It was 13.05. Derek’s eldest, Sarah, would leave in five to be at her desk at 13.25. Same old.
His youngest, Catherine, who chatted, was killed by a drunk driver. Nothing stopped Derek missing Catherine or wishing Sarah had half her kindness, instead of his late Doris’s brusqueness.
‘Not to worry, Sarah, I’m off too.’
‘You don’t go anywhere…’ She paled. ‘It’s a year today. You’re off to the Crem?’
Derek nodded.
‘Dad, you’re not going alone. The boss owes me. I’ve worked my lunches for too long. What sandwich do you fancy, Dad?’