He felt like running.

Just turning around and fleeing from the sheer weight of being adult.

But instead he adopted a comical pose and bowing low he said;

“Wilt thou accompany me m’lady Guinevere, ‘tis time to visit Merlin once again”

Edie sighed hugely at the thought of yet more drugs, but her smile remained in place on her sallow, gaunt face as she allowed her father to pull her effortlessly to her feet. Her unsuitable canvas trainers were showing a tide mark of dew from the long grass by the beech tree.

Her feet were cold.

What was the worst that could happen?

He held out his arm and she placed a tiny, skeletal hand in the crook of his elbow and whispered;

“My Knight, my Lancelot!”

They walked slowly back through the woodland that gave her such solace, the ground covered with signs of the end. She gently kicked her way through the autumn leaves, moving them out of her way in a rehearsed performance for wearing the long prom gown hanging on her wardrobe door.

The gown she may never wear.

Much later, he went outside. It was so dark he took a torch from the hook in the hall. The rain appeared to float, tiny bubbles rising in a glass. Like dusty hay spores in a sunbeam. The torch died, plunging him into velvety jet.

The rain, like his resilience,  disappeared from view but he could still taste it, breath it, feel it. He walked on and suddenly the torch cruelly flooded the garden with false day, dishonest promise.

It looked so different at night.

Did the night rain wash away the true colour of hope… hope for his beloved daughter.