“She was and is my little girl. Always has been. Always will be. And that’s a special thing.”

Gracie looked up at him.

“You’re going to be brilliant tomorrow, you know that…”

Gracie looked a little unsure.

“And anyway, if you start to tense up, just think about what you and Marty did to those bullies.” Gracie’s face softened into a smile.

“Right, tell Marty I’ll see him day after tomorrow. I better go pack…”

“He’ll be sorry to have missed you,” said Grandad as they both got to their feet. Grandad hugged her, squish- ing her to his belly before letting her go.

“Thanks, Grandad.”

Grandad nodded and watched her go before turning to watch the crowds start to file solemnly past the pumpkin.

Marty had put off going home to collect the old washing line and sailcloth as long as he could, but they needed them now and it was impossible to avoid it any longer. He’d actually sat on the swing in the empty park behind the estate for a while to work himself up to it, and it was getting late in the afternoon by the time he actually started walking toward Mum’s house.

It was weird. Going back. It had only been over a month, but it felt like forever. He’d managed not to try to imagine Mum alone in the house. Sitting in that stupid chair. Whenever he felt his mind starting to slip that way, he’d yank it back. He knew she had to face this alone, and that he had to give her space to do that while he, well, while he got on with it.

He turned the corner by the cycle path and saw the estate from a distance. He didn’t actually have a plan. He didn’t think he’d stay and talk, but then again, he didn’t really know how he’d feel until he saw her.

He stepped into the garden. The mess was the same. He tried to harden his heart again. Swallow down any feeling so he wouldn’t be caught unaware. The back door was open. He knew where the rope was. It was curled up inside an old washing machine in the garden. He pressed the metal button and watched as the door flew open. Inside, sure enough, was the rope. The sailcloth was down by the window of the back room, rolled up under an old zinc sheet. He stumbled his way toward the window. Tried not to make too much noise. It was weird. He almost felt like a robber or a thief. He shifted up the metal sheet and dragged the sailcloth out. Then he heard voices. He stood stock-still for a moment. He was sure there were two. A man’s voice, as well as his mum’s. He stuffed the sailcloth under his armpit and smudged his nose closer to the window.