I was not wearing a coat. The cold was starting to make
me ache. Good. Good.
'Oliver,' said my father. 'I want to help.'
'Jenny's dead,' I told him.
'I'm sorry,' he said very softly.
I don't know why I did it. But I repeated Jenny's words
from long ago.
'Love means you never have to say you're sorry.'
Then I did something which I had never done in front of
him before. My father put his arms round me, and I cried.