Matty stayed peeking through the gap in the door. She was throwing stuff into the metal bin and then standing back as the fire went up. The smell wasn’t a nice fire-smell like on the Heath at Bonfire Night, but one that made you want to pinch your nostrils together. Rubbery.

In the morning, Matty snuck down early, before Mamma was up. Bare feet marked from the grille of the steps. The bin had gone black inside, and there were tiny bits that hadn’t burnt through. Clothes. She’d been burning clothes. And—

Matty leant in carefully and picked up the small, part-melted grey rectangle. The brown tape ribbon had been pulled out and was tangled like hair. Some of the words were still visible on it.

Kris Kristofferson.

***

Rescue operation. If Matty didn’t act fast, Mamma would incinerate everything. What if he came back and none of his things were there?

Mamma went to work and Matty got to work. Collected the not-folded jeans. Another of his T-shirts. Cufflinks, before deciding that he never wore them and putting them back. The pack of cards he cut and re-cut occasionally, the corners dead soft. The stubby blue pen from the kitchen drawer, the one without a lid that he did the crosswords with. He’d do the Mirror first – ‘just revving my brain up’ – and then the Irish Times. A lighter, though not his favourite yellow one because that would still be with him. Two of his other tapes, Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash. The matchbox with his single hair. Matty put everything in a carrier bag and wrapped it up tight with Sellotape before shoving it at the back of the bottom clothes drawer. Then remembered the bathroom.

There was the bottle of Paco Rabanne, heavy as a brick. Razor, nail clippers. Toothbrush. Matty wet it under the tap, brushed hard. His old, dried saliva, though it had probably all washed off. Dad would brush his teeth for ages. He said he did a lot of his thinking when he brushed his teeth.

Not that long ago, Matty had walked in and found him sitting on top of the closed toilet lid. He’d looked startled. His eyes had been glistening a bit. ‘Christ, Matty. Out.’

A dad, crying. Matty brushed and brushed.

He’d been crying. Dads weren’t supposed to cry. The only time Dad did was when It’s A Wonderful Life was on TV at Christmas – that had an angel in it, too – and the man who wanted to kill himself at the beginning of the film got back to his family. There’d been a shine to Dad’s eyes as they had all sung ‘Auld Lang Syne’. But that time in the bathroom had been different.