The pallbearers surround the hearse. Jack’s brothers, both with kind faces.

I can’t look.

I won’t look.

I turn around, my back facing what’s supposed to be Jack inside a box. My God, from what I see of the box before I turn it doesn’t even look big enough for him to fit inside. I don’t want to gawp, check, or think that thought ever, ever, ever again. I gaze out past the gate; the stone wall dotted with moss; the horses in the distance across a field.

And when I turn back, the hearse is empty.

The girl with the baby in a sling waits by the church door, jigging in and out of the entrance, her spot for the ceremony. I walk forward, give her and her baby a gentle smile and slip into the back row pew.

The vicar begins. Jack’s brother Alex delivers a few anecdotes about Jack as a kid, ‘Always collecting things; ladybirds in matchboxes, football stickers, rings from Coke cans …’ Sweet; I never knew that. Alex reminds us all that Jack liked to own a room; to be heard. Laughter drops the tension of many shoulders and a few people clap. It’s more of a best man’s speech than a eulogy and Alex invites some of Jack’s friends to say a few words, too.

They talk of terrible chat-up lines and something they got up to as students called ‘naked stair diving’. There’s much appreciation for the latter – it’s something a good chunk of the congregation seems to know about. We’re invited to look up to the white screen set up on the altar. A video montage begins, with ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ by Queen as the soundtrack. People whoop and cheer at various moments – Jack downing a shot or bombing into a swimming pool – and there’s a group ‘ah’ for old clips of him as a kid with a dog or pecking his mum on the cheek. A short video game animation slots into the mix, made by work colleagues: ‘Jack’ the avatar running through a desert with a machine gun. As Freddie Mercury finishes up with the slowed-down ‘da’s of his song, the montage goes into slow motion too, ending with a familiar face, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue, raising a pint of Guinness …

Familiar to everybody in this church bar one.

Me.

I barely recognise him. Of course, it looks like Jack. But it’s not Jack. A lad who was apparently into Moby and The Mighty Boosh? I mean, Jack? My Jack? Never in a million years. And as for the choice of song for the montage – well.