BooksBarbecue
Back Walking on Sunshine
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. By the same author
  4. Dedication
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. Three Months Later
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. Epilogue – Five Years Later
  44. Acknowledgements
  45. An extra note from me …
  46. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

‘Fucking dead people. They always get their own way,’ jokes Vicky.

It’s enough to lighten the mood.

Penguin walking logo

4

Vicky

‘So today is scheduled for clothes,’ I state, realizing that I have three ways of getting through this – swearing, sobbing, and utilizing my organizational skills. I’ve already showcased the earlier one thanks to my nerves, I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t do the second, but now it’s time to get serious and remember why we’re here. It’s the only way of controlling the lump that’s continuously forming in my throat.

‘Yes,’ nods Mike, shifting on the spot like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself.

‘Come on then,’ Zaza says, jumping down from the kitchen side. ‘Time to get cracking.’

Mike looks ashen but manages to start moving out of the kitchen and down the corridor to their bedroom. It’s the last room you get to in their ground-floor flat, with huge double doors opening out to the garden. The sun is shining and I’m thankful for a little bit of light on this awful task.

‘The boxes arrived then!’ I say, taking in the dozens of boxes he’s already assembled and lined up along the floor. Something about their emptiness chills me.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Mike says, nodding his head. ‘Thanks for that.’

‘Pia would haunt you if you threw her clothes into plastic bin liners.’

‘Think of the planet!’ Zaza tuts, just as Pia would’ve said.

The side of Mike’s mouth curls, but it’s not really a smile. Just politeness getting the better of him, even in this situation.

‘Anyone got any bright ideas on how to start this?’ he asks, turning towards the wardrobe behind him, his hand reaching up to ruffle his hair roughly. I can’t help but think he’s trying to wake himself up, wishing for this all to be nothing more than a nightmare he has to endure before waking up to learn it’s not real.

Mike takes a deep breath and steps towards the white built-in wardrobe, his hands hesitating before reaching out and pulling open the doors.

I’m aware of my lungs sucking up the air around me and feel it getting stuck in my chest as two rows of clothes are revealed, only a sliver of which belong to Mike. I’m awash with images before me of Pia wearing the items at various stages of her life – parties, christenings, pub quizzes and hangouts. Lots of denim in various shades of blue and grey – oversized shirts that used to swamp her tiny frame. A collection of colourful silk scarves hangs on the back of a door and on a shelf at the top are boxes and bags. The floor is lined with shoes. Nothing glitzy or showstopping like you’d find in Zaza’s wardrobe, but stylish all the same.