Page 11 of My Kind of Happy

‘On the basis that the bottom one has the least interesting stuff in it, this seemed like a good place to start,’ I said.

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Laura cheerfully. ‘Shall we make piles to keep?’

I made a face. ‘Keeping things is easy, it’s choosing what to get rid of which will hurt.’

‘We shouldn’t find anything of great importance,’ Hamish said, tearing a black sack from the roll. ‘I’ve already dealt with his financial stuff and passport, etcetera.’

‘But it’s all important,’ I replied, gazing at the melee of loose photographs, countless pens and keyrings and at least three torches. ‘Because it’s all I have left of Freddie.’

Hamish winced. ‘Yeah, ’course. I didn’t mean … I just meant—’

‘I know what you meant,’ I said, sighing. ‘This is just hard, you know? Letting go. And being in here seems such an invasion.’

Laura’s hand found mine. ‘I felt the same when Mum died. Listen to your heart and if you don’t feel ready, we’ll walk away and do it another day.’

I nodded, grateful for her experience. Her mum had passed away only weeks before our university graduation ceremony and her dad had gone to pieces for a while, leaving Laura to deal with the arrangements.

My fingers found a small box, I pulled it out and removed the lid to reveal a pair of silver cufflinks. Freddie was a T-shirt, jeans and leathers man; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him in a suit.

‘They’re gorgeous,’ whispered Laura.

‘I remember those, I had a matching pair,’ said Hamish. ‘For a mate’s wedding. All the ushers had the same ones. I lost one of mine.’

‘Then take these.’ I handed him the box quickly as if it was scorching my fingers. ‘He’d be pleased about that. And you’re more of a cufflinks man than he ever was.’

A sharp pang twisted at my insides, threatening to drag me back to the darkness of grief.

Freddie would never get married in a suit wearing silver cufflinks, he would never turn to watch the girl of his dreams walking down the aisle to meet him, would never do all of the things that Hamish no doubt would achieve so easily in the years to come. And the sheer waste of his beautiful life stung.

‘I’ll treasure them.’ He tipped them out and turned them over in his hand, twisting his mouth into a smile. ‘Laura says I look hot in a suit. I’ve bought two new ones since our first date.’

‘Have you!’ Laura gasped with embarrassment and covered her cheeks. ‘That is so sweet!’

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask about their first date but I held back. It would be something she and I could giggle about over a glass of wine one night.

‘A word of warning; Laura also thinks Spiderman’s hot,’ I said. ‘If she starts talking about all-in-one Lycra bodysuits, run for the hills.’

Hamish and I teased Laura for blushing and I felt the first hopeful shoots; maybe them being a couple wouldn’t be as bad as I thought after all.

‘So far we’ve removed only one item and the bin bag is still empty,’ said Laura. ‘I think we’re going to have to be a little more ruthless.’

For the next few minutes, we delved through the bottom desk drawer and managed to clear it out, salvaging only a university keyring which Hamish wanted to keep and a pen with four coloured inks in it which Laura said would be handy for work. Scamp had shown an interest when we’d uncovered half a biscuit but I’d quickly disposed of it before he could snaffle it; goodness knows how long it had been there.

Laura and I both eyed the middle drawer of the three while Hamish stuffed the rejected items into the black bag.

‘Only if you’re up to it,’ she said.

I puffed my cheeks out and opened the drawer. ‘If not now, then when, as the saying goes.’

At first glance the contents seemed similar to the last drawer: a mishmash of things which, although not obviously important, clearly were important enough to Freddie to warrant drawer space.

Underneath a pile of leaflets that Freddie had had printed when he’d first started as a motorbike instructor was a small hardback notebook. It had lots of pieces of paper slipped between the pages. I lifted it out and Hamish’s eyes widened.

‘No way!’ he whistled. ‘I remember that book, he wrote all the details of our India trip down in there: flights, hotels, things we definitely wanted to see.’

At the end of their degree course, Hamish and Freddie had gone on a crazy road trip across India on motorbikes and had had the time of their lives. When they returned, tanned, thin and brimming with stories, Freddie announced that he was never going to work in an office or be weighed down by corporate life. The thrill of discovering the world on a bike far outweighed the prospect of job security and a pension. For the next fifteen years, he had worked as a motorcycle instructor, earning just enough to pay for the next trip. Hamish, on the other hand, said he never wanted to ride a bike again. He worked in London for a talent agency before returning to the north to set up on his own. He was now a successful sports agent with a roster of footballers, cricketers and boxers on his client list. Despite their different life choices, they’d remained close.

I flicked through the pages, my heart twisting at the sight of Freddie’s terrible handwriting: all in capitals and written so firmly that I could make out the indentations of the letters on the back of each page.