A sharp pain tells him to breathe, only to check him midway. Somewhere in his lower back a muscle spasm is pinching a nerve; his backside has gone numb. The rain in the rafters is easing; it’s time to make a move. Carefully avoiding the gum, Daniel edges his way along the pew, slips out between the rows and heads back down the aisle. The sky has at last relented, and the low sun is casting intermittent shadows through the west window that push forward as though craving communion. As he ventures outside he’s met by the drone of traffic on two fronts, ahead and to his right. The glare from wet cobbles stabs at the hangover he’s been nursing all day – a spreading yew tree beckons with the promise of cover. Daniel squints up at the clock. Still an hour or so of daylight to go: more than enough time for the graveside vigil that awaits him. For now, he can afford to see out the sunset, prop himself against the wrinkled bark and study the shadows as they spread from stone to stone. Phantoms slowly joining hands to form a single shade.