It was a gift, this story. As I listened to Ditte, my memories of life with Da were subtly touched up, like a painter might add a daub of colour to give the impression of morning light. Lily, always so absent, suddenly wasn’t.

“There it is,” Ditte said, as we approached the bridge. “This was their spot.”

I’d walked under it so often, but now it looked completely different. Gareth took my hand, then he led me to the bench at the edge of the path and sat close enough to feel me trembling.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, I thought. But was I thinking about Da or Gareth? Gareth had never held my hand before. I’d thought I’d have Da forever.

We sat. The stream barely moved beneath the bridge, but small disturbances broke the surface every now and then. I could easily imagine Da sitting there, letting his thoughts ebb and flow.

“Someone’s left flowers,” Gareth said.

I looked to where he was pointing, as did Ditte, and saw a bunch of flowers laid carefully beside the arch of the bridge. They were not fresh, but they hadn’t completely expired. Two or three blooms still held some shape and colour.

“Oh, my,” I heard Ditte say with a catch in her voice. “They’re for Lily.”

I was confused. Gareth shifted closer to me.

Tears ran quietly along the creases around Ditte’s eyes. “I was with him the first time, after her funeral. I had no idea he was still bringing her flowers.”

I looked around, half expecting to see him. It had only been a few days, but I was getting used to this trick of grief, and for the first time I was not overcome. The breath that filled my lungs felt easier. Before I let it go, I caught the decaying scent of rush daffodil. Da had never liked them, but he’d told me they were Lily’s favourite.

I couldn’t escape Da’s absence. I felt it when I turned onto Observatory Street, and when I opened the door to our house, I had to force myself to step over the threshold. Lizzie stayed for a few weeks, and the smell of Da’s pipe faded beneath the smells of her cooking. In the morning, I rose when she rose and we walked together to Sunnyside. I’d help her in the kitchen for an hour to make up some of the time she lost by staying with me, and when the first person arrived at the Scriptorium I would cross the garden and go in.