Of All People,It's You

MEMORIES

The journey home passes in a blur.

Outside the taxi window, Manchester slips by in streaks of headlights, busy pavements and glowing shopfronts. My body aches in a way it never did after long shifts at The Copper Kettle. Apparently, sitting through meetings, memorising procedures and trying not to embarrass yourself in front of Britain's most meticulous boss is its own special kind of exhausting.

Just as the taxi slows at a traffic light, my phone buzzes.

Mum ❤️

A smile tugs at my lips before I even open the message.

A photograph fills the screen.

For a moment, I simply stare.

Dad.

He's wearing a bright orange reflective vest, a white hard hat tucked beneath one arm as he stands beside a group of men at what looks like a construction site. His smile is the same one I remember from childhood—warm, tired, and somehow able to make everything feel alright.

My chest tightens.

Another swipe reveals a second picture.

This one is older.

Mum is laughing at something Dad must have said while his arm rests comfortably around her shoulders. I'm sitting on his shoulders with the biggest grin imaginable.

I don't even remember that day.

A lump forms in my throat as I press the call button.

She answers before the second ring.

"Diane!"

"Hi, Mum."

"My sweetheart." I can practically hear her smiling. "How are you? How's work? Are they treating you well?"

I laugh softly. "Work is... good."

"So that's a yes?"

"It's a lot." I lean my head against the window. "There's so much to learn as usual, Mum. But I'm DIANE FREAKING ELLIS I'm going to be fine."

"I know you will." She sounds impossibly proud. "Look at you. My daughter... an Executive Secretary." She chuckles to herself. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of saying that."

"Oh, Mum..."

"No, let me brag a little. I've earned it."

I can't help smiling.

"I'm proud of you, Diane. You've worked so hard for this."

"Thank you."

A comfortable silence settles between us before I glance back at the photograph.

"Where did you find these?"

"Oh!" she says. "I was clearing out the storage room today and found one of your father's old work boxes tucked away behind some paint tins. I honestly thought we'd gone through everything after..." She pauses for a second. "After the funeral."

"So did I."

"There were notebooks, old documents, and these photographs. I couldn't believe it." She laughs softly. "You know your father. He was always working. Getting him to stand still long enough for a picture was almost impossible."

I smile.

"That's why I was so surprised. There are more inside the box. I thought you might like to have them, so I'll pack everything up and send it to you next week."

"I'd love that."

The taxi turns onto my street.

"I've almost reached home."

"Alright." Her voice softens. "Don't work too hard, okay? And make sure you're eating properly."

"Yes, Mum."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

The call ends, but I continue staring at the picture for another moment.

Dad died when I was eight. I remember him.

I remember his laugh, the way he'd lift me onto his shoulders, the way the whole house somehow felt safer whenever he walked through the front door after work.

But memories have a strange way of fading around the edges.

Looking at these photographs feels like meeting him all over again.

The taxi comes to a stop outside the apartment building.

I slip my phone back into my bag and climb out.

By the time I unlock the front door, the familiar smell of grilled chicken and spices greets me.

"There she is!" Ethan calls from the kitchen.

I drop my handbag onto the sofa with an exaggerated groan.

"I am officially exhausted."

He laughs. "Now you're looking like someone with a real corporate job."

"Oh, don't start."

He sets a bottle of beer on the counter and slides it towards me.

"So? Tomorrow's your last day with Ivy, right?"

I nod as I loosen the scarf around my neck.

"Yep. After tomorrow, I'm on my own."

"And how are you feeling about that?"

"Nervous."

"That bad?"

"You have no idea." I flop onto one of the bar stools. "My boss notices everything, Ethan. Everything. The man can tell the temperature of his coffee just by taking one sip. And no, I'm not even joking."

He bursts out laughing.

Ethan stares at me for a second before laughing even harder.

"I'm sorry," he says between laughs. "I'm not laughing at you."

I fold my arms dramatically.

Ethan blinks.“Don't worry, you'll get used to it. That's just how work is when you start."

"I hope so."

"I remember my first few months after I started working. I thought everyone else knew exactly what they were doing and I was the only one pretending."

"Then. I realised everyone was pretending."

I laugh.

"You'll find your rhythm too," he says. "Give yourself a chance."

He nudges the bottle of beer closer.

"So... are you finally going to drink this?"

I glance at it before shaking my head.

"I can't."

"What now?"

"I still have some inventory documents to look over before tomorrow."

He throws both hands into the air. “Welcome to the workforce."

I laugh as I pick up my bag again. “ Goodnight."

"Night, Executive Secretary."

I roll my eyes and head for my room.

After a quick shower, I spread tomorrow's notes across the bed and spend another hour going over Ivy's handwritten reminders until my eyes begin to sting.

Eventually, I close the file and glance towards my wardrobe.

A thought suddenly hits me.

"...Shittt, I have to be at work by 7:30

What on earth am I going to wear tomorrow?"