Earth had compacted around the legs and the right arm, so they began digging it back, gently, working always to preserve the dignity of the dead man’s remains. Millar had suggested quite early in the process that we should inform next of kin. I drove to Coneyburrow Road and collected Mary Collins and her husband and brought them to the site. Sean’s body had not yet been returned to them for burial, and I could tell that, until her son was brought home to her, she would exist in her own personal limbo. She spoke little in the car, her hand at her mouth, her eyes vacant, focused on some point in the middle distance. I imagined such a time must have been a mix of emotions anyway, without the added pain of the loss of her son and the knowledge that neither father nor son had had a chance to meet – in this life, at least. Mr Collins initially engaged in small talk, then moved to practical questions surrounding the dig, how the events would now unfurl, what they should or should not do.
