Through the open window, summer sunlight slants into the room and I hear the call of a distant bird, nesting high in the welcoming arms of an ancient sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus). I realize that it is far too warm for the blankets that lie across my legs. Before I shift them my eye catches, again, the slender leaf, pinned with my many cards against the wall. For one last time I whisper to the boy, with a secret smile, “Goodbye, friend.”
My mum walks in, her uniform creased. She smiles at me, her eyes aglow. I stare at her. She stares at me.
“You have such a lovely smile, Kaia,” she says.