Peter

Mum had talked about Peter for years, every birthday, anniversary and special occasion. She told us how they’d gone for long intimate walks together, through the Northern Ireland countryside. How they’d shared meals in her small family bungalow. How they’d been close companions, sharing both happy times and sad times together. Intimate moments she called them.
Peter was always by her side, happy and contented. Protecting her from danger, following her around and eating the meals she’d carefully and methodically planned for them. Providing her with kisses and cuddles when she felt low and giving her hours of laughter and smiles. She loved him; you could see her face light up when she talked about him.
We never found out who or where he was. We never met him but we felt we knew him. We reckoned he’d been her first love. Then Dad had come along he was a tall, handsome man, with dark hair and a keenness for the outdoors, who swept her off her feet.
Peter didn’t leave her. She told us he still hung around even when Dad asked her to marry him. Why had she married Dad instead Peter? What had happened to him after Mum and Dad married? As growing children we fantasized. Perhaps he had died from a serious disease or a broken heart. We asked her to tell us more about him but she’d refused to answer. Even when dad died we didn’t get the answers.
A month ago Mum passed away. As we cleared out her belongings the mystery was solved. Inside an old case was a tatty photograph, and on the back was the name Peter, he was her dog.