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A January Tuesday


Bernard shouted I love you as he reached out to open the door at 7.28.

He didn’t think about what it meant, he didn’t show any signs of it being true. But it was something he said as he clipped his trouser leg in and left for work.
In twenty five years he’d only missed two working days of shouting this up the stairs; when his wife was in hospital having their sons.

He didn’t leave at weekends.
Went straight into the loft to arrange his model village and train set.

None of them would miss him when he died.

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