Passing on [antikvár]

€NC The coffin stuck fast at the angle of the garden path and the gateway out into the road. The undertaker's men shunted to and fro, their hats knocked askew by low branches, their tof>coats showered with raindrops from the hedge. The mourners halted around the front door and waited in silence. Birds sang effusively. At last the men managed to pivot the coffin on the gatepost and proceeded to the waiting hearse. The coffin was loaded. The mourners straggled out into the road and hesitated, unwilling to commit themselves to the attendant limousines. Louise said, 'It's daft using cars to go such a short distance At least we could have squashed into one, surely?' There were two Daimlers. Helen and Edward got into the first, the four Dysons into the second. First time I've ever ridden in one of these, thought Helen. The last too, let's hope. They moved off at walking pace, past the Britches, radiant still with birdsong, past the builders' yard where Ron Paget, heaving planks of timber from the pick-up, suspended the operation and stood in respect, his eyes lowered. Helen nudged Edward: 'The old rogue - look at him.' Edward nodded. He said, 'At least he's not coming to the church - I wouldn't have put it past him.' Now they were passing the shop, where the Birds Eye van driver continued to lift out cartons without looking up. From within, faces watched furtively. Two women with prams paused, tucking themselves into the wall as the cortege went by. A small child pointed, questioning. They are having to explain, Helen thought. About deaths, funerals. Probably they will dodge the issue with distractions - an iced lollie, a sweetie. All the same, mother has disrupted the lives of others, just a little, for the last time. Now they were at the church, unloading. The coffin, the