Frank fell asleep by five in the morning, but still woke up before his alarm clock went off. He quickly took a shower and went downstairs for a quick breakfast. His parents were still sleeping, so he scribbled a short note, Will be back soon, Frank, and went outside. Then he remembered there were no red double-deckers or black cabs to catch in Bayport. The snowy weather was no good for trying to drive after half a year of being just a passenger, but he was too impatient to wait for a taxi, so he walked back into the house.

P.S. I'll be careful, he added to the note and took the car keys.

Bayport was beautiful in snow-white apparel. Despite the early morning hour, there were many people out in the streets – families driving to the mall for last-minute shopping, couples walking hand-in-hand, parents and children adjusting the last Christmas decorations to their homes. Frank couldn't help but smile sadly at them as he drove by.

"In three words, I can sum up everything I've learn about life – it. goes. on," he muttered to himself with a sigh.*

He made it to the destination in ten minutes, just in time to see a manager open the door to a small building with red neon letters "Gift 4 U" above the entrance. He pulled into a tiny parking lot and climbed out of the car, his heart pounding in his chest in anticipation.

The manager behind the counter smiled at the first customer, "Late Christmas shopping?"

"Not really. My brother made an order in summer. I'd like to collect it."

"I'm afraid he'll have to come and collect it for himself – it's our policy."

"He died," Frank still felt bitterness at the word. "Half a year ago."

The man's face fell, "Oh…. Oh, I am sorry to hear that. I actually think I know what order you are talking about, it's almost worn out with waiting. Made by Joe Hardy, right? Wait here?" he disappeared behind 'staff' door for a minute and returned with a small parcel. "I remember when he came. He was in such a rush, said he was going to the City –could barely write down the order. Here," he handed the small pack to Frank.

Frank took it with trembling hands, unsure if he should open it now or in a more private place later. Above the pack was an order receipt, signed by Joe in his uneven handwriting. "June 26 2009, 9-30 AM".

"I am sorry he died," the manager said. "He was a nice guy."

Frank nodded and touched the piece of paper tenderly. It was one of the last things Joe had held in his hands.

"When he walked out, there was a lady out there whose car broke. He went to help. Doesn't happen too often these days, does it?

Frank raised his head, suddenly all ears, "What?"

"People just rush by you when you need help, only few care enough to stop and offer help."

"No, the lady. You said he'd helped some lady?"

"Yeah, some troubles with spark plugs. He helped her out and drove off."

Frank's lips shook in offense. Damnit. Why couldn't that lady be some kind of a criminal and not some woman with stupid spark plugs troubles? Why couldn't she stop him from driving off?

"Did I say something?" the manager noticed the change in Frank's face.

Frank shook his head, "No, I just…hoped that maybe…. Never mind."

"Will you check it?" the guy nodded at the pack in his hands. "It's nice. But if you don't like it, we'll make changes, totally free of charge."

Frank's fingers shook as he ripped the paper off. "So cold outside, isn't it? My fingers are barely functioning," he said lamely to hide his nervousness.

"He said you kept dropping your phone and swearing like a trooper that you'd break it completely someday. So- he wanted to delay the day," the manager explained.

Frank looked at the unwrapped gift and his vision blurred with tears. It was a black iPhone cover. There was a golden painting of three letters on the outer side – BBB – "Best Big Brother", as Joe used to call him sometimes. Inside, there was a writing in beautiful golden calligraphy.

- so you still could call even if everything crashes down around you. Love, Joe.

He covered his mouth with a hand to stop a pained cry.

"You okay?" the manager asked nervously.

Frank blinked at the gift several times, not seeing the writing clearly because of the tears. "Yeah, I- I'm… sorry. Do I owe you anything?" he whispered. The manager shook his head. "Thank you."

The manager felt for the young man, evidently touched by the gift, and found no voice to say goodbye to him.

Frank walked back to his car, his knees weak. It took him a few minutes to adjust the cover over his phone which was indeed badly scratched. With the new cover on, it looked new – brand new, even, since Joe used to call BBB "a brand in the name of Frank Hardy." Frank had warned him then that if he ever heard anyone but Joe call him BBB, he'd come up with something just as shrewd. What wouldn't he give away now to hear anyone call him that, but he was no longer a big brother to anyone, let alone the best one.

Frank held the phone in his hands, afraid to put it down and make a single scratch to it. Something had to be done about that. He got out of the car and went back to the shop.

"Hi again," he said to the manager. "Do you possibly have some kind of a capsule case for it?"

"Sure, what colour would you like?"

"Blue…. I like blue," Frank lied. It was Joe who liked blue, saying it matched his eyes. He paid for the case and went back to the car where he carefully slid the phone into it and drove off.

There was one more place he wanted to go.

He was not surprised to find a lot of people at Bayport Cemetery. He knelt beside his brother's grave and cleared the tomb stone off snow. He ran his fingers across the cold golden letters, biting his lips when he touched 'brother'.

"Hey, kiddo," he whispered, his voice quivering. "I got your gift today…. Sorry for breaking into your email, by the way, but…. We never had secrets from each other, right? There weren't any secret or compromising messages, don't worry. Just people, shocked by your…. Your death."

Frank was silent for a minute, composing his many thoughts.

"Sorry I don't come here. I didn't forget you or anything, just- moved across the Ocean. Living in London now. Remember how you joked I should speak like Sherlock with that kind of accent? Well, I can now – pehfectley… London's good. I've been good, too…." He said, but then shook his head. "Who am I lying to?…" he whispered. "I've been a mess, Joe. I- I can't get over it…. I can't accept you're gone. I moved away, but it chases me, everywhere I go."

He shivered at the blow of cold wind that sent prickly snowflakes into his face and hid his nose into his scarf.

"I miss you so much, Joe…." He looked up at the clouded skies and sniffed. "Are you out there? Are you still around?... Why can't I feel you?" his voice broke.

"Why did you have to die?" he whispered, tasting salt tears on his lips. "You-you said….here…." he took the phone out of a pocket. "You said that I could call you even when everything crashed down around me. But….." his freezing fingers dialled Joe's number, "everything crashed down, Joe, everything, but when I call you, all I hear is…."

"Hi, this is Joe. Can't talk to you now, but I'll call you back as soon as I can! You know what to do next!" Joe's cheerful voice announced, followed by a beep. Frank hit "end call" and put his face into his hands, trying to compose himself.

"I don't know what to do next, Joe," he shook his head. "Half a year and I still don't have a slightest idea what to do next…"

He sat quietly, a million thoughts and memories running through his head. Then he took out his phone again, looked through his iPod songs and hit to play the one he knew by heart.

Nobody else here baby, no one else here to blame

No one to point the finger, it's just you and me and the rain

Nobody made you do it, no one put words in your mouth

Nobody here taking orders, when love took a train heading south

It's the blind leading the blond, it's the stuff the stuff of country songs

If God will send his angels

And if God will send a sign

Well if God will send his angels

Will everything be alright?**

"They're… they're playing in London next summer," Frank said. "Remember we wanted to go to their UK show? You promised to scream your head off? I said then that I'd pretend we weren't related," he rubbed his eyes. "I haven't got the tickets. I'd love to go and most of my fellow students are going, but I- it just wouldn't be the same without you there… So many things won't be the same without you…. There's so much you're going to miss out, kiddo."

Frank stayed there for another half an hour until his feet froze to the point where he could no longer feel them.

"Merry Christmas, Joe," he whispered and walked away.

* Quote by Robert Frost

** "If God will send his angels" by U2 from album "Pop" (1997)