I don’t want to ruin the perfect image she has of Hugo, but I’m going to need her help.

‘Erm, Mum … I don’t suppose you know where I could get a ride-on unicorn from, do you?’

She looks at me as if I have finally lost my mind.

‘Oh, it’s not for me.’

CHAPTER 17

Are you coming today?

Peter’s message pings in. I read it from my seat on the sofa, and then put the phone face down on the table without replying. I’ve been sitting here for so long that my bum is uncomfortably warm, but I have no desire to move.

It feels like it’s only been a couple of weeks since the last Games Night, but I’m shocked when I realize a couple of months have passed.

It’s hard keeping track of time when you have made absolutely no progress in life. Having sourced the mythical unicorn with Mum’s help, I now have the time to start doing the shit that makes me happy, but I keep having false starts. There is too much stuff I could do, but I don’t really know what I should do. A typical case of analysis paralysis.

But it’s not my lack of life progress that has stopped me from going today. As soon as the date was put in, I knew I wouldn’t attend, although part of me would have loved to see how the May Pole theme manifested. Hosts get bonus points (that carry no value and are purely nominal) for coming up with the most bizarre celebrations and tenuously themed snacks. I wonder if all the food will be served on sticks.

I hope my lack of a reply is reply enough.

Unlike Mum, who escapes to a different country on this day every year, I never do anything on the anniversary of my dad’s death. I can’t be around people in case they smile in the wrong way. So I always take myself off and spend the day alone. Or at least I try to.

Today I plan to do a jigsaw puzzle. Dad loved a jigsaw puzzle.

I can hear him teaching me how to prepare the pieces and follow his instructions. Flip them, face up. Separate the edges. Cherish the corners. Sort by colour. Pick out any special pieces. And begin. As soon as you start, the picture instantly becomes clearer. It’s a kind of magic.

I open the box, tip the pieces on the coffee table and begin flipping.

An unquantifiable amount of time later, there is a knock at the door. I ignore it. I’m not expecting anyone. I have no music playing and they won’t be able to see my shadow under the door. As long as I don’t move.

So I don’t move. I even try not to breathe.

The knock comes again.

‘Bea?’ It’s Peter. He found me on this day at the end of second year. I had planned to spend the day with Fred, but I missed the train. He saw me crying on the platform and cancelled his plans. Since then he normally always checks in, by phone if not in person. I’d thought Games Night would stop him from coming this year.