He opened it and inside was the Document of Registration for vehicle no. G339 YMC—Bill Waites’s taxi, his mode of transport, his place of work, his life. “Towards the end,” she explained, “Bill was quite relaxed. He knew he wasn’t long for this world. In fact, thanks to you, he was quite looking forward to it. He wasn’t too worried about me—with his policies and whatnot, he’s left me quite a tidy sum. He wasn’t worried about the kids, I mean, they’ve grown up and made their own lives. But he was worried about you.” “Me?” Frank was simultaneously flattered, surprised and alarmed. “You and that motorbike of yours. He said he’d seen you tearing around on it—nearly knocked you off once. He was worried that if you weren’t more careful, you’d come a cropper.” Frank was close to tears at a deceased parishioner’s touching concern for him but managed to smile himself out of it.
