He stands silently looking down at the colours.
He remembers it all, word for word.
Him: Are you still in town?
Her: No. Meeting over. Have to go to shops.
Him: Will you be home before six?
Her: It’ll be busy around this time. Why?
Him: I’ll hang around until six, before I go out.
Her: Sorry, forgot! Your squash night. Will you…
How short that was, their final time together. There was no game of squash that night, or any night since. There was no food coming into the house, save for that which he bought himself. He hated shopping! Was that a selfish thing to think? It was the truth. Food took second place to drink now. Strong drink. The sort of drink that allowed you to forget. He wouldn’t have got through the last few weeks without it. It was necessary. People didn’t understand. Why should they? They hadn’t been through what he had. He comes here every day.
He stands silently looking down at the colours.
They try hard to add beauty to such an ugly place. He had often thought that they don’t belong together. For him, graves and flowers don’t mix, just like texting and driving.
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