Page 142 of For Real

“I know you miss him.”

There’s part of me that wants to be all like, Well duh. Except that part’s a dick. So I just nod. And then the words start squeezing out of me. “I do, I really do. He…he wasn’t just my granddad, y’know? He was almost kind of…my dad, except I don’t know what that would be like, so more kind of…my friend. Which is totally pathetic, but…it is what it is, and…I–I don’t know what to do.” Whoa. Breathing. I should try that.

She picks up my empty mug and takes it to the sink. Glances over her shoulder and tells me, “It’ll get easier.”

“What will?”

“Living, Toby.”

I think of school. University. My moved-on friends. Laurie. And mumble, “I’m not very good at that.”

“Well.” I catch the edge of her smile as she turns back to the washing up. “You’ve got a lifetime to figure it out.”

“I guess.”

“It’s good you stopped by, though. Most of your granddad’s things have gone into storage, but there’s a box I was wondering how to send to you.”

Death: how to turn a life into pieces. Granddad is…in storage. In boxes. In an urn. On a memorial stone. Nowhere. “Thanks.”

“You can wait in the staff room until morning.”

I’m too tired and battered to put up any sort of fight. I let her lead me off and tuck me up on a sofa.

She pushes the hair out of my eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Toby, but I don’t want to see you here again.”6

I just yawn. It feels wrong and empty and scary, but she’s right, of course. There’s nothing for me here.

I don’t really sleep. I more sort of drift through a couple of hours, vaguely aware of people trying very hard not to disturb me. Every now and again I sneak my hand out of the blanket and let my fingers brush the edges of the box Marwa left beside me.

I peek inside the next morning when I’m on the Tube heading back to Shoreditch. It’s very neatly packed, lots of stacked papers and smaller boxes. I rummage a little, and then I see:

Frogs

Leaping in and out—

And I feel this…crack, right in my heart. For a moment, I can’t breathe. But then I can. And I realise my heart is okay.

It always was.

Because love is strong. Stronger than death.7

* * *

Mum’s out when I get back, but she’s definitely been working. You can tell from the carnage—the paint and the empty bottles. The half-finished canvas of…actually, I’m not going to look at it too closely. I think about tidying up, but the urge to fall face-first into my pillow is too great.

I pull back the curtain and have an epic Three Bears moment—assuming the three bears screamed camply and threw their shit on the ground—because there’s someone sleeping in my bed.

“Oh God.” Laurie sits up so suddenly he nearly hits his head on the eaves.

“Jesus, Laurie. You nearly gave me a coronary.”

There’s papers everywhere. And I’m so knackered that it takes a moment before it hits me.

Laurie. Laurie’s here. In my room.

Waiting.

For me?

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