Billy’s father died at midnight.
He walked the ten miles from the hospital to home cursing the moon, yelling at the hills and abusing the woods, all at the top of his voice.
Nobody stopped to offer him a lift. Just as well, for he’d also have felt the sting of Billy’s grief.
He went round to all his relatives and his father’s friends, and it was another midnight when he got to sleep.
His father appeared in his tortured dreams as the dawn light was creeping over the eastern horizon.
‘Don’t be angry, Billy. I am all right here.’