Bert sat in his coffin in his best suit, with a lipstick mark on his cheek. He could feel the stickiness on his skin. He wanted to wipe his face clean but was too weak to raise his arm.

“Connie.” He he called to his wife, trying to get her attention, but she was too busy greeting his sister totake any notice of him.

“Darling, how nice of you to come.” Connie was speaking in her special, society voice, glorying in her role as hostess.

His sister had no truck with Connie’s pretensions. She answered brusquely “Of course I’d come – I don’t really approve of this modern craze for eutha-funerals but Bert is my brother and I have a duty to support him.”

She turned to greet Bert and noticed the lipstick.  “Well really,” she fussed, as she spat on the corner of her handkerchief and wiped off the mark, ”who on earth would wear scarlet lipstick to a funeral?” She scanned the assembled congregation and her eyes lit on her granddaughter. “Oh, don’t tell me, I might have known it would be Laura. Well at least she’s turned up. You’ve got a good send-off here Bert.”

She patted his hands, which were lying, trembling slightly, on the white, quilted-satin blanket. Sounds of organ music came from within the chapel and his sister hurried in to take her place. Bert glared after her. After a lifetime of petty rivalries he had not missed the hint of triumph in her voice. Oh yes, she had managed to live longer than he was going to do. She would be counting the congregation now, intending to have a larger funeral when her time came.

“Time to go in darling”. Connie said and gestured to the undertaker, who was standing reverently in the shadows. Bert nodded. His wife was looking particularly lovely today. The excitement of the occasion had brought colour to her cheeks and her eyes were shining. She had bought a new coat – dark blue rather than black. Black, she explained, was such an unflattering colour she would never be able to wear it afterwards. Dear Connie, always so practical.

His coffin was on a wheeled trolley. The undertaker wheeled him slowly down the centre of the chapel while the congregation sang.

“Abide with me, fast falls the eventide…….” 

Bert faced the congregation while his wife took her seat in the front row. His gaze traversed the assembly of friends and relations – mostly relations – looking for signs of grief. One or two smiled back at him, but nobody was crying. The hymn came to an end and everybody sat down to listen to the vicar. Bert looked at Connie. She was sitting beside his brother. When she caught Bert’s gaze she gave an encouraging little smile and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. Bert looked suspiciously at her. He would have expected Connie to cry. When she cried her face became red and her eyes swollen, real tears poured out – not just eye-dabbings. She had cried the day he had been diagnosed, especially when the doctor told her she would have to care for him for years as his muscles gradually degenerated.

“The king of love my shepherd is …….” 

The congregation were on their feet again, singing. As the last discordant sounds died away, his brother came to the microphone and told the congregation amusing stories about Bert’s childhood. His sister followed with a eulogy about how bravely he had faced his final illness. Laura, who had ambitions to be an actress, nearly broke down as she expressed her love for her great uncle. Finally it was Connie’s turn and Bert listened eagerly while she told everyone what a wonderful marriage they had had and how much she loved him. She then came over to the coffin and kissed him and said.

“Goodbye darling,” in a loud voice, so everyone could hear.

“Do I have to go?” he asked weakly - moved by her devotion.

“Yes,” she said firmly, kissed him again and hurried back to her place. Bert’s brother put a comforting arm around her and she looked up at him with an expression that stirred a sudden suspicion in Bert. 

“And now,” said the priest, bringing the microphone to Bert, “for a final word from our dear departing.”

Bert looked at the expectant faces turned towards him. “Thank you all for coming to my eutha-funeral,” he said. “But actually, I think I have changed my mind.” There was a ripple of nervous laughter, unsure if he was joking. The priest started clapping and they all joined in the applause. Very amusing - trust old Bert to end his life with a joke. Bert tried to continue his speech but the priest had taken away the microphone and the organ had started to play the final hymn. An automatic curtain drew across the chapel screening Bert from the congregation. Behind him he could hear the furnace fire up.

“I’m not joking,” he told the undertaker, who was approaching with a syringe. “I really have changed my mind.”

“Sorry sir,” said the undertaker,” but you signed the contract.” Bert struggled weakly but he was no match for the undertaker who seized his arm and injected the lethal fluid with practiced ease. 

“Time like an ever-rolling stream bears all its sons away…..”  

The congregation sang. Bert slumped down into his coffin. A door opened in the wall behind him and Bert and his coffin were consigned to the flames