Frankie McCafferty

He stares straight ahead, stiff-collared, in black suit, white shirt and black velvet tie.

In the passenger seat, his sister, Tess Maguire, in black trouser suit and black pallbearer's beret.

In the back, the reclining mortal remains of Johnny Slipper Kenny.

imperceptible to those on the street is the slight movement of lips between driver and assistant.

A low-grade, simmering, sibling row which has been going on since they left the hospital mortuary.

Willie blesses himself as the hearse passes and then clasps his hands in front of him like a scolded schoolboy.

He speaks to Cortland in a low voice as befits the solemnity of the occasion.

Really?

Really.

Following the hearse in a red Volkswagen Golf with faded L plates, the widow Kenny, head bent in grief, lifts a hand without looking to acknowledge the respect of the little town.

In the back of the car, the dearly departed's daughters comfort each other.

Courtland watches the hearse move away up the town and daydreams, day visions, day nightmares.

In a flash, the boot lift and the coffin slide out onto the road, sliding back down the town as the lid slowly opens.

and the corpse inside sits bolt upright, sliding, careering back down the street, the corpse waving as it steers an imaginary steering wheel.

But it is not Slipper Kenny inside.

It is himself that Cortland sees.

When his corpse self grows level with the shop, its head turns to stare into Cortland's eyes.

Are they to your satisfaction?

Willie looks at the shutters and then at his shoes.

Cortland reaches into his pocket and hands Willie the big bunch of keys.