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Even Mary, who had only had eyes for Brick all night, was staring at him like he was a basket full of puppies.

He grunted and raised his glass to meet the others but set it down next to Rory.

“You wanna finish that? I’ve gotta be on a plane tomorrow.”

***

Bren exploded through the front door just before eleven with his breath tearing fissures in his throat. The stumbly walk home he thought he’d be taking from Rory’s had been replaced with a mad sprint once he’d gotten away from his mates’ prying eyes.

“OK. How much cake did you have?” Mam asked as he dripped on the welcome mat. His smile had pushed beyond manic halfway through his run home.

“Am I really goin’ to Canada tomorrow?”

“ I hope so, or I spent all night doing laundry for no reason.”

Mam clicked off the T.V. before grabbing a fresh towel and tossing it towards him in a wad.

“Don’t track water.”

She clicked her tongue as he peeled off his soaked shirt and tossed it into the sink where it landed with a squelch.

“Good thing I did the dishes.”

She threw a pair of trackies and a still-warm T-shirt at him as she headed down the hall. He stripped down to his jocks, and when he’d wicked as much of the water from them as he could, he pulled the new outfit on.

The kettle was almost boiled when Mam came back, holding a cream-coloured envelope in her hand.

“Mam, this is . . . I mean, can we really afford—”

She threw her hand up like she was swatting the question out of the air.

“You know how much money I saved not feeding you for four months? Still enough to retire early even after the tickets.”

Bren opened his mouth to say something, but had no idea what that might be, so he made tea instead.

“Everyone saw how hard you’ve worked this year, Bren,” Mam said, fussing with the mugs after he’d poured the water. “So get packin’ and I’ll bring you this when it’s done.”

“Gonna bring me that, too?” Bren asked, nodding at the letter she’d set beside the mugs.

“Oh!” She stared at it like she’d forgotten it was there, then picked it up with a shuddering sigh.

“Mam?” He couldn’t pinpoint the expression. It was somewhere between the first time he’d ridden a bike and the morning after Nan’s funeral.

“Sorry. This shouldn’t be a sad thing,” Mam said, scrunching up her eyes so the mist didn’t spill over. “This is from Nan.”

Bren would have been more touched if he wasn’t so fucking confused. Nan had died over four years ago.

Either the question was written on his face, or Mam had tapped into that irritating talent she had for mindreading whenever he was trying to hide something from her.

“She asked me to give it to you after you’d finished your Certs.” A smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I think her exact wordin’ was if you finish your Certs.”

Bren laughed louder than he meant to. Well, there was no way to get her back for that one.

“Do you know what’s in it?” he asked, running his hand along the letter’s perfectly creased edges.

“Some of it. There’s money involved, but I don’t know the important bits.”

He brought his mug to his mouth without conscious thought, face screwing up at the lack of sugar and milk. Nan used to put a splash of tea in his bottle when he was little. Maybe she added milk and sugar too.