Jongup was vaguely aware of the TV being on, but his mind didn’t seem to process it. His eyes were locked on the screen but he wasn’t seeing. He let his mind wander, as it always did. There were always ‘what ifs’ and the sense of guilt hanging over him. Everybody had said it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t take away the guilt. He hoped it would one day. This was killing him.

But at least it hadn’t really killed him.

He wish it had. He wished he’d taken Minah’s place.

He scowled at the characters on the screen. He wondered if any of them had been through what he was going through now. It gave him comfort to think that there were other people out there but it didn’t make it better.

He was relieved that one of the other victims’ family members had contacted the police for a meet-up together. He was looking forward to it, in a strange sort of way. He loved talking about his sister, when she was alive and now she was dead. He was proud of her, so why shouldn’t he?

“I hate that programme.” His mother said suddenly as she walked into her living room with a mug of tea for her son. “Minah had it on all the blooming time. You hate it, what are you doing watching it now?”

Jongup shrugged. “It just came on when I turned it on.” Saying he was watching it to remind himself of Minah would be a lie. He wished he was, because that’s nice, but he wasn’t. He didn’t even remember consciously turning the TV on at all.

His mother tutted and sat on the sofa. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright.” Jongup had the same answer every time. He understood it was polite, but his mother knew by now that he didn’t express his feelings often. He covered them over with a mask and left them to himself. He didn’t like to bother anybody else with his problems. His mother liked to bother herself with his problems, however, which he supposed was sweet of her.

“I bumped into Jasmine, you know, Miss Renner? She bought me a cup of tea. She was very lovely, she said everyone at the school misses Minah a lot, which doesn’t surprise me. She had a real skill, Minah did; she could make any little kid feel safe and happy. They all loved her to bits at that school.” She took a sip of tea. “Jasmine told me they were all balling when they were told she’d died. They’re not even old enough to understand, really, but they understood that.” All the while Jongup’s mother was talking, the characters on the TV continued blabbing about nonsense.

“For goodness sake, turn it over. I know Minah thought Matt LeBlanc was a hunk, but as Joey he’s such a pest.”

“She always had a weird taste in men.”

“She did, remember that boyfriend she brought for tea once? Dressed all in black, and his hair was really long. He didn’t last long, did he? I think that was their first date, and then, bye bye!”

“I think we probably scared him off.”

“It was her first boyfriend, I don’t think she knew that it wasn’t really a good idea to have your first date at your parents’ house.”

Jongup smiled. He felt lucky that he felt comfortable talking about this stuff with his mother, like she was his friend. She was. He felt grateful to her, as he knew that the close relationship he and Minah had was down to his mother’s attitude.

“When is it you’re meeting with the relatives of the other victims?” Jongup’s mother pulled a face. “I wish there was a different way to make reference to them. We need names. Do you know their names?”

“I’m going tomorrow morning, it’s at the police station.” Jongup replied, still clinging to his mug even though the heat scolded his palms. “I think…Yongguk. Yongguk, he died. And Claire was his wife. I think she was the one who contacted the police. And Jimin, the other one who died, was in the same university as Minah, though they didn’t speak very often. They weren’t close.”

“It’s still a link though, isn’t it?” His mother sighed. “It’s a small world. Closer than you think.” She got out her reading glasses and picked up a pile of mail from the coffee table.

“Let’s have a look. I’m behind on my mail at the minute.” Jongup watched her as she flicked quickly through letter after letter, entitled ‘Pearl Moon’ in varying handwriting. He’d not checked his mail for a while; it was still piled up in the hallway. Half of them said ‘Minah Moon’, and he didn’t think it was his right to open them. Even if she was dead.

“There’s one for you here.” Pearl muttered, passing it him. Jongup frowned, the handwriting sending chills down is spine but his brain not making a connection as to who actually had written it.

“You opening it?” Pearl didn’t look at him as she ripped open a letter, tutting when she found it was a bill. “Blooming window cleaning. They did a rubbish clean last time, can I refuse to pay unless they do them again?”

Jongup’s mouth upturned, his mother’s bluntness and perfectionism making him laugh every. He didn’t doubt for a minute that she wouldn’t tell the window cleaner exactly how she felt. He loved that about her, though he cringed as memories of this during his childhood came flooding back. She’d always embarrassed him, but she’d taken pleasure in doing so.

He folded the letter scrappily and shoved it in his deep coat pocket.

“Why don’t you put on the snooker, love?”

“If you think I’m watching that utter rubbish…”

“It’s pure skill that is, pure skill. You’re just jealous because you’ve never potted a ball in your life.”

Jongup rolled his eyes. “It’s not exactly a sport, is it?”

Pearl mimicked him. “And you call rolling on the floor a sport?”

Jongup frowned.

Pearl sighed. “Break dancing. You’re obviously not cool anymore.” She laughed, and Jongup had no option but to laugh along with her as he turned the channel over to snooker.