Day 19

There he was. There was Patrick. A sunny day with not a cloud in the sky. An azure sky smiling down on him. Not a care in the world that day. And now he didn’t have  a care in the world again.

He looked handsome. Scrubbed to within an inch of his life. Hair short and neat, maybe just a hint of gel. Laughing eyes, stunning lilac blue shade. People always noticed his eyes. Pat remembered how some people would stare at him and she was sure they were wondering whether he had coloured contact lenses, not that anyone would ask.

So here he was. Looking smart in the sunshine. An expensive suit by the look of it. Perfectly fitted, maybe from his favourite tailor in Leeds. Patrick was like that, somehow born in the wrong time. He had his suits made by an old tailor in the centre of the city. The shop looked almost Dickensian as did its owner – but what a tailor that old man was. A skilled artisan, a dying breed, an anachronism in a modern throw away world.

Here he was staring out from the photograph. Smart young man. Smart attractive, young man. Then Pat focussed on the woman standing next to him. His arm was round her waist and she looked very happy.