Tony

Wednesday 3:30 p.m.
                   I managed to keep myself together in the crematorium, which is good going for me. Over the past few days, of course, images of Tony and me, and the kind of relationship we had, have been in and out of my head all the time.
                    All the things I know about him and all the things I remember about him. Millions and millions of things. Although we didn't pal about much after he got married, we were really, really close friends at that time of your life, late adolescence and early adulthood, when you really are developing as a person. It's strange to know so much about someone and not be able to tell anyone about it. I couldn't face the wake.
                    I met his first wife, Fran. Tony and I went on a pilgrimage to Lourdes (and Lloret de Mar!) with a group of, mainly, girls from the Saint Columbus parish down in Viewpark at the end of fifth year at school. Frances Crighton was one of the girls.
                   His brother Frankie was standing in the queue in front of me. Tony, he said, had a totally unexpected and massive heart attack, but it took a few days to kill him. The hospital sent him home and he died there. Alive one week and dead the next. C'est la vie.
                   It really was the most important friendship of my life. And I'm not going to sit greetin about it here. So off to the pub!