Liam is nothing like him. Older, a sensible, office-based man, at first Robin kept his distance. Georgia would force nights out on them, making Robin take him to the pub. ‘My favourite boys,’ she’d say. Then, whispered: ‘I know you’ll like him. One day.’

They had nothing in common – but her. And of course, Georgia was right. Robin did get to like Liam. Love him, even.

Liam wears his heart on his sleeve. He liked to envelop Georgia in huge hugs, literally sweep her off her feet. Robin knows he himself has been described as a cold fish. But he liked Liam’s embraces, not that he’d ever have admitted it.

But Robin and Liam don’t talk now. Not since… well. Robin puts the photo down swiftly, then replaces the others in the box. But before he puts the lid back on, he reaches inside again, and pulls out two small purple elephants, placing them on the bed next to him.

Robin bought them when the twins were born and they lay in those tiny incubators, keeping watch when they were so little. And as they grew, the elephants were always clutched in their hands, their ears sucked into their mouths until Georgia could bear it no longer and they went in the wash.

Liam gave Robin the elephants at their funeral. ‘You should have these,’ he said. ‘They were their favourites.’

‘No, keep them,’ Robin replied, pushing them away.

But Liam insisted. ‘They used to say “Rob-Rob give us”.’ His voice cracked as he said it. ‘They loved them because they reminded them of you.’

Robin hesitates, then picks up the elephants, holding one in each hand. Their colours have faded, washed into obscurity, their fur worn. And slowly Robin lifts them to his nose.

He can still remember their smell. That warm, biscuity, malty aroma, as they put their little faces next to his, their pudgy hands on his cheeks.

And oh fuck, how he misses them all.

The emotion hits him like an avalanche. Everything he’s ignored for so long, everything he’s pushed away since their deaths. He can’t breathe. He can’t see.

He rests his forehead against the cool duvet; his arms go up over his face as he collapses on the bed. He lets out a howl – a cry of pain, of pure anguish that comes from deep within his chest.

And, the two elephants clutched in his hands, he curls into a ball and sobs.

30

Thursday

Appropriately enough, the day is cold and grey. A layer of drizzle hangs in the air; it settles on Robin’s hair, creeps under his coat. He pulls the collar up higher, and frowns.