It finally hits me then: that will never happen again.

I wish I’d known.

I might have stayed a little longer.

Listened a little closer.

*

I’ve never lost anyone until now. There was my granddad, but I was two when he died so I don’t really remember him. And there was our dog, Rex, but this is different. They say home is where the heart is, but I think home is where you’re understood. I didn’t have to explain myself at Trafalgar, so I haven’t just lost Mal, I’ve lost that too. I get it then, why someone dying is a loss. I can feel the weight of it lying next to me on the bed and as I look up at the ceiling and imagine the square of moon and stars, tonight it doesn’t feel like a window; it feels like an escape hatch.

*

The next day, I go to Trafalgar because I don’t know where else to go. I’m not the only one, there’s a small crowd of about ten of us gathered around the front of the shop, a motley crew of misfits who would never have crossed paths if it wasn’t for Mal. We nod awkwardly at one another, but don’t say anything as we look down at the tributes people have left. There are no flowers, which is good (Mal would have hated that), but there are candles and a couple of records with notes telling Mal how much he’ll be missed. I didn’t think to do anything like that and feel wretched (as usual, I’ve made this all about me) and as I turn to leave, I find Reeba behind me holding a copy of ‘There Is a Light That Never Goes Out’ by The Smiths.

Of all the things to set me off, it’s that.

Mal didn’t even like The Smiths.

She puts the record down with the others then gets a tissue out of her pocket and hands it to me.

“Coffee?” she asks.

*

We end up at Mange Tout, a café I’ve always wanted to try but never have. We get French toast, which I didn’t realize was exactly what I needed, and swap stories about Mal and the shop.

“I thought it was my place, you know?” I admit. “My secret.”

I’m not looking at Reeba but I know she’s nodding.

“What do you think will happen to it?” I ask.

“They’ll probably turn it into a vegan café.”

I look up then. “Someone might buy it.” My voice sounds tiny, like a child asking why their dog has to go live on a farm.

“Who?” She shrugs. “It won’t be Trafalgar without Mal.”

“So, that’s it?”

She pokes at her French toast with her fork. “The end of an era.”

We don’t say anything for a moment or two as we let the reality of what that means settle on the table between us.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.”

I don’t realize that I’ve said it out loud until Reeba says, “Me neither.”