Around five or six years ago we had a car boot sale in the grounds of my workplace in Spide City. Our aim was to raise some money so that we could take the clients and their children on an outing or two. At that time our manager was Ursa Major and she put a lot of effort into fundraising. That was the kind of manager she was, hands on and a good team leader.
As always the bric-a-brac was a big draw. I’d had a good clear out myself and one of the things I’d donated to the sale was a box of Action Man dolls, outfits, accessories and vehicles. These had belonged to the son of a good friend of mine who, at 14 or 15, had long since outgrown them. They had been lying about our house for ages and I was glad to get rid of them. It turned out that Ursa Major’s son had also put his Action Man toys into the sale. He was there with his mum and I remember watching him looking through the other boy’s collection. He was a big handsome blond boy of twelve or thirteen and I thought he looked wistful as if he wished he wasn’t too old to play with Action Men.
It would be far too hard to bear if we could see into the future. My good friend’s son has since broken her heart. And Ursa Major’s son died early this morning. He was eighteen.