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Warring

Apparently they have never got on. I don’t know why. Is it always the fault of the parenting? Who knows? The funeral is over and the fighting returns. They’ve his flat to clear out and all those things to divide or scrap over. One of them calls him. I can hear her weeping all the way upstairs. He doesn’t want to take sides, is fond of them both. He has always been this substitute Dad – a kind face, a good listener, gentle and funny. He gave all his friends’ children his time. And they remember him for it.

The flowers were still there by the bar, in tact. I wish them peace and an acceptance of what is. Amen to that.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.