Eventually a hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present and he saw that the coffin had already been lowered into the ground.  He stood confused for a moment, not knowing if he should throw some soil on the coffin, or say a few words, but thankfully everyone opposite turned to leave and he took that as cue to do the same. He moved to catch up with Dina’s mother but his wife’s brother stopped and put up his hand.  “Now is not the time, Tom.”

Tom Gray had a feeling there would never be a right time, because Ruth had made it plain that she blamed him for Dina’s death.  He had phoned numerous times but Ruth never took or returned his calls.  Eventually he had driven to the house to confront her, only to be told that she didn’t want to see him.  “Mum’s taken it hard,” Dina’s brother had told him.  “How could you let Dina get into that state?  Didn’t you notice something was wrong?”

Gray had offered him no answers and had left without making his peace.  That had been his last contact with Dina’s family, and now it seemed there would be no more.

“Come on, Tom, let’s grab a drink.”

Len Smart led Gray to his car and they drove in silence to the pub.  Once inside, with pints in front of them, Gray said “I should go to the wake, Len.”

“No, Tom, you shouldn’t.  Give them time, they’ll come round, but right now let them grieve.”

“I guess you’re right.”

A dozen of Gray’s friends walked into the pub, having followed them from the church.  Two headed to the bar to get a round in while the rest pulled tables round so that they were all sitting together.

“How’s the business coming along?” Carl Levine asked, although he already knew the answer: he just wanted a topic to take Gray’s mind off the day’s proceedings.

“Not too bad.  I got a contract for three BGs in Afghanistan last week, and another coming up for eight in Iraq, looking after oil workers.  I’ll be meeting with the oil company in a couple of weeks.”

“Sounds good.  When you get it, don’t forget our old friend Len.”

“Don’t worry, when the contract’s signed, you’ll be second on the list.”

Len appeared hurt.  “Only second?  Who’s first?  Not Sonny, surely.”

Simon ‘Sonny’ Baines was so named because he’d looked like a school boy when he’d enlisted and hadn’t seemed to age a day since.  Along with his youthful looks he had a penchant for school boy pranks, many of which were at Len’s expense.

“No, not Sonny.  Me.”

“But what about the business?  What happens to that when you’re running around Baghdad?”