He finishes with a flourish and raises the ukulele high, holding the pose for a moment. Then he gives a small bow.

He stands looking at her. She’s a bit thin now, is Janey, but how warm her smile is. She’s always had a beautiful smile.

‘Soft git,’ Janey says.

He smiles back.

*

It is my second visit to Andrew’s house and I can’t help thinking, as I turn into his road, how much I assumed when I was last here, and how little I knew.

At first, I wonder if he is out, as there are no lights on at the front, but a glow from behind the house tells me to check the back garden and there I find him with Ruth – they have returned after their pilgrimage to the station. They both have cans of beer, and fleece blankets round their shoulders, and they are burning something in an old metal drum that Andrew has placed in the middle of his plain square lawn. I wish I had been there in time to see what they are burning – family photographs? Old school books? Or maybe they just decided, as it was a clear night in December, that they might as well have a bonfire. Neither of them earns much money I reckon, so a night out on the town before Christmas maybe didn’t appeal.

They are sitting on the edge of the patio, in front of the sliding doors, and watching the bonfire against the night sky. Orange flecks fly upwards, thin rectangular shapes flickering and rotating, like odd-shaped fireflies, quite high they go, before disappearing into the night. The garden is so small that they are sitting close enough to feel a bit scorched at the front but their backs are still cold. ‘I’ll make us a coffee in a minute,’ says Andrew, although he doesn’t move.

‘Got any hot chocolate?’ Ruth asks, after a while.

‘Not sure. I’ll look.’ And then, seamlessly, he adds, ‘He didn’t even say sorry in the note, don’t you think he could’ve? If he was going to top himself, after what he did, wouldn’t you think that any person would want to say sorry?’

So, they are burning the past. Good on them, I think. I’m all for it.

‘Well, he wasn’t any person, was he?’ Ruth says quickly, as if she would really rather not have this conversation.

‘You’d think …’ Andrew says, and his voice cracks and all at once it is as if they have swapped roles, and Ruth is the strong one.

She reaches out with a hand and grabs his right knee and wobbles his leg from side to side before releasing it. He wouldn’t take a normal embrace, or anything sentimental, but a rough gesture like that, with a hint of admonition, he’ll take that, just about. She knows her brother well enough to let go quickly.