Original subtitles

- That's so sad.

- There, yes.

- Are you all right there, Uncle Murray?

- Never better, Christie.

Never better.

Now, why don't you go and see to Mr. Fergusson there

while I have a last word with Bella here?

- Uncle Murray, about Fergusson.

- Eh?

- His cousin Magnus is his only surviving relative,

and he's in hospital in Inverness.

Well, we'll just have to see

that Mr. Fergusson keeps until his cousin

gets out of hospital, won't we, Christie?

- The man died penniless, uncle,

and his cousin is no millionaire either.

- I said see to him.

- And I say we shove him in our cheapest box

and screw him down as he is.

This is a business.

- That's right, my business!

Now just do as you're damn well told

and see to that man, Christie.

My good Bella.

Where did it all go, eh?

All that time.

Seems barely a minute since you and me

were at the old school together.

A blink of the eye since the days when you had every boy.

The district sick with love for you, oh.

Where's it all gone, eh?

- I brought you tea, Mr. McMurray.

- Ah, you're a lifesaver, Mrs. Lewis.

- Tea, Christie?

As you will.

- And so, ladies and gentlemen,

we have traveled here from near and far

to say a tearful, but at the same time,

a fond and loving farewell to our dear sister, Ella.

- Excuse me minister, a fond farewell to Bella.

This is my auntie Ella here.

- Ah, our sister Ella, and as we stand here

sharing a moment of prayerful silence,

we must thank the Lord for Bella's life among it.

- Mrs. Campbell?

My condolences.

Major.

- Mrs. Campbell?

Can I take this opportunity to say

how sorry I am at your loss?

Your sister was a lovely person.

- That's very kind of you, Lachie Jr.

They were such fine words.

- Fine words, Lachie.

Come on, auntie.

- Now there's an irony for you.

- What?

- Oh, it's just a wee story I must tell you one day.

But not today.

It wouldn't be right.

Minister!

- Crissy.

- Hi, you.

- Farnie.

Mr. McMurray.

Rory.

- There you are, auntie.

A nice Port and Lingham.

- Thank you, Rory.

- That was a lovely service, Mrs. Campbell.

- Very kind of you to say so, Hamish.

Though I did think that Isabelle Sutherland

might have covered the funeral for the listener.

My sister was a well kept face in the community, after all.

- Isabelle's gone to Glasgow to work, Ella.

- Glasgow?

Why would she do a thing like that?

- Personal reasons, auntie Ella.

- Personal reasons?

Does he mean man trouble, is that what he means?

- I think he means personal reasons, Ella.

- Wonderful spread, Barney.

- Thank you, Les.

Thanks very much.

- I must say, Mr. Meldrum, it is

a fine spread you've laid on.

- Mrs. Meldrum.

I did the breakfast, Mr. McMurray.

- Oh, my apologies.

You know, it's amazing how a funeral

will bring out the extravagance

in even the most prudent of men.

- Beg your pardon?

- Well, Rory Campbell.

He must be paying plenty for this do, Mr. Meldrum.

- Do you think I'm charging for this, Mr. McMurray?

- Barney. - Now, I'm just making

small talk. - Do you think I'd ask

a friend for money at a time like this?

- Now, Mr. Meldrum-- - Barney.

- I'm gonna rip your head off your shoulders

and ram it up your backside, ya ignorant wee dog.

- Refill, any time you like, Barney.

- Please, Barney.

- D'you hear what he said to me?

- Uh, refill, please.

- Aye, Hamish.

Coming right up.

- Please accept my apologies, Mr. McMurray.

- Accepted.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll just

go and give good Mr. Campbell my bill.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Don't you think that's just a touch insensitive?

If I see you handing that envelope to Rory Campbell,

I'm outta here.

Leaving you to Barney Meldrum.

- Please think about it, Mr. McMurray.

For the price of a first class stamp,

you get to stay out of traction.

- Thank you, Murray.

Oh, don't do that!

- I come right to the point, Lachlan.

I wanted to talk to you about your boy, Lachie Jr.

- What about Lachie Jr.?

He's not been getting up to anything, has he?

- No, nothing like that, no.

I wanted to talk to you about his look.

You know he's got a wonderful look.

Lachie Jr.?

- Oh, aye.

Somber is the word I'm looking for.

That boy has the perfect undertaker's visage.

- Oh, aye?

- But the truth is I've been feeling

a bit stiff in the joints lately,

and I've been thinking that maybe

an extra hand at the parlor's

just what the doctor ordered?

Until I'm back at myself, I mean.

- Och, why don't you just retire, man?

Put your feet up.

Let that nephew of yours run the show.

- He's my late brother Archie's boy, Lachlan.

But that Christie will never run the business

as long as I draw breath.

Never!

The ideas he's got for the trade

would frighten the life out of you.

For example, the burial ground

would become known as the slumber lawn.

And you won't go to your grave

if Christie McMurray has his way.

You'll go to your eternal bower.

- Never.

- Mm-hmm, and that's not the end of it.

Instead of a coffin, you'll have an astral barge.

- Astral barge?

In Lochdubh?

- And for all this euphemistic claptrap

and the frippery that goes with it,

he'll charge your relatives a fortune and a half.

Lachlan, for pity's sake.

Could I have the loan of your boy?

- Well, you know, Murray.

I can sympathize with your predicament.

But you see, Lachie Jr. holds a number

of key posts on the board of McCrae and Son.

- What key posts are those, Lachlan?

- Well, let me see, now.

There's deputy director, naturally.

Company secretary.

Director of human resources on marketing.

- I see.

- Do you, Murray?

That's good.

- I'll pay him two pounds 80 an hour.

- Three pounds.

- Done.

- Here, eat.

Come on, come on.

- So, eh, where did you get to, then?

- The wake's still going on.

- Would you look at that, now, eh?

Is that a fine item of millinery or what?

- What is it?

- That is a top hat, boy.

Here, and let me tell you, there's not many men

get the chance to wear a hat like that.

Oh, no.

Wait'll you see this.

Eh?

Rest there.

Now, take a look at this, eh?

Ah, look at that cloth.

Eh, the feel of that, man.

See, if I live to be 1,000,

I'd never be able to afford clothes like that.

- You're not-- - What?

- Thinking of wearing that stuff?

You'll look like an undertaker.

- Well, no, Lachie Jr.

You see, I was thinking

it might be nearer to your size, actually.

- An undertaker, me!

I can't believe he did it.

How could he do that?

- Well, it's a perfectly honorable profession.

And we'll always need them, unfortunately.

- To be honest with you, Lachie,

I really don't see the problem here.

I mean, you did say it was only temporary.

- You don't see the problem?

You don't see the problem?

The problem is one of image, Hamish.

You know me, I'm badassed, a boy with attitude.

I'm like--

- Like Jimmy Dean?

- Precisely, like Jimmy Dean.

- Well, could you not be an undertaker during the day

and Jimmy Dean at night, then?

- Hamish--

- Now, now, now, John, no.

No, that would never do.

you could always just refuse.

- I couldn't do that.

He's my daddy.

- Aye, well, let me think.

Let me think.

- Hey, get off.

- Would you, oh Lachie, sit down, eh?

Right, right, thing about this, thing of it is,

where would McCrae and Son be without the son?

- How do you mean?

Right, if Lachlan got the idea

that you actually liked being an undertaker, yeah?

If he thought that you maybe wanted

to stay with old McMurray--

- He'd have you out of there

before you could say "embalming fluid".

- That's brilliant.

That's the answer.

Good.

- Aye, and that's a storm coming.

Gimme a hand up, Lachie Jr.;

you can give me a walk back to my caravan.

- What the hell happened to you?

Where's Bella Campbell?

- What?

- Bella Campbell, man; the grave's empty!

- They took her!

They came and took Ella Campbell.

- Took her where?

Ah, terrific.

- Does he look the part?

Does he look the part, Mrs. Lewis?

- He looks the part, Mr. McMurray.

The boy's a natural.

- Right, Lachie, I've got

some tinkering to do under the hearse.

And Mrs. Lewis will show you around,

and what she doesn't know about this place

isn't worth knowing.

Make sure you take Lachie to meet Christie.

He doesn't know I've taken you on.

I want to surprise him.

- Come.

- Hamish, what the hell's going on, where's Macleish?

- Rory, Rory, calm down!

Calm down! - Took my poor auntie.

- I don't, I don't-- - I will kill him!

- I will tell you what I know, okay?

- Just stop dreaming, there's no point upsetting yourself.

You know the facts.

- Have a seat, have a seat.

- Sit down. - All right, thanks very much.

Thank you, thank you.

- Hamish?

- It's, uh...

I found Macleish wandering through the cemetary in a daze.

Looking as though he'd been in some kind of explosion

or someth-- - Explosion?

What about my auntie Bella?

Are you saying she's been blown up?

Is that it? - No, no, no, no, no.

Not blown up, not blown up.

More kinda beamed up, actually.

Beamed up?

- According to Macleish, your auntie Bella was taken away

by space men, Rory.

- Space men?

- Aliens.

- Taken where to?

- Somewhere up there, he said.

Uncle?

Uncle Murray!

- What?

- I have just met the new assistant.

Young McCrae?

I should've been consulted.

How much are we paying him?

- Three pounds an hour.

- Three.

Three pounds an hour?

I could've got a man for next to nothing

off the government scheme.

Three pounds.

He's got to go, do you hear me?

- He stays, and that's my last word on the matter.

- Tea, Mr. McMurray?

- Ah, you're a lifesaver, Mrs. Lewis.

- And before you ask, I don't want any.

No tea, I do not want any tea.

- Thank you, Mrs. Lewis.

Right, right.

I'll tell him.

- I hope that was not a personal call.

There are no personal calls.

That was Constable Macbeth, Mr. McMurray.

He says Bella Campbell's gone.

- Missing?

- Taken by aliens, to somewhere up there.

There's to be a meeting in the village hall, tonight.

- I was lying in my hut, minding my own business,

when all of a sudden, there were these noises,

and these unearthly lights.

Creatures I've never saw the like of.

There was this vessel hovering just above the graveyard.

The next thing, they put off this tractor beam

and sucked me straight out of the hut.

Then I was deposited bang in front of their leader, Kal-El.

- How'd you know his name?

- We communicated across this kind of mind probe.

It come out from the center of his forehead

and went up my nostril, and straight into my brain.

The pain was awful!

- The man's havering, Hamish.

He's obviously demented.

- Quiet down, I wanna hear him out.

On you go.

- I asked Kal-El what they wanted, and he said

they come for the dead Earthling, Ella Campbell.

Bella Campbell.

- Bella Campbell.

Did they say why they wanted Mrs. Campbell?

- They said they were intergalactic zoologists

and they were collecting dead folk

from all over the Milky Way

for experimentation.

- What kind of experimentation?

- I'd prefer not to say to your face, Mr. Campbell.

- Hamish, you're not believing any of this stuff, are you?

You've only got to look at the man.

He's traumatized.

- Sit down and shut up, eh?

- Sit down, be quiet!

- Easy, Esme, easy.

- Now, look, whatever happened,

it damaged his faculties, that's for certain.

- Well, I'll admit it's a strange tale,

and I appreciate your skepticism, Lachlan, but.

Well, to anybody in the hall

who doesn't believe Mr. Macleish,

I'd say this: Where's Rory's auntie Ella?

Bella.

Bella.

- What about you, doctor?

Do you believe this story?

- Well, I've looked closely

at these burns on Mr. Macleish,

and from their configuration and degree,

I'd have to conclude that they are consistent

with the type of roasting one would see

on a man caught in the blast

of a space rocket as it took off.

- Which is exactly what Mr. Macleish said happened.

Listen, why don't you inform the authorities?

- Can you imagine what would happen to the village

if this was to get out?

I mean, we'd have the people see,

the tv, even the wireless.

I mean, the place would be swarming.

And you can see what kind of image it would give us.

Buncha dafties chasing space men.

You can see their point, Hamish.

- Look, I've asked the major

to prepare a strategy for dealing with the emergency.

The major.

- Uh, right, I'll get straight to the point, men.

And women.

- Of course.

Now, the thing is, I am looking

for volunteers to form a UFO watch.

Now, if this Kal-El and his cronies happen to come back,

we should be ready and waiting to tell them

what a terrible thing it is they've done,

and to demand unconditionally

the return of the body of the late Ms. Campbell.

Now, to this end, I have prepared some chitties.

And if those of you who are interested

would kindly fill them in and return them to me,

you will be issued with one clothing and binoculars.

And a hip flask.

There you are.

Thank you very much.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Yes, very nice.

Nice thing about you all.

Thank you.

Remember to sign your name.

Leave it out.

- They didn't buy it, Hamish.

Aye, well I know that.

But what else was I gonna do?

Call Macleish a liar in front of the whole village?

Next question, well.

Hamish, if you don't believe old Harry,

what do you think happened to Ms. Campbell?

- Ah, Hamish is right.

We have to hope there's just enough doubt

in their minds to distract them for a while.

Major, how'd you get on?

- Well, I got my volunteers, if that's what you mean.

Now, you did say you'd tell me

what this is really about, Hamish.

- Yeah, well, no, obviously Macleish

is lying through his teeth.

I mean, he said he was sucked

to the heart in a tractor beam.

Well, I went back, found this, thank you.

Mean, it's all in there.

Kal-El, mind probes, all the ingredients

of the space man story.

So what did happen last night?

Doc?

- It's only a theory, but there are

various bits and bobs from a cadaver

that might generate some cash,

in the production of steroids, for example.

- Isn't science just wonderful, major?

When you think that bits of old Bella Campbell

might end up doing the 100 meters

in less than nine seconds?

- Body-snatching, are you--

Are you saying that Macleish sold Ms. Campbell?

- Oh, it might be worse than that, major.

Macleish has been the gravedigger up there

for a couple of years.

How many more has he sold?

And if people suspect for a minute,

well the whole village would be up there

with picks and shovels, checking on their late relatives.

Think of the distress it would cause.

- But surely you're all wrong.

There are Macleish's injuries.

- No, no, I mean, the storm last night, major.

We think there was a lightning strike

in the mechanical digger.

- Before Macleish had time to fill in Ms. Campbell's grave,

hence the need for the spaceman story when Hamish found him.

- At least you've the comfort of knowing

you had Alex cremated, major.

John!

- No, no, Hamish; John's right.

Tis a comfort.

- This is a terrific flat.

Christie must be well chuffed with it.

- He won't be well chuffed until he owns the whole place.

If I could just find a man to succeed me here.

The right man, Lachie Jr.

I'm glad to see you're taking an interest.

Really, awful glad.

- You're not ready yet, boy?

Major will be here any minute.

- Actually, I've got rather a lot on.

Just give the major my apologies.

- What are ya speaking about?

What is all this stuff?

You are only on loan to him, remember.

- Oh, I know.

But I actually am finding it very interesting.

And quite fulfilling.

And there is the top hat and the fine clothes after all.

- Oh aye, so it is.

- That'll be the major.

You best be getting along.

- It's all perfectly straightforward, McCrae.

You bring in the deceased,

shove 'em up on the conveyor here,

the minister gives a few choice words,

then discreetly presses this button.

Fade up the 23rd Psalm and away the deceased goes.

Any questions?

- No. - Good.

Well, if you'll follow me through to the hot end,

we can meet the staff.

- Mr. McMurray.

- Sawney.

Lachie McCrae, Sawney Weir.

- Pleased to meet you, laddie.

- Pleased to meet you, Mr. Weir.

- Uncle Murray wants Lachie here shown the ropes.

- No problems.

Come on.

This is my assistant, Tam Duff.

- Hello.

- Oh, he can't hear you.

He has to read your lips.

Watch this.

This is Lachie.

He is working for Mr. McMurray.

- Oh, pleased to meet you, Lachie, pleased to meet you.

- You too.

- What did he say, yoo-hoo?

- You too, Tam.

- Oh, I'm stone deaf, you see.

- I see.

- Show him the system.

I'm going for a word with Mr. McMurray.

- Come here.

Now, this is the main switch,

and it'll start this right away.

You've got to keep careful.

- What's all this?

- All this is my uncle Murray's idea.

We're paying him three pounds an hour.

- Oh, it won't be long.

Old Murray's bound to be passing through here any day.

- It's the damage he might do

in the meantime that worries me.

The man has no conception of how a business should be run.

- Oh, so you keep saying.

But tell me, what's all this rumor

about space men and the burial ground?

- You've heard that?

- Aye; I've also heard that Macbeth

has swallowed the whole thing.

- Oh, aye.

Stand by with it, I'm packing it in.

Watch yourself now, watch your footing, boy.

What?

- McCrae and Son at your service.

Lachie?

What're you doing, boy?

- I'm putting on makeup.

- What are you putting it on for, son?

- Do you think I've been a bit

heavy-handed with that blusher?

What do you think?

- Lachie.

Is there something you want to share with me, boy?

- Don't panic, it's for the job.

I'm practicing.

Mr. McMurray said I should practice.

- Ah, the job, heh.

Well, you know, boy, I'm all for a professional commitment,

but it is just a short term arrangement, this.

In fact, you can jack it in as far as I'm concerned.

- No, we made a deal with Mr. McMurray,

and you do always say that

integrity's everything in business.

Did you want something?

- Aye, just had Christie McMurray on the phone.

You have to go to the Finlay croft

and wait there for his uncle Murray.

- Old Dugal Finlay?

- Aye, ach, well, it comes to us all sooner or later, boy.

I've been feeling the years myself, lately.

- Nonsense.

You're as strong as an ox.

And mine after him.

- Mrs. Finlay, on behalf of McMurray's Funeral Directors,

may I say how sorry we are at your great loss?

Dugal was a fine, fine man,

and when Mr. McMurray gets here,

he'll take care of everything.

Just you wait and see.

- Are you managing?

- Mrs. Finlay's very upset, Hamish.

Once we've attended to Dugal, there,

she'll be a whole lot better.

- Oh, really?

That's quite a service you're offering there, Lachie.

- What do you mean?

- Well, Mrs. Finlay's the one that's dead, son.

- Dugal.

It's Doc Brown, Dugal. - Oh?

Doctor, oh.

- Mr. Finlay, on behalf of McMurray's Funeral Directors,

may I say how sorry we are at your great loss?

Mrs. Finlay was a fine, fine woman.

- She looks beautiful, Murray, thank you.

- Oh, not me.

Lachie Jr. here, Dugal.

- Lachie?

You have the hands of an artist, boy.

An artist.

She looks better now than she ever did.

Thank you.

- You'll see we've made a reasonable profit

through the quarter, uncle.

- I can see. - Mm-hmm.

- I've been thinking about young Lachie's salary.

Three pounds an hour.

- Yes, I said it was steep.

- So you did.

I think we will bang it up to six.

- What?

- My boy, he's simply magnificent, easily worth it.

And who knows?

It might tempt him to stay.

- Oh, but you said it was short term, uncle.

Just til you were feeling fit again.

We don't need him.

- Oh, I think we do.

And if we can't see eye to eye on it, Christie,

you should maybe consider your own future here.

See that the boy is paid six pounds an hour,

and that'll be for every hour he's been here.

Tea, Mr. McMurray?

- Ah, you're a lifesaver, Mrs. Lewis.

Thank you.

- You can forget about your space men

and your body-snatchers; this is something

much closer to home.

Harry Macleish had a visit from Sawney Weir last night.

- So? - Well, I got close

enough to see what was going on.

Weir gave Macleish an envelope stuffed with money.

- Aha. - Look, now.

This is the grave that was meant for Rory's auntie, right?

- Aye. - Now come over here.

This is Sawney Weir's parents.

Now, years ago, it was common knowledge

that John Weir and Bella Campbell were carrying on.

Oh, it caused a lot of bad feeling, Hamish.

- John, could you get to the point?

- Well, John Weir and Bella Campbell

would've been lying right next door to one another.

That would have been a great affront to Sawney.

- To the extent he'd remove Mrs. Campbell?

- That's right.

And put her through the crematorium at Northam,

where he just happens to be the supervisor.

- Ah, so he paid Macleish to give him a digger.

- Now you're motoring, Hamish.

- So you're saying Sawney Weir took my auntie

and put her through the cremie over at Northam?

- That's right, but I'm telling you this

as a friend, Rory, not as a policeman.

You see, with your auntie Ella gone--

- Bella!

- Bella, I don't have any evidence against Weir.

I mean, everything's circumstantial.

So I'm really only telling you this

for your own peace of mind.

As for everybody else, we just have

to stick to that space man story.

- Why would Weir do such a thing?

- Well, according to John,

your auntie Bella and Weir's father were

at it, at one stage.

- No, no, no, no, Hamish.

That was my auntie Ella.

- John!

John McIver!

- Yes, Hamish?

- It was Ella, not Bella.

I've went and blabbed everything to him on account of you.

Hello, Mrs. Lewis.

- I never wanted to come here, Hamish.

If Mr. McMurray knew that his own flesh and blood

was trying to do him in, that alone would kill him.

- Just you keep looking over, Mrs. Lewis.

- I have tried to keep Christie off his uncle,

but to be on the safe side,

I'd be in hand with a pot of tea

whenever I knew they'd be alone.

So I would come in in the nick of time,

and then last night!

How long can I keep this up?

Cause I can't bear it any longer.

- Don't worry, now, Mrs. Lewis.

I'll have a word with Christie.

And if he knows you and I are on to him,

he's not gonna try anything else, is he?

- Hope everything's to your satisfaction, Magnus,

and we'll see you at the crematorium, okay.

- Thank you.

- Hamish, come on in.

That was Mr. Fergusson's cousin, Magnus.

Such an understanding gentleman.

- Why, you done something wrong, Lachie?

- Not exactly wrong, Hamish.

It's just that with Mrs. Finlay

still in the chapel of rest,

I've had to put Mr. Fergusson in here.

Mr. Fergusson's taking his final journey today.

Come and see what I've done to him.

You'll notice the suggestion of a smile there, Hamish.

And I've enhanced the definition

of the jawline, as you can see.

His cousin Magnus says I've taken years off him.

Well, the man certainly looks fit enough

to jump right out of that box.

- Thank you, Hamish.

- Lachie, why are we talking like this?

- I can't, Hamish.

- All right.

Is Christie around?

- He's just stepped out for a bit.

Oh, let me show you round while you're waiting.

I'll just put the lid on Mr. Fergusson here

and screw him down.

- Lachie, cover him up, by all means,

but if you could leave the screwing down

til I'm gone.

That can't be right, can it?

2,000 pounds for a coffin?

- Ah, but that's the Lochdubh deluxe.

Mr. McMurray's late brother designed it himself.

Sent the specifications off to the manufacturer's.

Note the interior features, Hamish.

Lead lined for durability.

And that's genuine satin upholstery there.

Then there's your eiderdown pillow,

and a movable footrest for a snugger fit.

At 2,000 I'd call it a snip.

- A snip?

Anybody's got two grand to spend

on a coffin must have money--

- Money to what, Hamish?

Money to burn, Lachie.

Was Mrs. Campbell buried in a deluxe?

- I believe she was, yes.

Hand?

- I see.

Is Murray around?

- He'll be upstairs in his study, I expect.

- My suppliers said they've only ever sent

one deluxe to this company, Hamish.

- Well, these printouts say you've sold over 20.

He's been selling the same one over and over.

And Weir's been disposing of the bodies at the crematorium.

- My God, Hamish.

His own father was in the first deluxe.

How could he do that?

- Think I'd best take the Land Rover round the back,

just in case he gets wind of this.

- McMurray's Funeral Directors.

Yes, one moment.

Are you sure Christie said

he was going to the shops, yes?

That's what he said.

Mr. McMurray, what's going on?

Why is Hamish waiting outside?

- Lachie, boy, I'm too ashamed to tell you.

Oh, but it'll all come out soon enough.

Lachie, I want you to take charge of Mr. Fergusson here.

- Won't Christie mind?

- I don't think so.

- Hello, Major. - Hi.

Doesn't he look splendid?

Young Lachlan.

- Yeah, he's a natural.

You can stand your volunteers down now, by the way.

- You've found the culprit?

- Yeah, I found him.

- Hamish.

- Hi there, Bob.

- I'll just give the stock a dust and polish, Mr. McMurray.

- You do that, Mrs. Lewis.

- Oh, dear.

- Where's Christie?

- I don't know, Mr. Weir.

Constable Macbeth and Mr. McMurray

were going through the books.

Something about the Lochdubh deluxe.

- Coming through, Sawney!

Sawney?

Coming through.

Coming through, Sawney.

Sawney?

Sawney, man!

- That's Sawney Weir.

Where's Christie, then?

Hey!

Where's Christie, you layabout?

I don't understand what you're saying.

I'm on my way to see him.

He was in the coffin.

Oh my god, he thinks I'm there!

Come on, Macbeth, we've got to hurry!

Hey, Weir!

- Hurry!

Come on, hurry!

- Sawney!

Sawney, Sawney, Sawney!

It's me, lad!

It's Christie!

Get me out of here!

Sawney?

Sawney!

- How sorry we are, a great man--

- Hang on, Christie, we're coming!

- Where's the coffin? - We're coming!

- Where is it? - It's inside.

- Come on! - What is it?

What's the matter?

- Where is it?

The coffin that just come through, where is it?

- Where is the coffin, Tam?

- The coffin, Tam!

- I just put it through; is there something wrong?

- It's money.

A twenty pound note.

- Ah, well, it's true what they say, Lachie.

You can't take it with you.

- I'm very sorry, Mr. McMurray.

- I'm not.

You, come here.

- Lachie Jr., it would seem that there's

a vacancy at McMurray's Funeral Directors.

- Would I have to live at the flat?

Well, that's everything then.

Daddy-- - What?

I can always change my mind.

- Change, are you soft or what, boy?

The man's giving you the business on a plate.

- Aye.

- You're only moving to Northam, boy.

You are about to become a man of substance, Lachie Jr.

Think about the future.

See, well, once you've got the funeral parlor, we'll merge.

You and me.

We'll become a conglomerate.

McCrae and McCrae.

- McCrae and McCrae.

- Tuck chin up, boy.

On the way and start up that truck, eh?

- I've asked Hamish to pick me up.

- Aye, well.

Maybe just as well, eh?

- Aye.

- Aye.

- So then.

- Come on, Lachie, boy, have I got

to throw you out of here or what?

And that would seem to be that, then, Lachlan.

That would seem to be that.