‘It’s in good shape. I have some work to do, structuring the story of Rabbit’s life around the cancer blogs, but I’m working on it.’

‘Thank you, Derek, that means the world.’

‘It’s a love story really, Jack.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Ultimately it’s not really about cancer, it’s about a girl who loved a boy. It’s about a warm, vibrant family and endearing, enduring friendships. It’s about joy, Jack.’

Jack burst into tears and fell back onto the beanbag. He sobbed and blew his nose and Derek remained silent on the line.

‘Thank you for saying that, Derek,’ Jack said eventually when his tear ducts ran empty.

‘It’s a pleasure to be a part of it. As executor of Rabbit’s estate you will have to sign any deal we make with publishers.’

‘Yes, yes. It will be an honour.’

‘Nothing’s guaranteed – of course there is interest because of the popularity of her weekly blogs, but it’s a long road ahead.’

‘I understand. Whatever you can do.’

‘Either way, it’s a beautiful story, Jack, a beautiful life.’

‘Please, don’t start me off again.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t make the wake this evening but I will see you at the funeral.’

‘Thanks again, Derek.’

Jack hung up. He was all cried out, exhausted by it and having not really eaten in a week, all reserves had finally been depleted, which was an issue seeing as he was arse-deep in a snug beanbag with no energy to fight his way out. After wrestling it for what seemed like an eternity he was forced to call out for help.

‘Hello? Hello there? It’s Jack . . . It’s Daddy . . . Up here . . . In the attic . . . Stuck . . . Anyone?’

Molly’s head popped up through the hatch.

‘There you are, Molls,’ he said as she surveyed the situation.

‘Stuck in the beanbag.’

He nodded.

‘Right,’ she said, and she disappeared. He could hear her voice echo around the house.

‘Davey, head up to the attic and sort your da out, will ya, love?’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘He’s like an upturned fuckin’ turtle,’ she said by way of explanation. Jack just leaned back into his beanbag shell and waited. It’s about joy, he thought, and smiled. That will do me.

Chapter Thirteen: Marjorie

Chapter Thirteen

Marjorie

MARJORIE LEFT JULIET SLEEPING on the sofa. Upstairs she could hear Davey heaving his dad from the beanbag.

‘One, two, three, pull.’

‘Oh, oh, oh, my back – watch my back, son.’

Molly was on the landing, looking upwards through the open attic door, hands on hips and shaking her head.

‘Be careful, Davey, we don’t have time for him and his bad back.’

‘Doing my best, Ma.’

Marjorie stood beside Molly.

‘What can I do?’

‘Nothing, you’ve done enough,’ she said, referring to the twenty-five thousand sandwiches piled high in the Hayes kitchen.

‘What about Rabbit’s clothes?’