Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

For the first few months after he died, the thought of my dear old dad on that long brown path leading him to wherever he chose was one of the few things that gave me comfort (apart from a lot of alcohol, which I highly don’t recommend). Maybe you could imagine your husband on that long brown path too, and perhaps it might help.

Anyhow, to once again prove my father right that there’s a Whitman for every occasion, I’ve spent quite a few hours searching for just the right one for you, Anna, and I think I’ve found it. Here we go.

Happiness not in another place, but this place . . . not for another hour, but this hour

I’m no expert on poetry myself (I can almost hear my dear dad laughing at the thought!), but what I think good old Walt’s saying here is that we all think we’ve got so much time that we often waste the now. I can’t begin to tell you how much time I’ve squandered on stupid things, things that don’t matter. Because when we’re young, and even when we’re older and should know better, we think there’s always more where that came from. Only there isn’t, is there? Not really. And we know that, you and me.

Don’t waste your now, Anna, but also, don’t ever think that the time you spend remembering your husband is wasted. Because losing him is just another part of your story and those memories are the foundations that will keep you standing. (That’s me, but I think it sounds a little Whitman-esque, don’t you? I could be kidding myself.)

Keep on talking to those useful strangers, because I have a feeling that whether you know it or not, you mean every bit as much to some of them, as well. (I know a gentleman codenamed Rich T. Biscuit who’d probably give his eyeteeth for a five-minute conversation with a stranger like you.)

I wish I’d met your husband, Anna, but I can promise you I will never forget him. Martin Matthews, Martin Matthews, Martin Matthews.

With love and endless repetition,

Sincerely, Danny Mulberry

26

Wolfie

Sharing four walls and a roof with two extra humans and a pretty big dog takes some getting used to. When one of those other humans is George, you’d better strap yourself in for the ride.

Since Larry made his break for it I’ve only lived with one person, which has only ever and always been Lou. And the thing about being a single kid of a single parent is that you have very underdeveloped skills when it comes to sharing personal space. So, credit where credit’s due, for a beginner I think I’m doing OK since we got to Belsize Park. I’m not going to lie, there are definitely times when I look over at Danny’s shed and think it might be quite cool to hide away in a tin box like that, but then George and Gentleman tear up the hallway, or I hear Dom and Lou talking in her room, and I think, actually, it’s quite nice to know there’s other life on earth.