Cin City

Victoria

The scandal of it. Marianne wasn't coming home – at least not soon. Instead, she and Kevin had shacked up in Leicester. It was Suzanne that told us. She'd answered when Jimmy and me had phoned home. Me and Jimmy on the speakerphone – her in the kitchen fussing with my mum, the four of us talking as if we were all back at Valetta. I told them that I'd stay with Jimmy for a while and let September run into October. And I told them of my plan to play the last few tournaments in North America before running home via Australia.

My dad had work for me if I wanted it. He'd had enough of retirement and the busy time was coming. I planned on saying yes because keeping busy was good for me. Being with Jimmy and hearing the home voices was good for me too. Good for my soul – really good. I hoped they heard my smile, heard Jimmy's too.

The best part about British Columbia was talking to Jimmy. Sitting in his lounge with a beer, and talking.

"Do you think about them?" He knew I meant his parents.

"Yeah. I dreamed about them a few months back," said Jimmy. "It was cool, like they were checking in on me."

"That does sound cool."

"In the dream, we all knew it was my dream. We talked about what I've been up to."

I loved that Jimmy and I could do this. That we talked about this sort of stuff. I had been too young to really know his parents. And my parents still treated me as ten when it came to my lost aunt and uncle, to them on that subject I was always ten years old, would always be ten years old. But me and Jimmy had grown up with it and so many other things.

"Do you remember them?"

"Yeah," said Jimmy. "I've got some real treasures. Some special days."

"What like?"

"Supermarket shopping. There's a supermarket in Hillcrest that reminds me of them. Gives me a smile to shop there. There's even a car park that I grab – if it's empty."

"Was your mum like my mum?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes I see my mum in yours. They both drink coffee two-handed – like they're trying to warm their off hand."

He was quiet for a while, Jimmy. I let him. I let him as I sipped my beer. Rain hit suddenly sharp against the window. So sharp that I jumped my face towards its sound and imagined the coldness stinging me. The rain sucked the light from the day as I watched it fall. Jimmy spoke.

"My mum had what you've got."

"She had the dog?" It was Jimmy that came up with that name: The black dog.

"Yeah. It was my dad that called it that." Well, Jimmy's dad came up with it. I always liked Jimmy's dad. By always I mean the three times I remember meeting him – the first time so childishly vague, no more than an idea of a man made of memory. The second time and the third time, I remembered those times.

"Do you?" I asked. Do you have the dog too?

"Nah," said Jimmy. "I'm just lazy."

I laughed at that, not full-on, more a chuckle. Because Jimmy wasn't lazy.

"You're not lazy, you're recalcitrant." Jimmy laughed his laugh. I laughed too. Because I loved his laugh. I loved him. I really did wish he was my brother. I called Marianne my sister yet I knew the words were only code for friendship. Marianne had a sister, an actual sister; so we both knew it was a lie between her and me. With Jimmy there was no lie – not in me – I meant it.

"I'm sorry to have brought up such a sad subject."

"Don't be," said Jimmy. "It's only sad if you let it be sad. And I like talking about them."