Hana’s sigh betrayed her to the old man as did her silence as she wrestled with inner misgivings. “Vik’s clothes are in my wardrobe,” she admitted in a small voice. “Not them all,” she qualified a little too fast. “But the things he treasured most, his favourite shirt, his best shoes, the tie he wore at Christmas which played Jingle Bells.” Her smile looked sad. “He wore it to annoy the kids.”
Every Christmas she sat in the wardrobe, allowing herself the luxury of squeezing the thing that made the tie play the song and every year she promised herself she’d get rid of it. One year she’d press it and it wouldn’t play, the battery dead. She wasn’t sure if she’d replace the battery or keep the tie even though it no longer played. Every year she dreaded it. It stayed in the wardrobe; her dirty
