Everything seemed so surreal. He had to hold himself together. If only the lawyer didn’t drone on about Deb’s objection.

”...to you the wishes of the decedent and intend to insure those wishes are respected. Clause 7 of paragraph 4 clearly states the risk of forfeiture… I see that has your attention, Debbie. Allow me to continue.”

The lawyer took a breath.

“The location for the distribution of the fifth bag is to be an area she only refers to as ‘Picnic Hill’. Presumably one of…”

Picnic Hill. The room faded away, and he was seven years old. He had been given the task of carrying the bag of oranges up to the big tree. It was important. Never mind that the bag was half as high as he, but he refused the offer of help from mum.

He was nearly to the top of the hill when the bag flopped over. The oranges saw freedom and hopped and jumped through the grass and down the hill.

He felt tears coming, but then Granmum sent a laugh up the hill to hug him.

They played race the oranges every visit from then on…