They were gathered in the courtyard beside the church; a much larger gathering than he would have expected, given the circumstances. His family were stood closest to the door of the church, and at the centre of them I could see his mother, sobbing uncontrollably, and his father standing there with a face fixed like stone. I could see his father’s broad chest heaving as he breathed in deeply and the priest talking to him quietly and then the father nodded and the priest led them quietly into the church to view the body.
Outside the people spoke quietly amongst themselves about him and his family and especially about the circumstances of his death, which had quickly become public knowledge. You could hear them saying what a shame it was and what a waste, and how you could never really tell with the quiet ones—and what about his poor mother, losing her only child. It was a bleak and grey Sunday morning and the people stood around like ghosts, I remember. After a while the priest emerged from the church and Simon’s parents were following behind him. His mother had turned pale and calm and quiet and it was his father, instead, who was now visibly overcome with grief. He cried in an unsettling way for a grown man in front of all those people and the family tried to comfort him as the rest of us tried not to watch.
We watched as they went into the church with their heads bowed: some couples, others with their children, buttoned up awkwardly in little formal suits. They entered into the church a few at a time and then emerged a short time after with a much different look on their faces to when they had gone in. Some of the women embraced Simon’s mother and cried with her while the men would nod their heads respectfully at his father before moving on. Finally, as the last of the visitors came out of the church and the priest looked as though he was about to turn away, we went over to the church to enter.
“Hello lads,” said the priest as we walked over to him, “Have you come to pay your respects?”
“How do you do, father.” said Nathan, by the side of me.
“They don’t call them fathers anymore,” I said, “We’ve come to see him off, yes.”
“All of you?” asked the priest.
“All of us, aye.” said Nathan.
“Very well,” said the priest, “Come with me, then.”
The priest took us through the doorway which led into the main chamber. The room was empty and our footsteps echoed in the hollow room as we walked between the pews. Nathan nudged me in the arm as the priest led us towards the altar. At the front, a dark wooden coffin lay in solitude, with flowers and letters and cards placed all around it.
I moved forward tentatively and peered into the coffin at Simon. He was colourless and had his eyes closed, looking neutrally at the ceiling through his eyelids. He was dressed neatly in a blue shirt and trousers and his hands had been neatly folded across his stomach. He looked calm and slightly pleased, as though he had been watching the whole of the proceedings and that they had thoroughly amused him. You could half expect Simon, knowing his sense of humour, to jump up in a minute and tell everybody it had been a fantastic joke, and thank you everyone for coming, but the priest could go back to molesting children now. He did no such thing.
“Jesus.” I said.
“Did they cut his hair?” Nathan asked.
“Maybe he cut it himself.” said Nazir.
“No, I think they cut it. You can tell.”
“Shush!” I said.
“They dressed him up in those clothes, too.”
The priest cleared his throat.
“Come on, let’s go.” I said.
“Alright, then.”
“Goodbye, Simon.”
“All the best, Simon.”
“Goodbye.”
The priest led us back outside. When we came out Simon’s family were still standing near to the church, quietly looking up at the church building, but most of the other people had started to leave. There was a chilly breeze which whipped up the leaves and made me shiver as we left the church. I nodded my head at Simon’s parents as I walked past them with my hands in my pockets.
 “Right.” said Nazir, who up until this moment had barely spoken.
“That’s that.” I agreed.
“Let’s get pissed.” said Nathan.
We walked down the road past the dark green railings of the cemetery and left down a small street which joined onto the main road. There was barely anybody around at this time of the day and the sun had only just started to break through the clouds. A few buildings down the road on the corner was a pub called The Smithy Arms. We entered the pub, which was deserted, and the landlord came out from an adjacent room and turned the light on behind the bar.
“Hey fellas,” he said, “How was it?”
“Quiet, really.” said Nazir.
“A lot of crying.” I said.
“They cut his hair.” said Nathan.
Nobody responded to the last comment.
“What’ll you be drinking, lads?” asked the bartender.
“Six pints of Stella, ta.”
The bartender’s face changed for a moment, just a split second really, and then the look was gone again. There were five of us.
 “Who’s getting them in, gents?” someone asked, and we all started reaching for their wallets. The bartender shook his head.
“On the house, lads,” he said, “Don’t you worry about that.”
“Nice one, cheers.”
“Cheers.” he said.
We went and sat at a long table in the corner. There was myself and Nathan, Nazir, Sam and Paul. We all took a fairly long drink and I rubbed my hands together in the corner.
“Alright, wasn’t it?” said Sam.
“Better than he would have expected.” I said.
“Aye,” said Nathan, “But I don’t understand why they cut his hair like that. It just seemed unnatural, you know?”
“Naz is right,” I said, “For all we know he shaved it off himself.”
“When’s the last time any of us spoke to him, really?” asked Paul. We all shrugged and looked at each other.
“Simon was always a bit unhinged.” I said.
“Do you remember when he said that people were shorter down south?” Naz said.
“Oh yes. Do you remember when he accused everyone who bought a new phone of vanity...”
“And then got himself a new Google Nexus?” I laughed.
“Vanity,” Sam said, “ he was always going on about vanity.”
“What I found odd about Simon,” I said, “Was how quick he was to denounce everyone else’s lifestyles when his clearly wasn’t working.”
“What do you mean?” asked Paul.
“Well according to Simon money’s just greed. God doesn’t exist. Having kids is destroying the environment. Where’s his alternative?”
“He gave all his stuff away to charity.” Sam said.
“I think he wanted to save the world.” said Paul.
“He was depressed, that’s all.” said Naz.
“He wouldn’t let anybody help him, though.” I said. “He held himself up to impossible standards. I felt like grabbing him and shaking him and saying, you know, “this, this is all there is. You need to enjoy as much of it as you can and that’s all there is to it.””
“I’ve been thinking about that.” said Paul.
“About what?”
“About enjoying as much as you can,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but seeing Simon there today has really convinced me. I’m going to go away for a while.”
“Where?” asked Sam.
“Anywhere, see the world for a bit.”
“You haven’t got any money.” I said.
“Then I’ll work abroad, and then travel a bit at a time. In the summer, you can do fruit-picking.” he said.
“Fruit-picking?”
“Fruit-picking. You can find places to stay, there’s websites for all that. Couchsurfing.com.” he said.
“That’s crazy.” Sam said.