking over at Neff, who in turn was gazing at Buher, who was concentrated on Damien. A neat little triangle.

But before Thorn had time to think about that, he felt a tugging at his sleeve; he turned to find Ann looking at him with a tear-stained face, pleading with her eyes for him to pay attention, to offer some respect to the ceremony.

Richard patted her hand and then faced the grave again, struggling to listen to the words of the priest, searching for some meaning in what he was chanting. But he was soon back to sorting out his own mixed feelings about the events of the past few days.

He kept going back to the conversation he had had in Dr Fiedler's office, after the autopsy had been performed.

***

'How could it have happened?' he had asked the doctor. 'You've seen him ever since he was born. Shouldn't there have been some sign?'

The doctor had shaken his head sadly. 'I've seen it happen before, I'm afraid,' he had said. 'A perfectly normal boy—or man—healthy in all respects it seems; but there it is, waiting in his brain for some undue strain—a thin artery wall. The wall goes-‘ He had spread his hands wide in a gesture of compassion and inevitability.

At that point, Ann had interjected, 'Then it was there from the time he was born?'

Dr Fiedler had nodded. ‘More than likely,' he had said gently. 'I'm sorry. I'm very sorry.'

But not as sorry as I am, Richard had thought.

***

The funeral was over now and the group of mourners moved away from the grave. It had begun to rain heavily, so everyone hurried through their condolences and then rushed off to get into the waiting cars.

Richard lingered until everyone had been acknowledged with a tight smile or touch of hands, and then ducked into his limousine and took his place next to Ann and Damien. He gave the signal to Murray, and the car pulled slowly away.

***