Some tunes bring back the wrong sort of memories. In Will's case, the childhood melody harshly tugged back the one day his older brother decided to push him into a lake.

It was an idyllic holiday. Vast Canadian mountains towered over their reflection in the water while trees– like tiny ants –were dotted over their mighty forms.

He had decided to stand by the jetty, his toes peeking over the edge so he could see his own reflection among those of the mountains. The radio blared from the small cabin behind him, his sister's gurgling coming from inside as his mum attended to her; she was a baby at the time.

The tune used to be one of his favourites as a kid. Will's toes were wriggling to the soft beat of the song when his brother spotted him from inside the Cabin. He was bored with nothing to do at the time; that was probably the reason why he did it. Or the only reason he could think up, looking back on it now. Well, other than the fact that that was what brothers were practically born to do.

Running out, he didn't even give Will a second to think before he shoved him into the ice cold water with full force. He sank into the water, blind and frozen, while his brother just laughed.

Will's lungs burned. For a split second he thought he couldn't breathe. He couldn't move.

He didn't have to explain why, after he had scrambled out the water and back onto the wooden jetty, he tried to punch his brother in the face.

"Don't take all day."

Wide eyed, Will looked up from the aged till and tried to put reality back together. He was confused, tired, and frankly couldn't be bothered today.

A short lady, around his grandmother's age, was frowning up at him from behind the counter. Her wrinkled right hand tapped on her flower themed walking stick and behind her a few customers waited patiently - or not so patiently - for their turn in the queue.

"Well?" The lady said again, the creases of her face folding and unfolding as she spoke to him. The song was still playing, he noted. He wished it wasn't. He didn't want another bad memory to come into play with the tune.

"Oh. Uh. Sorry."

Will's reply was pathetic and he knew it. His clammy right hand held the change she had given him as payment for a cup of Earl Grey and an almond croissant. He flinched at the constant beat of her fingernails tapping on her walking stick, pacing quicker the longer she waited.

Looking down, he didn't hide his sigh. She had probably given him all the change she owned, dumping it onto Will instead. This meant that he had to count every single piece of money in case she had added it up wrong; which, to be honest, she probably had considering her age.

Fingering the coins, he roughly added up the money. He heard the door open and shut, the soft bell ringing and a quiet voice apologising as they most likely bumped into the queue of customers he had built up, but didn't look up to see who it was as he dealt with the customer.

"It's the right change." the lady stated but he, yet again, ignored her. Will looked up and faked a small smile as he processed the money in the till. He was thankful she couldn't read his mind as he thought, through imaginary gritted teeth, how she was probably top on the list of worst customers. Of course she was right. The customer always had to be right. Five pounds exactly: just in a range of copper coins instead of a simple note.

Handing her the receipt Will's lips curled up into another tiny and slightly scary smile. "Thank you for coming. I hope you have a nice day." The lady's cold hands sent a shiver straight through his as the exact same moment he thought: I hope you're a lonely cat lady.

And that your cat is found dead.

Switching his attention to the other customers, it took Will a good deal of apologising, forced smiles and quick till work for him to clear up the queue again. Once it was done, he let out a long breath and let his gaze scan lazily across the cafe. It was mostly empty. Leftover cups and saucers cluttered the tables, needing to be cleared up before the afternoon tea wave that would arrive soon.

Two young mums were crammed in the corner of the room, their chatter loud as they cooed at each other's babies. The prams that they were using were blocking the walkway to get to the back of the cafe. He used this as an excuse not to tidy that section of the room up.

Venturing out from behind the till, he picked up the grubby tray and started doing the job of picking up the dirty crockery. His eyes were droopy and his hands clumsily clanged two cups together. The two mums glanced over and Will cringed.

School had tired him out today. A heavy day of French, Maths, English and double science had tried to cram knowledge into his brain and all he wanted to do at the end of it was to collapse into a heap in front of the TV. However, work, or more accurately the pay, made sure he turned up at the cafe to take over from the manager.

For the past week, Will had done the afternoon shift by himself as the other part-time staff member, a middle-aged woman called Lisa, was off on maternity leave. Being a mother herself, the manager couldn't take the shift after school so he was left with the responsibility of working on his own for a while. Part of him preferred it. The other part just wanted to sleep.

Normally it was fine. Today was just not a good day.

Dragging his feet across the floor, Will carried on collecting the customers' used plates and mugs. Sometimes, when he was especially bored, he would note how some people ate or drank their purchases differently. One day he found the remains of a massacred cake. The only section a customer had eaten was the middle of the slice, leaving a rim around the outside.

Sloppily picking up an empty tea cup, he almost missed the crumpled paper that it was weighing down. He probably would have just shoved it in the bin along with all the other rubbish he collected if he hadn't knocked it with the cup, making it tumble through the air the painfully slow way that paper does. The person who had used it had stained their tea on the paper, leaving a section slightly soggy and wet.

Picking it up, fingers now damp from tea, Will sighed. He was just about to shove it in with the cup to await its journey to the bin when he recognised the writing. The tiny messy letters were something he had seen a few days ago, something he had nearly forgotten up until now.

Of course, the note that he had read earlier that week had perked a certain level of interest in him that carried out through a day and a half. In that day and a half, he made sure to spend a few minutes checking the tables for anything resembling what he had picked up when he had locked up that evening. He found nothing. Well, he wouldn't say someone's shopping list counted as anything.

And so, just like that, he lost interest in a way that replicated how he lost interest in football, video gaming and work in general: laziness.

Casting a suspicious look at the two customers at the other end of the room, Will tucked the paper in his pocket before returning back to the counter. He was trying to remain casual but there was something about his darting eyes and strange, forced, face that did the opposite.

He placed the tray on top of the counter and dragged out a stool. Taking a seat, he wiggled down on the soft cushion to get comfy, his bony backside doing no favours for comfort.

Under the high table he unfurled the half damp paper just like he had done before. His squinting eyes moved from one side to another as he read yet another letter that wasn't even written to be sent.

Dear Maddie,

It only seems right to write, or pretend to write, a letter to you. I don't think you understand how much you helped me through my first week of 'recovering'. I also don't think you understand how, out of everyone, you are secretly my favourite cousin. Don't tell your sister that.

Actually, I doubt she'd even notice. She's so caught up in her boyfriend right now.

I have never treated you well. I know that. I'm sorry that I never had the courage to apologise for what happened when we were younger. I wish to do that now. So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being selfish and saying those things to you just because I wanted to impress my friend. A friend who left me anyway.

There aren't many things I'm sorry for, Maddie. But I've never forgotten how I treated you.

I wanted to thank you for the message you sent me. I'm semi-glad my mum told your mum: she can't keep her mouth shut. It was you that got me through that morning. I also think it was you that helped me overcome those first few hurdles that made the rest of me getting better that bit easier. Your words, even though the cynical part of me didn't believe them, helped. A lot. So thank you.

Thank you so fucking much.