‘Don’t you start lecturing me.’

James was angry enough to reply, remembering how desperate he’d been to talk to his father last night, but the funeral director interrupted them in a hushed tone. ‘Sorry to ask, but I need to know if there are to be family pallbearers, at the conclusion?’

‘Yep,’ Dad said, winking at his son. ‘There’s Bill, and me,’ he said, ‘and Pete, and you. That makes four of us. Anyone else?’

James couldn’t help himself. ‘Alan not coming?’ he asked.

But his father dodged it and the funeral director said: ‘That might not be enough,’ giving James a fatigued look as he handed them a program each and moved inside.

Now or never.

‘Dad, look, I reckon there’s some serious questions about whether Tony killed himself,’ James said.

His father scanned impatiently through his copy of the thin leaflet. ‘I heard you were snooping around the court house asking questions,’ he said, not looking up.

James had been accused of the very same behaviour by plenty of police officers, but coming from his father it sounded ridiculous. He retreated by focussing on Tony, beaming back from the photograph on the cover. One thick arm pulled his frame towards a rope on his yacht, a deep blue wash of sky from the zenith to the horizon. Standing in a country town approaching midday, James could feel the same dry, summery ache that Tony must have felt as he stood laughing for the photograph, his skin so tanned it made his teeth flash.

‘Just checking the police didn’t miss anything,’ James said lightly. ‘You know me.’

‘I’ve seen the report, and the photos, it’s crystal clear what happened to your cousin. Just too bloody sad for words,’ Dad said, slapping the program shut and looking at the image of his nephew. ‘Tony loved that bloody boat. Anyway, he jumped from the other side of the bridge, not where the toilets are,’ he added, shoving the flyer inside his jacket pocket as he moved into the church.

James watched his father’s back recede. That last comment would be the perfect place to instigate another chat, but it would need to be very soon.

Inside, Yvonne was looking the other way, offering no invitation for him to sit with her. James took a few steps along the aisle and seated himself in the last row as the music came to an end and the minister approached the lectern. Including the organist, the funeral attendant and the little girls, James counted just eleven people gathered to remember one of Kippen’s most popular sons.

Throughout the painfully short service, James started getting anxious about how four men were going to carry Tony’s casket out, and how he’d stop them driving it to the cemetery.