“We need to speak to your daughter.”
Their expressions had been bleak, their demeanour professionally detached.
No-one would tell me why.
Now policemen come and go, talking in undertones, glancing over their shoulders at me. Not curiously, not compassionately… something else.
Crowds murmur outside, flashes bounce off the windows and parents are shepherded past me, partially screened from my view. Their grief is heart-rending, primitive in its despair.
And then I’m told.
Time stands still, and I fast-rewind to the moment of her birth, plump and perfect in my arms, my own diminutive angel.
Someone, somewhere, has made a terrible mistake.
Manchester was our home city; we were both born within a few miles radius and the city centre was where I studied, where I worked for many years, and where we went for fun as teenagers and young adults. Our only worry in those days was whether we’d catch the last bus home, not whether we’d ever go home again. Our hearts go out to the victims and their families, and our thanks, as ever, to the support services. What happened on Monday night was devastating, but if the terrorist ‘community’ thinks it can break the spirit of Manchester, and this country – someone, somewhere, has made a terrible mistake.
This week’s photo from Friday Fictioneers was supplied by J Hardy Carroll and aptly chosen by Rochelle Wisoff Fields, the leader of this friendly, civilised and talented community.