052. Sad Valentine

She caught him in the act on her way to fetch the mail. He jumped, as if he were taking – not giving – and she smiled.

“I got this, uh – ,” nerves burned through Nath’s spotty complexion, colouring him red.  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs Turnbull.”

He thrust an envelope and a daisy into her hand, and left, dragging his bike behind him.

Inside, Mrs Turnbull put the kettle on and sliced open the card. As she read it, she tried not to notice all the spelling mistakes. He was just a kid, and they made her sad somehow.

When Barney had died, people had said all kinds of things to comfort her. Some people told her they’d meet again some day, long into the future. Others reminded her of all the good years they’d had together. Flo McTerny even tired to convince her Barry was still alive.

“Time isn’t linear,” she’d told Mrs Turnbull at the funeral. “It doesn’t all happen in order. The past, the present, the future – they’re all happening, all the time.  In some other place, Barry is sleeping next to you, or bringing in the bins. There’s even a place where you’re only just meeting.”

The sentiment was supposed to be comforting, but it had the opposite effect. It haunted her. A version of herself was eternally grieving her loss. And worse, someplace else, she was already over it.

And now, she had to worry about the boy down the street too.

Because somewhere in time, poor teenage Nath was trapped – wanting something he couldn’t have, and having only a crushed flower and mis-spelled words to trade for it.