‘It’s not me, Daddy, it’s my friend, Mary.’ I couldn’t recall a friend of that name.
‘It looks just like you. Is this Mary from school?’
‘No, just around. We often talk about things.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘About the old days, and how hard life was. We’re lucky we live now instead of back then, aren’t we, Daddy?’ Melissa finished her drawing and sat back.
‘Why have you put ‘1842’ at the bottom?’ I said.
‘That’s the year Mary died.’