He hadn’t thought of her today. (Much.)

Then, his friend’s boy with his innocent question, “What’s your favourite colour?” (Couldn’t know the pain it caused.)

“Yellow,” he replied. (But what he really meant was: saffron sparks. Those lemon lights of stranded stardust that campfires used to summon in her eyes.)

Jo Withers is in a strangely sentimental mood. It won’t last.