Sam Keston

It was all so perfect . Daffodils , daisy chains , an old sheet thrown over a swing frame that became not just a den but a secret space , and then there were our friends, from the village - Annabel, Lucy, Catherine - I remember you all like the sense of that time - that garden , those long afternoons before I had to share you with anyone beyond our village school of 26 local friends. This morning at work a little girl told me she hated her brother . “He’s annoying” she said. I told her she didn’t hate him - he might just be wanting to get her attention when he pokes his finger into her side on the sofa when they’re watching tv. I said one day you’ll be so grateful you have a brother. I felt a lump in my throat.

September the 12th was always a nice day in our house. Maybe Robin would invite some friends over. Maybe Roy, or Mel, or Howard . Maybe on that day he wouldn’t be quite so annoying . He was the youngest in his year at school and small for his age so getting to be a year older before they all switched it up yet another year must have felt like a relief .

If you want to shred paper and throw it through my bedroom door and tell me it’s snowing - go snow shovel, or you want to make gestures to tell me I’m flat chested ( yes we really were that once!), if you want to cheat at cards or spit on the last of the cheese - I’ll take that.

After a pretty extraordinary sound bath experience I now know you haven’t gone anywhere - you’re on the other side of the veil, and I feel oddly at peace with that.

I just wish I could share one more slab of birthday cake . Don’t even care if you spit on it . Not really .

Remembering you on your birthday . But I think of you always. Teach the kids never to take each other for granted . Every sibling is annoying - that’s their job.