Daniel and Samantha arrive at the church just minutes before the service begins. With bowed heads, they step into a pew three rows from the front and sit down; Samantha by a woman with a large black hat, Daniel at the end beside a pillar.
'It's packed,' Samantha whispers, crossing her legs in her black pencil-skirt.
Daniel nods. 'He did a lot of work within the community, knew a lot of people.'
'It's a shame we got here so late.' She picks up her hymn book. 'But I suppose you can speak to people at the wake.'
Daniel smiles thinly. 'We'll see.'
When the organ starts, he and Samantha stand along with the rest of the congregation to sing. Daniel moves his mouth to form the words but remains silent, never comfortable singing in public. His opposite, Samantha sings confidently, clearly, as she does in the shower or when she's pottering around the house, totally absorbed in her own world.
Daniel looks down the row of people beside them, black ties, white shirts, solemn expressions. He doesn't recognise any of the faces and feels a squeeze of relief at this lack of familiarity, a comfort in strangers.
He's glad they arrived with such little time to spare since, in doing so, he's avoided any awkward encounters with old classmates; stilted conversations about the present, mismatched memories of the past.
'Do you think you'll recognise any of the boys you were at school with?' Samantha had asked in the tube on the way here, the carriage shuddering from left to right.
'Probably a few. Not all of them. You know what I'm like with names and faces.'
'And you haven't seen any of them since school? Since you were sixteen?'
'I bumped into someone once, not long after we moved. It was embarrassing. Even when he told me his name, I didn't know who he was. Jonathan something or other. I had to pretend I could remember.'
'When I went to that reunion last year, there were some faces I knew just like that.' She'd clicked her fingers. 'And others, I couldn't remember even after they'd told me their names. That's terrible, isn't it? Being the face that people forgot.'
'I suppose it depends who you are,' Daniel said, aware of tinny music through headphones beside him: beat, beat, beat. 'Some people want to be forgotten.'
'Do you think?'
'Sometimes.'
'But why?'
'Because they didn't like themselves at the time.' He looked at his reflection in the window opposite. 'Because they prefer the person they are now. I see it with the students that come to me, hunched and withdrawn. I can see that they'll look back on this part of their lives and they'll feel like a whole other person. The past is a skin to be shed.'
As they sit back down, Samantha rests her hand on his knee, squeezes it gently through his jet black trousers. The touch is warm, welcome, and as he rests his hand on hers, their fingers intertwining naturally, thoughtlessly.
As the procession carry the coffin to the front of the church, Daniel wonders how much weight a body loses in death. Is it 21 grams? 20? He frowns. He should know that. That's common sense, isn't it?
When a woman a row or two in front sniffs, sniffs, and sniffs again, he looks up to see her being comforted by a younger woman in her forties, a daughter maybe, jet black hair in a tight bob. He looks to the elder lady and can tell from just her profile that she is Dr Skeets' wife. He recognises her silver hair, notices that she's wearing the same pearl earrings she'd been wearing on the afternoon they met. He's surprised he remembers such a small, insignificant detail since Samantha is constantly frustrated with his inability to tell when she's wearing something different, when she's had her hair cut or changed her perfume. 'A male stereotype,' she jokes. 'That's what you are. A male stereotype.' But maybe it's different in strangers, he thinks now. Maybe we notice in strangers what we miss in those closest to us.
The priest begins to speak about Dr Skeets' life, drawing on his childhood and teen years, how he'd grown up as the youngest of five brothers, fought for his education; his late teens, early adult life that he'd spent in Paris teaching English, where he'd met Janine, his wife, in a smoky cafe and known from the moment he looked at her that she would be the woman he'd marry. Daniel notices Samantha's mouth curl at the corner at this point, always affected by a love story.
Only a couple of weeks ago, they'd been to the small cinema just round the corner to see Lust, Caution, and tears had rolled down her face by the time the credits came on screen.
There's something about her public display of emotions that Daniel admires, envies even, for the emotional release it must offer.
As the priest continues, Daniel stares at the closed coffin at the front of the church. After a moment, he remembers Richard's funeral, the coffin half the size of that he's looking at now. He remembers the songs they'd sung, the thin paper of the hymn books. He remembers how his father had rested his hand over his mother's, how strange it had been to see any physical intimacy. He remembers walking up the aisle to look in the open casket, to say goodbye to his brother for the last time.
He remembers looking at Richard's face and seeing his mirror image albeit paler, calmer, and remembers thinking that half of himself had died.
The priest finishes talking, clears his throat and introduces Mrs Skeets.
Daniel watches Mrs Skeets step up to the wooden pulpit, a brass eagle as its motif. She's a small woman with a smart appearance, her silver hair pulled back in a bun, her wedding ring catching a sliver of sunlight that spills through the window. She holds her head high and, as she shuffles paper in her hands, Daniel notices that she is trembling. He glances away, sympathetic for this woman he doesn't know, sorry for her loss.
'Thank you all for coming today,' she says, smiling faintly, and Daniel hears the small crack in her voice, the betrayal of her true emotions opposing her strong appearance. 'If my husband was here now, I know he would be incredibly moved by your being here. I'd like to read something that I know he would love me to read to you. If you were ever in his English classes, you will understand what I am about to read.'
As Mrs Skeets reads Stop All The Clocks, Daniel feels himself falling back into time. He sees himself in Broadoaks; he sees himself coming into school for the term after the accident; he sees himself alone, Richard no longer by his side; he sees the autumnal colours of the trees outside of his dormitory; he sees the classroom of familiar faces, tanned from the summer sun. He sees the one new face, a shy looking boy, sitting in the seat beside his own, sitting in Richard's old space.
When the organ starts again, Daniel stands up.
And that's when he sees him - two rows in front, to his diagonal right. He sees him and he feels his heart shatter, feels time wash over him, a wave of memories. It's him. It's definitely him.

After the service, Daniel notices that his hands are trembling as he places his hymn book down.
Before the rest of the congregation have even stood up, he steps out of the pew quickly, his skin prickling with sweat under his black suit, the cuffs and neck of his shirt damp.
'That was a beautiful service,' Samantha says as people walk past them towards the back of the church.
He nods, agrees. 'What time are Tom and Janine coming over this evening?'
Samantha frowns. 'What's that got to do with anything?'
'Well, it's four o'clock now and we haven't bought anything for dinner.'
'They're not coming till eight.'
'And it'll be gone five by the time we get home.'
'That still leaves three hours, Daniel.'
They walk out of the church and into the bright afternoon, celestial sunlight spilling over the gravel path. A couple of children are chasing each other around the church, their laughter high and excitable. 'I'm going to tag you, then you'll be it.'
'Do you not want to go to the memorial service?' Samantha asks, squinting in the sun. 'Is that why you're looking for excuses to go home?'
'It's not that. I'm just-,'
'Then what is it, Daniel?' She asks, her tone short, curt as she tucks hair behind her ears. 'You've been acting strangely since you got the invitation and I can't understand what the problem is.'
'There isn't a problem,' he says quietly, aware that people are looking, looking at the couple arguing after a funeral service. 'There isn't a problem,' he says again, unsure who he is trying to convince.
'Then let's go,' Samantha says, her hand rubbing his arm. 'We don't need to stay long. Just show our faces.'

The memorial service is being held in a small gastropub, The Compass, a five minute walk around the corner.
Daniel slips his hands in his pockets, the lining cool against his hot skin. There's a silence between he and Samantha that speaks volumes, that with each passing moment, his wife's confusion grows deeper.
He wants to say something, anything, but he can't. His futile tongue lies heavy against gritted teeth. No words come to mind, only images; images of the face he just saw, as recognisable now as it had been all those years ago.
Anthony Gray. Had he ever thought he'd see him again? He'd be lying if he said he hadn't imagined it, the conversation they would have when they bumped into one another on the tube, in a book shop, in a park, talking only of the present, the past forgotten.
That had been his imagination of the event. But the reality? The reality is something different; something which, even though it is happening around him right now, is like a dream he is waking from, a truth he can't accept.
'I need to go to the bathroom,' Samantha says as soon as they step into The Compass.
'White wine?' Daniel nods towards the bar.
Samantha frowns, rests her hand on her stomach. 'Just an orange juice.'
Watching her walk away, Daniel shakes his head. It's been a week now since she told him about the pregnancy, yet still it hasn't sunk in. The truth is, loathe he is to admit, this funeral has lain at the forefront of his mind, overshadowing any other thoughts he may have had.
When the waitress takes his order of an orange juice and Rioja, he hands over the correct change before turning and walking away.
He steps through a crowd of people he doesn't recognise and sits at a table in the far corner of the bar.
He takes a gulp of his wine and the taste fills his mouth. The tannins are a reminder of his and Samantha's honeymoon, when they'd gone to a wine tasting in Barcelona. He'd proven himself to be a wine buff, and Samantha had been impressed.
'I never even knew that about you,' she'd said.
He looks at his glass and sees that it's already half empty. He glances over to the Ladies. Where is she? She must have been gone at least ten minutes now. He feels a surge of annoyance. So unlike himself, Samantha has has the ability to strike up conversation with anyone she meets, finding common ground immediately.
Hearing his name, Daniel looks up and feels his throat tighten.
'Daniel Stone.' The man repeats, shakes his head. 'How long has it been? Twenty years?'
'Must be.'
'How are you doing? Are you well?'
'Fine,' he says, nodding, avoiding eye contact. 'Fine.'
'Are you based in London now?'
'Yes, Islington.'
'Really? I've just moved there. Near the park. Do you know it?'
'I run there every day.'
'Imagine that. We don't see each other for twenty years, and now we're a stones throw apart.' He laughs. 'What are the chances?'
Daniel looks past him to the Ladies toilet and sees Samantha walking towards them.
'Sorry,' Samantha says as she gets to the table. 'I got a call from work. Bloody Julia. She can't make a decision to save her life.' She looks at the wine in Daniel's hand. 'You never drink in the day.'
'It's just a small glass,' Daniel says.
Samantha looks to the man beside her, puts out her hand. 'My husband's terrible at introductions,' she says. 'I'm Samantha.'
'Anthony. Anthony Gray.'