The music was clear in the cool evening air; plucked guitar strings sounding the familiar refrain. Soft voices joined with the melody, some clearly knowing the words, the rest humming along to a tune they sort of knew, or maybe it was just the alcohol talking.

"Where have all the flowers gone…?" One voice in particular broke through the clear night, evidently knowing all the words to the famous protest song. The young woman's eyes burned with the feverishness of one who believed in her cause with a passion. She lifted her left hand to brush her brown hair from her eyes. (She would have used her right hand but it was currently handcuffed to a railing behind her.)

Beside her were sitting three of her closest friends: Stinker (a fourth year architecture student from Kingston whose real name was Wendal), Treesa (a third year med drop out whose real name was Theresa but had changed it by deed poll to "reflect my ecological beliefs") and Potty Patty (Patrick). They smiled at each other as they sang, ignoring the rain which was falling steadily on the Toronto streets.

"Any sign of the media yet?" Potty asked quietly so as not to disturb the singing. Lizzie shook her head at her sometime boyfriend.

"Are you sure Aston called them?" She whispered back.

"He swears he did. We need them here. There's no point in a protest if no one knows what you are protesting about and with the rain we're not even getting any passing …"

He broke off as the sound of cymbals and drums heralded the introductory notes of the old 90s classic Stevie V's "Money Talks". The music cut across the latest chorus of "flowers". Potty frowned at Lizzie who blushed as she fumbled with the homespun bag strung across her body.

"Whoops! Sorry. I forgot to switch my phone off."

"Who the hell has "Dirty Cash" as their ring tone?"

Lizzie grinned. "Someone with a brother in accountancy?" She found her phone and pressed "Answer?" just as the music got to the line "Dirty Cash I want you…"

"Hi Ed."

Edwin, sitting in his tiny office cubicle, lifted his legs nonchalantly to rest them on his desk and almost fell off his swivel chair – to the amusement of one of his co-workers.

"Hi Lizard! Just calling to see how you're doing. Can you talk or are you tied up?"

Liz glanced at her right wrist. "More like chained up but…yeah go ahead."

"Chained?"

"Long story."

"Oh…cool. Erm…I just wondered if you fancied grabbing a burger tonight?" he lowered his voice so that the inquisitive girl in the next cubicle couldn't hear. "I've…erm…been stood up and I'd put a deposit down on a table at that new restaurant in town."
"Do they do veggie burgers?" Lizzie asked straining to hear as a commotion started nearby.

"Yeah…I guess."

"Then a burger sounds great." Lizzie looked up then and swallowed hard. "Erm…just one thing first, Edwin. Any chance you could come bail me out?" She asked as a uniformed cop approached her with a set of bolt cutters.

"Have you heard from Casey recently?" George asked his wife as they climbed into bed. Nora sighed.

"Not since last week. She's been on a run of lates recently and she's only awake when we're asleep."

George pulled his pillows up behind him so that he was in a seated position and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He liked to think that he looked the same as he had ten years ago, his hair a sort of non-descript colour rather than grey. But the reality was his hair before had been a grey sort of mousey and now it was a mousey sort of grey. Coupled with the slight deepening of a few facial creases and the tightening of a few joints that he told himself were just old "sporting" injuries, he was in denial about his aging. He reassured himself that he was coping with late middle age as well as Nora – who still didn't dye her hair and had managed to avoid crow's feet.

Nora, however, was well aware of her own aging. The "undyed" hair was Clairol's Nice and Easy Grey Solution Number four and her lack of crow's feet was partly down to Clarins and partly down to George's own need to get his eyes tested. She was realistic. She was a mother of six children albeit she gave birth to only three. She felt that her wrinkles and stretch marks were war wounds sustained under fire from twenty eight years of being a parent; the last seven having been particular vicious.

Now she glanced at her husband. It wasn't exactly unusual for him to pay attention to the kids' lives these days but over the years he had adopted a "don't ask, don't tell" philosophy. And frankly, Nora couldn't blame him.

"Why do you ask?"
George shrugged. "I just wondered how she was getting on in Ottawa. It was such a bolt out of the blue when she upped sticks, and it's been four months I just…"

"She's doing fine...really well, actually." interrupted Nora. "She seemed happy when I spoke to her. She has a nice apartment and her job is going well."

George looked relieved, but there was still something nagging at him.

"Any clue as to why she made the move?" He asked.

Nora frowned. "She says that she just realised that we all have to move on from…past events. She realised that she needed a new start where no one knew her and where she could rebuild her life."

George nodded. "Sounds reasonable to me. That's what we did by moving to Toronto."

Nora paused. "I think Casey's break is a bit more dramatic than that." She said. "But, I still wouldn't hold your breath about her coming with us for…to London this year."

Neither of them said the phrase "Derek's anniversary". Anything "Derek" was still very difficult for them to share.

"Do you think she was right?" George asked after a moment's pause.

"So long as she's happy…"
"No." George interrupted. "I meant what she said at Christmas about marking…Der…Derek's death."

Nora stared at her husband. George so rarely spoke his eldest son's name and the thought that he was still considering Casey's words was just…

"I think that Casey, at least, has learnt to properly move on. It's as though her grief has run its course."

"Marti seems to be sorting herself out too." George pointed out. "Simon seems a nice guy, just exactly what she needs."

"Each person needs to do what's necessary to handle grief." Nora noted. "Why?"

Her husband leaned back against the headboard.

"I was thinking about maybe doing something different this year – to mark the anniversary."

Nora was stunned. "Like?"

"I was thinking maybe we could take a vacation."

"A vacation?" Nora's words were confused.

George smiled. "Don't worry. I don't mean a road trip. I'll pay for the flights. I was thinking more that maybe we could all go and see Casey in Ottawa. You know it will be Fall then and the leaves will be turning and…"

"Not go to London?"

George sighed. "I think Casey's right, Nora. I think maybe we've become too ritualistic in our marking of Derek's death. We're not big on religion in the household and Derek was never one for rules. He'd hate to think that anyone missed out on a good vacation just because he died."

His wife smiled lovingly at him. "You know, I think that's a great idea. And if we give Casey plenty of notice maybe she'll decide not to work that day. It would be good for her to have a break."

They were quiet in each other's company for a few moments.

"There's a guy, isn't there?" George said eventually. "For Casey, I mean. She only ever does stuff like this when there's a guy."

Nora grinned. "You know…I think there might very well be."

"Then we should definitely go to Ottawa. I can't wait to meet the guy that helped Casey get over Derek."

They looked at each other uneasily. "Does that sound as hooky to you as it did to me?" George asked nervously.

"Uh huh."

"Ralph! For the last time, Dude, move your cell phone before she…" Sam's voice broke off as his daughter, beautiful, bright, cheeky - and now crawling– scooped up his friend's cell phone and dropped it a glass of beer at his feet.

"Oh shi-shoot!" Ralph exclaimed, changing his words at the last minute as he spotted Ruth raising an eyebrow pointedly.

Sam retrieved the device from the sticky drink and sprinted into the kitchen to run water over it.

"Erm…Sam…Dude. What are you doing?" Ralph asked, following Sam and then watching him rinse his phone under the tap.

"It's not the water that would kill the phone, it's the stickiness. If we wash the beer away the phone might survive."

Ralph frowned. "Oh…how do you know this?"

"Because he's on his third cell phone in six weeks." Ruth said from the doorway, a babbling Amelia Casey now balanced on her hip.

The errant baby was asleep in her cot, cute little raspy breaths audible in the living room due to the monitor in the corner. But Ralph still wasn't taking any chances, the beer was up high on the fireplace and his cell was in pieces drying out near the radiator.

"How's Casey?" Ralph asked Sam reaching for his beer.

Sam shrugged. "Okay I guess."
"You don't know?" Ralph queried.

"We don't talk regularly anymore she's…"

"Pah! She doesn't call you anymore because you hassle her about Mikey." Ruth interrupted taking a sip of her solitary glass of wine. She didn't imbibe much but special occasions like Ralph coming round for tea she could be persuaded to have a small glass.

"I do not ha…" Sam objected.

"You do, Sam. You start on about Mikey being an axe-murderer or just after her for her access to drugs – which you know very well she doesn't have."

Sam pulled a face. "We know nothing about him and…"
"We know he's a cop." Ruth said tilting her head and fixing him with the look. Like all wives, she had perfected "the look".

Ralph shrugged. "A cop's good." He nodded.

"He's not a cop." Sam pointed out. "He's RCMP!"

Ralph frowned. "RCMP…you mean like…a mountie?"

Sam smirked. "Yeah."

"Dude…don't those guys wear… like…tight pants?"

"Yup! And…"

"Don't Samuel!" Ruth interrupted. "I've had it up to here with the Mountie jokes okay?"
Sam, looking suitable chastised nodded but when his wife's back was turned he winked at Ralph who covered his own smirk by going for a sip of his beer.

"I think it's wrong of you to make fun of the guy that Casey's chosen to live with." Ruth announced.

Ralph spat out his beer as Sam exclaimed. "Casey's done what?"

"She's living with him. I thought you knew." Ruth said innocently.

Sam looked at his wife aghast.

"No I most definitely did not know. You said she had a new apartment. You said she talks about Mikey a lot. You did not tell me that they were living in sin."

Ruth laughed. "Oh bless you Sam! You sound like your grandmother! The apartment is Mikey's but I don't think there's much sinning going on." She grinned to herself. "In fact, though she hasn't said anything, I think that is a bit of a sore point with Casey. They really are just roommates and it's frustrating her."

Sam looked livid. "How can you keep this from me?"
Ruth looked uncomfortable. "Honestly? Because Casey asked me to. She seemed to think that you wouldn't handle it very well. Clearly she was right."

Ralph in an effort to dissolve the tension asked a couple of questions about Casey's new "love interest" and Ruth answered them carefully.

She was amused and annoyed by her husband's reaction in equal measures. Ruth understood the relationship Sam had with Casey. It had taken a couple of years of observation but now she realised he was more of a big brother than Derek had ever been. She also understood Casey's reluctance to let Sam know about the developments in her life. A girl deserved the right to some privacy to make her own decisions.

Later, as Ralph brought into the kitchen his glass and the empty bowls from the dips she had provided, he put a reassuring hand on Ruth's back.

"He was never going to take it well." He said. "He's always been a bit too anal about Casey's well-being."
Ruth nodded. "I know. It was one of the most endearing things about him – the way that he felt the need to protect the women around him."

"Is she really okay?"

Ruth turned and smiled at Ralph, the guy who it was so easy to dismiss because of his ingenuous nature. Sometimes however he could be very perceptive; kind of "out of the mouths of babes".

"She's fine, Ralph. Really happy."

"Good." Ralph stated. "Anything has got to be better than hanging around my joint every night."

"It's hard to picture this Casey being that Casey anymore."

"And you think it's down to Mikey?"

"Yes."

"Then he's an okay guy in my book."

Simon lay watching Marti sleep. Her once-brown hair was now flashed with locks a delicate lilac colour and encroached on his pillow. He smiled affectionately as she sighed her naked shoulders the only part of her body visible above the comforter. They had been a couple a relatively short time and lovers for even less but he already knew she was "the one". It wasn't about the first rush of lust or the heady emotions of new love although they were still very present. It was about the way she had supported him through the last month when his friend had been killed in a car accident. It was the way she always knew the right thing to say, and how she knew when he needed company – and when he didn't. True love was not about passion, though that was important. What turned love into its truest form was the comfort you felt together or apart; the way you automatically relaxed the moment your partner walked into the room, even if it was only emerging from the bathroom. He reached forward and pressed a kiss against her temple.

Marti smiled. "You staring at me again?" she murmured sleepily, her eyes still closed.

Simon chuckled. "Hell yes! Naked woman in bed with me, what else did you expect me to look at?"

Marti giggled and turned onto her back, pulling the comforter away from his body.

"Hey!" he protested.

"Come on…Share and share alike!" She commented. "If you can ogle me, I can ogle you."

"I'll do more than ogle you." He said, leaning over her, his eyes flashing with something dark and rather tempting.

"Promises, promises." Marti grinned and then sat up slightly to curve her hand around the back of his neck and pull him down onto her. "You owe me."

"Oh? How come?" He grinned.

"Payment for your voyeurism." She smiled and then kissed him in a way that held real promise."

"Payment? Well I guess I should settle my debt. Neither a borrower nor a lender be."

They both chuckled and then all speech was lost.

Much later, Marti was curled up in the curve of Simon's arm while he played with her fingers on his chest.

"Are you happy?" He asked.

"God no!" Marti commented. "You make me so miserable…boo hoo." She smirked. "Why? You want to trade me in for a model that giggles more?"

Simon smiled. "No. I just want to know if you're as happy with us as I am."

Marti looked at him seriously and put her hand up to cup the side of his face. "Do you really need to ask?"

"Sorry…but yes. I just can't believe that this is real. You've been so much to me over the past few months, this last month in particular. I wouldn't have gotten through it without you."
"That's nonsense. Of course you would."
"Okay. What I mean is you made it a hell of a lot more bearable."

"I've been there, Si. I know what it's like to lose someone special."

"I know. But it's not just your experience…it's your compassion and your love. I want to spend all my time with you. I can't think of a future without you in it."

A lump swelled and threatened Marti's throat. "That's so…" She started but couldn't finish.

"I love you Marti. With everything I have."

"I love you too."

"I think it only fair to tell you that I've started saving up for a big rock to go on that ring finger of yours so don't get any ideas about dumping me for a model that snores less."

Simon's snoring (or lack there of) was an in joke between them. They had two standard jokes: Simon's snoring (it was actually Marti that snored) and Simon's height (he didn't have any).

Marti swallowed past the wave of emotion his words provoked. The truth was she felt exactly the same. This was more than just a first love scenario for her. They had supported each other through a difficult few months, and although Simon hadn't been around at the time of Derek's death, in the short time they had known each other, he had played a big part in her coming to terms with her grief – even after they had both became aware that the cause of the grief was non-existent.

"I don't know what to say." Marti managed eventually.

"You don't have to say anything…yet. Besides, I don't have permission to ask you anything."

Marti laughed. "Dad should say yes. You're the ideal son-in-law. You have a clean rap sheet, you laugh at his jokes and you don't drink all his beer."

"I think he likes me." Simon said, cautiously.

Marti smirked and got ready to run. "Oh he does…of course he'd rather he didn't need a step-ladder to shake your hand…"

Simon's eyes widened. "Oh you think you're so funny…" He started. Marti leapt off the bed and made for the door with Simon in hot pursuit, neither of them paying any attention to the fact that they were running around completely naked. Marti giggled and shrieked as she fled past Casey's bedroom door and into the living room.

"You take that back." Simon said, circling the couch the opposite side to Marti.

"Or what?" She asked giggling.

"Or suffer the consequences." Simon said, climbing up and over the couch in a flash and grabbing Marti by the elbows. He smirked at her, twisted her round and backed her into the couch.

"Now then." He said, his hand falling to her naked hips. "You don't make jokes about my height." He ran an extended finger over Marti's backside. "Shall we settle this here? Or in the bedroom?"

Marti's eyes sparkled. "Why waste the energy walking to the bedroom?" She said seductively. "Here's perfectly fine."

Simon pressed their bodies together and leaned forward to claim Marti's mouth with his own.

There was a rustling noise from the direction of the front door and then the clear sound of a key being inserted into the lock.

Marti sat up suddenly pushing Simon off her.

"Shit! Someone's at the door!" She flew off the couch and smacked him on the arm to get him to move.

"Who is it?" Simon whispered following her towards their bedroom. "Your parents?"

"Worse." Marti hissed back. "The only person with a key is Casey."

The front door started to open.