EE touched a moist fingertip to the picture, painting a single teardrop along the cherished contours beneath the glass.
‘Oh Miss Snark,’ he sobbed, ‘what a fool I was to quip about your stilettoes so aptly.’
He took the picture off the wall and carried it over to the sofa, cradling it like a rectangular baby.
‘You always knew exactly what to say when I was down. And precisely what not to when I wasn’t.’
He unclipped the glass from the frame and slid the picture into his hands.
‘Such a refined taste in half-naked witch fiends from the bowels of Hades,’ he blubbed. ‘A taste we once shared...over croissants...’
Feeling for the corner with his thumbnail, he opened out the picture and laid it in his lap.
Ten years on, and it still played Jingle Bells.