(sweeping music) - That's us, then.

(groaning) There we are.

Ooh.

- Are you all right there, Uncle Murray?

- Never better, Christie.

Never better.

Now, why don't you go and see to Mr. Ferguson there while I have a last word with Bella here?

- Uncle Murray.

About Ferguson.

- What?

- His cousin Magnus is his only surviving relative and he's in hospital in Inverness.

- Well, we'll just have to see that Mr. Ferguson 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.

(dramatic music) My God, 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 in the district sick with love for you.

Where's it all gone, eh?

(dramatic music) - I've brought your tea, Mr. McMurray.

- Ach, you're a life-saver, Mrs. Lewis.

- Tea, Christie?

- No.

- As you will.

(dramatic music) (bagpipe music) (woman gasping) - 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 us.

(dramatic music) - Er, Miss Campbell.

- Miss 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 is?

- Oh, it's just a wee story I must tell you one day, but not today.

It wouldn't be right.

(dramatic music) - Minister.

Christie.

- Barney.

- Mr. McMurray.

- Rory.

- There you are, Auntie, a nice port and lemon.

- Thank you, Rory.

- That was a lovely service, Miss Campbell.

- It's very kind of you to say so, Hamish.

Though I did think that Isobel Sutherland might have covered the funeral for The Listener.

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

- Isobel'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.

- I beg your pardon?

- Rory Campbell.

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

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

- I'm just making- - Do you think I'd ask a friend for money at a time like this?

- Now, Mr. Meldrum.

- I'm gonna rip your head off your shoulders and ram it up your backside, you ignorant wee dog!

- Refill.

Any time you like, Barney.

- Please, Barney.

- Do you hear what he said to me?

- Uh-huh.

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 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 out of 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.

- Ah.

Thank you, Murray.

(both toasting in Gaelic) - I'll 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 power.

- Never.

- Mm-hm.

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 a 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 & Son.

- What key posts are those, Lachlan?

- Let me see, now.

There's deputy director naturally, company secretary, director of human resources and marketing.

- I see.

- Do you, Murray?

That's good.

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

- Three pounds.

- Done.

(whistling) - Here!

Come on!

- So, where did you get to, then?

The wake's still going on.

Will 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, let me tell you, there's not many men get a chance to wear a hat like that.

Oh, no.

Wait till you see this.

Just take a look at this, eh?

Now, look at that cloth, eh?

Just feel that, man.

See, if I lived 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 that it might be nearer to your size, actually.

- An undertaker?

Me?

I can't believe he did it.

How could he do that?

- It's a perfectly honorable profession.

And we'll always need them, unfortunately.

To be honest with you, Lachie, I don't see the problem here.

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 bad-assed.

A boy with attitude.

I'm like, like- - Like Jimmy Dean.

- Precisely.

Like Jimmy Dean.

- Well, could you not be an undertaker during the day and Jimmy Dean at night?

- Hamish.

- Now, John, no.

Now, that would never do.

Lachie, you could always just refuse.

- I couldn't do that.

He's my daddy.

- Aye, well, let me think.

Let me think.

Erm.

- Hey, get off.

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

Right.

Right, think about this.

Think about this.

Where would McCrae & 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.

- [Hamish] Good.

- Aye and that's a storm come in.

Give me a hand up, Lachie Jr. You can give me a walk back to my caravan.

(dramatic music) (thunder rumbling) (dramatic music) (thunder rumbling) (dog barking) (dramatic music) (man moaning) - What the hell happened to you?

Where's Bella Campbell?

- What?

- Bella Campbell, man!

Her grave's empty!

- They took her.

They came and took Bella 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 house.

Mrs. Lewis will show you around and what she doesn't know about this place isn't worth knowing.

Make sure to take Lachie to meet Christie.

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

I wanted to surprise him.

- Come.

- Hamish, what the hell's going on?

Where's Macleish?

- Rory, calm down, calm down.

- My auntie, it'll kill her.

- I will tell you what I know, okay?

- There's no point upsetting yourself till you know the facts.

- Have a seat.

Have a seat.

- Thanks very much.

Thank you, thank you.

- Hamish?

- Right.

I found Macleish wandering through the cemetery in a daze, looking as though he'd been in some kind of explosion.

- Explosion?

What about my Auntie Bella?

Are you saying she's been blown up?

- No, no.

Not blown up.

Not blown up.

More kind of beamed up, actually.

- Beamed up?

- According to Macleish, your Auntie Bella was taken away by spacemen, Rory.

- Spacemen?

- Aliens.

- Taken where to?

- Somewhere, er, up there, he said.

- Uncle!

Uncle Murray!

- What?

- I have just met the new assistant.

Young McCrae.

I should have been consulted.

How much are we paying him?

- Three pounds an hour.

- Three- Three pounds an hour.

We could have got a man for next to nothing off a government scheme.

Three pounds.

He's got to go.

Do you hear me?

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

(dramatic music) - 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.

- Ah, 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, and creatures I've never saw the like of.

There was this vessel hovering just above the graveyard.

The next thing, they put out this tractor beam and sucked me straight out of the hut.

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

- [Hamish] How do you know his name?

- We communicated across this kind of mind probe.

It came out from the center of its forehead and went up my nostril and straight into my brain.

The pain was awful.

- The man's havering, Hamish.

He's obviously demented.

- Hang on, hang on.

Hear him out.

On you go.

- I asked Kal-El what they wanted and he said they'd come for the dead earthling, Ella Campbell.

- [All] Bella Campbell.

- Bella Campbell.

- Did they say why they wanted Miss Campbell?

- They said they were inter-galactic zoologists and they were collecting dead folk from all over the Milky Way, for experimentation.

- What kind of experimentation?

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

(people laughing) - Hamish, you don't believe in any of this stuff, are you?

You've only got to look at the man.

He's traumatized.

- Sit down and shut up!

(townsfolk yelling) - Will you all be quiet?

- Easy, Esme, easy.

Now, look, whatever happened, it damaged his faculties, that's for certain.

- I'll admit it's a strange tale and I appreciate your skepticism, Lachlan, but, erm.

Well, to anybody in the hall who doesn't believe Mr. Macleish, I'd say this.

Where's Rory's Auntie Ella?

- [All] Bella!

- [Hamish] 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 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.

(dramatic music) - Listen, why don't you inform the authorities?

- Can you imagine what would happen to the village if this'd get out?

I mean, we'd have the papers here, the TV, even the wireless.

The place would be swarming and you cam see what image it would give us, bunch of dafties chasing spacemen.

- You can see their point, Hamish.

- I've asked the major to prepare a strategy to deal with the emergency.

- The major?

- Er, right.

I'll, er, 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 'em what a terrible thing it is they've done and demand unconditionally, the return of the body of the late Miss 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 warm clothing and binoculars and a hip flask.

(townspeople shouting) There you are.

Thank you very much.

Thank you.

(dramatic music) - They didn't buy it, Hamish.

- Ah, 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 Miss Campbell?"

- Aye, Hamish is right.

We have to hope there's just enough doubt in their minds to distract them for a while.

- [Hamish] 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, obviously Macleish is lying through his teeth.

He said he was sucked out of the hut in a tractor beam.

Well, I went back and found this.

Thank you.

I mean, it's all in there, Kal-El, mind probes, all the ingredients of the spaceman 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 Miss Campbell?

- It might be worse than that, Major.

Macleish has been the grave digger up there for a couple of years.

How many more has he sold?

And if people suspect for a minute, 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 think it was the storm last night, Major.

We think there was a lightning strike in the mechanical digger.

- Before Macleish had time to fill in Miss 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.

- [Hamish] John!

- No, no, Hamish.

John's right.

It is a comfort.

(soft music) - 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.

(soft music) - Not ready yet, boy?

Major'll be here any minute.

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

Just give the major my apologies.

- What are you speaking about?

What is all this stuff?

You are only on loan to him, remember?

- Oh, I know, but actually I'm finding it very interesting and quite fulfilling.

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

- Oh, aye.

So there is.

That'll be the major.

We'd best be getting along.

(dog barking) - It's all perfectly straightforward, McCrae.

You bring in the deceased, shove them 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.

If you follow me through to the hot end, we can meet the staff.

- Mr. McMurray.

- Sawney.

Lachie McCrae, Sawney Weir.

- Pleased to meet you, lad.

- 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!

- Hello.

Pleased to meet you, Lachie.

Pleased to meet you.

- You too.

- What did he say, "you who?"

- 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 straightaway.

You've got to be careful.

- What's all this?

- All this is my Uncle Murray's idea.

We're paying him three pounds an hour.

- 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.

- So you keep saying.

But tell me, what's all this rumor about spacemen in the burial ground?

- You've heard, then?

- Aye.

I also heard Macbeth swallowed the whole thing.

- Oh, aye.

(dramatic music) (men laughing) (dramatic music) - Ten more minutes and I'm packing it in.

- Watch yourself.

Watch your footing, boys.

(dramatic music) (phone ringing) - Er, McCrae & Son at your service.

Lachie?

What are you doing, boy?

- Putting on make-up.

- 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.

Well, you know, boy, I'm all for professional commitment, you know, 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're to go to the Finlay croft and wait for his Uncle Murray.

- Old Dougal Finlay?

- Aye.

Ach, 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.

(soft music) (knocking on door) (people speaking indistinctly) - Mrs. Finlay, on behalf of McMurrays Funeral Directors, may I say how sorry we are at your great loss.

Dougal was a fine, fine man.

And when Mr. McMurray gets here, he'll take care of everything.

Just you wait and see.

- How are you managing?

- Mrs. Finlay's very upset, Hamish.

Once we've attended to Dougal 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.

- Dougal.

It's Doc Brown, Dougal.

- Doctor.

Aw.

- Mr. Finlay, on behalf of McMurrays 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.

- Not me.

Lachie Jr. here took over.

- Lachie.

You have the hands of an artist, boy.

An artist.

She looks better now than she ever did.

- Thank you.

(soft music) - You'll see we made a reasonable profit through the quarter, Uncle.

- I can see.

Mm-hm.

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'll bang it up to six.

- What?

- The boy is simply magnificent.

Easily worth it.

And who knows, it might tempt him to stay.

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

Just till you were feeling fit again.

We don't need him.

- 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's paid six pounds an hour and that'll be for every hour he's been here.

(dramatic music) - Tea, Mr. McMurray?

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

Thank you.

(dramatic music) (Harry crying) - You can forget about spacemen 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.

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 here.

- John, could you get to the point?

- Well, John Weir and Bella Campbell would have been lying right next door to one another.

That would have been a great affront to Sawney.

- To the extent that he'd remove Miss Campbell?

- That's right, and put her through the crematorium at Cnothan, where he just happens to be the supervisor.

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

- Now you're motoring, Hamish.

- So you're saying Sawney Weir took my auntie and put her through the cremmy over at Cnothan?

- 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.

Erm, I don't have any evidence against Weir.

Everything's circumstantial.

So I'm really only telling you this for your own piece of mind.

As for everybody else, we just have to stick to that spaceman story.

- Why would Weir do such a thing?

- Well, according to John, your Auntie Bella and Weir's father were, erm, 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 blurted everything to him on account of you.

Hello, Mrs. Lewis.

(speaking quietly) - With his own flesh and blood trying to do him in.

That alone would kill him.

I have tried to keep Christie off his uncle but to be on the safe side, I'd be on 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.

- Now, don't, don't worry now, Mrs. Lewis.

I'll have a word with Christie.

If he knows you and I are on to him, he's not gonna try anything else, is he?

- I 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. Ferguson's cousin Magnus.

Such an understanding gentleman.

- Why, have you done something wrong, Lachie?

- Not exactly wrong, Hamish.

It's just that with Mrs. Finlay still in the chapel of rest, I took Mr. Ferguson in here.

Mr. Ferguson'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.

- [Lachie] Thank you, Hamish.

- Lachie, why are we talking like this?

- Like what, Hamish?

- Never mind.

Is, er, is Christie around?

- He's just stepped out for a bit.

Let me show you round while you're waiting.

I'll just put the lid on Mr. Ferguson here and screw him down.

- Lachie, cover him up by all means, but, er.

If you could leave the screwing down till 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 manufacturers.

Note the interior features, Hamish.

(tapping on lid) Lead-lined for durability.

And that's genuine satin upholstery there.

Then there's your eiderdown pillow and a moveable 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 to- - Money to what, Hamish?

- Money to burn, Lachie.

Was Miss Campbell buried in a Deluxe?

- She was, yes.

- Erm.

I see.

Is Murray around?

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

- My suppliers say they've only ever sent one Deluxe to this company.

- 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?

- I'd better stick the Land Rover round the back just in case he gets wind of us.

(dramatic music) (bell ringing) (dramatic music) (phone ringing) - McMurrays Funeral Directors.

Right.

(dramatic music) - [Murray] Are you sure Christie said he was going to the shops?

- That's what he said.

(dramatic music) 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. Ferguson here.

- Won't Christie mind?

- I don't think so.

(dramatic music) - Hello, Major.

- Aye.

Doesn't he look splendid?

Young Lachlan.

- He is a natural.

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

- You've found the culprits?

- Yeah, I've found them.

- Hamish.

- All right, Will.

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

- You do that, Mrs. Lewis.

- Oh, dear.

(dramatic music) (Mrs. Lewis screaming) - Where's Christie?

- I don't know, Mr. Weir.

Constable Macbeth and Mr. McMurray went through the books, something about the Lochdubh Deluxe.

(dramatic music) (synthesized prayer music) - Coming through, Sawney.

Sawney?

Coming through.

Coming through, Sawney.

Sawney?

Sawney, man!

- That's Sawney Weir.

(engine rumbling) (brakes screeching) - Where's Christie?

Hey!

Where's Christie?

Have you let him out?

- 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!

- Hurry where?

- Hurry!

Come on, hurry!

- Sawney!

Sawney!

Sawney!

Sawney!

It's me, man!

It's Christie!

Get me out of here!

Sawney?

Sawney!

Sawney!

- How sorry we are.

- Hang on Christie, we're coming!

- Where's the coffin?

Where is it?

- It's inside.

- What is it?

What's the matter?

(dramatic music) - Where is it?

The coffin that just came through, where is it?

- Where's the coffin, Tam?

- The coffin, Tam?

- I just put it through.

Is there something wrong?

(dramatic music) - It's money.

A 20 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 McMurrays 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 Cnothan, boy.

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

Think about the future.

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

You and me.

We'll become a conglomerate.

McCrae & McCrae.

- McCrae & McCrae.

- Come on, chin up, boy.

Come away and start up the 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?

(crying) (blowing nose) (engine rumbling) Well, that would seem to be that then, Lachlan.

That would seem to be that.

(soft music) (stairs creaking) (Lachlan crying) (soft music) (sweeping music)