"Quickly! Quickly! Everything must be perfect! He's going to be home soon!"

Mrs Halloran swept through the house in a frenzy, scattering the rest of the family as she went. Nothing was good enough for her today. The floors had been swept, the carpets beaten, the shelves dusted - but still Mrs Halloran found fault with the smallest of things.

"No! His chair has to be there! Put that table beside it! Whiskey and glass there! No! On a napkin! Can't you do anything right?"

Mrs Halloran pushed her eldest daughter, Elizabeth, to one side and began to reset the glassware on the side table. When she had finished, Mrs Halloran glared at Elizabeth. "Look! Why couldn't ye do it like that?"

The tone of her mother's voice, the harshness of her mother's words stirred deep feelings in Elizabeth, and the dam that had been holding back her emotions finally burst. "Why?" Elizabeth demanded. "Why does it matter? He wont' - !" She jumped back, her hand fluttering to the reddening part of her cheek where her mother had just slapped her.

"How could ye?" Mrs Halloran shrieked. "Have ye no respect for your father? Sure, he's coming home and we're in such a mess. Everything's out of place." Then she sank to the floor, her skirt pooling around her like a deflated balloon. "Everything." She began to sob.

Elizabeth knelt down beside her mother, wrapping her arms around the distraught woman. "You're tired, mother. And upset. We all are." She got to her feet., offering her hand to Mrs Halloran to help the woman stand up. "Go and brush your hair, tidy yourself up. There's only half an hour to go." Mrs Halloran opened her mouth to protest, but her daughter hushed her. "I'll deal with the rest of it. Don't worry."

Mrs Halloran looked around the parlour. "Aye," she said. "Perhaps you will."

A half-hour later, the members of the household were gathered in the long hallway. Everyone was there, from Mrs Halloran herself down to her youngest child. They were all dressed in black. They stood, nervous and expectant. The silence was broken by a knock on the front door. Mrs Halloran took a moment to compose herself, then answered the knock. A thin-faced man, dressed in a black suit and shiny top hat, was standing on the doorstep.

"Mrs Halloran?" he asked respectfully. "We've brought your husband home."

He stood aside to let the pall-bearers enter, bearing a shiny, black coffin on their shoulders. They carried their burden into the parlour, past the teary gaze of the Halloran family, and set it down.