Free Kite Spirit by Sita Brahmachari

took hold of his broad shoulders and turned him around. As far as she could see the two men said nothing at all. They just stood in the pouring
rain holding each other. Jimmy clung on to Seth so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
    Back in the car, Seth took off his sodden jacket and waved to Ruby one last time, slammed the door and revved the engine. Kite stared into the rear-view mirror and saw the postman hand a small
package to Ruby. She signed for it, then read the label, raised her hand in the air, shaking it wildly, and came hurtling towards the car.
    ‘Wait up! Wait!’
    Seth, who had almost negotiated his way around the removal van, slammed on the brakes.
    ‘What is it now?’ he groaned.
    ‘You can’t go without this!’ Ruby panted, handing the package to Kite through her window. ‘It’s from Grandma Grace; she was desperate for you to have it on your
birthday.’
    Ruby held her daughter’s chin for a moment, then turned quickly. Kite saw her lift her hands to her eyes as she walked away.
    ‘She misses Grace so much, you know,’ Seth explained, turning to Kite as he pulled away. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine how Jimmy and Hazel are going to carry on. Sorry I
haven’t been able to write your song, just haven’t felt up to it . . . but maybe once we’re in the Lakes.’
    Along with money to go shopping with, the kite and the song had been her birthday presents for as long as she could remember. It was always the same: the kite from Ruby and the song from Seth.
She had never wanted anything different, but she was glad that Seth had not been able to write anything this year. There was nothing to sing about now anyway.
    ‘What did Grace send you then?’ asked Seth as he peered down at the envelope that lay on Kite’s lap beside Dawn’s reed box.
    Kite unpeeled the Sellotape. Inside was a small black box. She lifted the lid to find Grandma Grace’s precious rose-gold St Christopher in her hand.
    ‘I never thought she’d part with that!’ Seth whistled.
    Kite felt around in the envelope and found a little notelet.
    Sweet darlin’,
    My heart aches with sadness for you. I’m here anytime you want, if you need a shoulder to cry on. Maybe between us we can get the money
     together for your visit. The sunshine would help to heal you. If not, I will try to come to you soon.
    Never mind if you don’t believe – after what has happened to that poor child, I would like you to wear this for me, my sweet girl. It would make me happy
     to feel you safe.
    You know you have all my love, and no matter how far away I am, or what trouble life brings, I will always be with you in spirit.
    Your cousins send you all their love,
    Your Grandma Grace.
    Kite opened the little catch and placed the chain around her neck. The small pendant lay flat against her chest. It felt good to be wearing something sent from St Kitts. She
could picture her grandma sitting on her chair outside her beach house, feet planted in the sand, admiring the waves and the setting sun as was her evening ritual.
    Dawn opened the second box to find a single reed nestling in the middle groove of the moulded green velvet. She recognized the golden thread that Dawn had tied around the reed to mark that it
had been her best one yet. It had taken Kite a long time to understand exactly what went into this reed-making ritual, but somehow the ceremony and the perfection of it all seemed to fit
Dawn’s personality.
    ‘If I were you I’d keep all of them, so I could say, “This is the reed I was using when I played my first concert,” or, “This is the reed I was using when I got
into my music school . . .” You could tell your life story through your reed collection. First-kiss reed, First day at Uni reed . . .’ Kite joked.
    ‘It’s not like that.’ Dawn laughed. ‘Once it’s let you down you never trust it again, so you don’t want to keep it, but this one’s different.’
Dawn held up the golden reed. ‘I’ll keep this,