He’d been dreading this day. One year since Dad died. Since their home and business had gone up in flames. He hadn’t wanted to travel back from college in Birmingham to join Mum at the cemetery. The funeral had been bad enough.
So he’d gone online and looked for a bouquet for Mum to put on the grave for him.
Say it with flowers. There weren’t enough flowers in the world to express what he would like to say to Dad.
You’re a dickhead.
You didn’t need to do that.
I miss you.
In the end, he’d chosen a dozen white roses and asked them to put: ‘Love you, Dad. Now and always. Den’. Bland, but adequate, and the best he could come up with.
He went for a walk at eleven when he knew Mum would be arriving at Fincham cemetery, leaving his student hall and strolling through the streets, going where his feet took him. He ended up walking along the canal towpath. It was cold and overcast when he set off, but after a while the clouds passed over and the sun came out, bright blue sky reflecting in the still surface of the water.
A year ago, everything had changed. His faith in human nature had been rocked. Not just Dad and his terrible final act, but Mrs C, too. How could such a nice old lady be capable of such a wicked thing? The neighbourhood thug, Danno, had been arrested, finally. Marlon had been cautioned for the harassment he’d carried out at the café. And Mina had been found, drugged but otherwise unharmed, in the roof space above Mrs C’s spare room.
Nothing could ever be the same after that day, but maybe, in some ways, it was for the best.
By the time he got home, he was feeling better. It was just a day, like other days, no need to dread it. He had a tutorial this afternoon and then a five-a-side footie game with some of the others from his course. Just a knockabout – no one cared if you took a breather or fluffed a shot.
He let himself into the shared hallway. Today’s post was on the mat. He picked it up and started allocating it to the pigeonholes for the other students. There was one with his name on in beautiful, neat handwriting, which he didn’t recognise. He frowned.
There was only one page inside – a piece of A4 printer paper, folded in thirds. He opened it up and started smiling. It was a drawing of a girl and a dog in a flowery meadow. Arching over them were the words ‘Thank You’ drawn in rainbow colours and at the bottom right a signature: ‘Love Mina. xx’