4 Packed Lunch Post-it Notes

4 Packed Lunch Post-it Notes It was hard for Peanut to put into words how much she missed her dad. He had disappeared a year ago, and not a minute went by without her wishing with all her might that he'd walk into the room, scoop her up in his arms and give her one of his famous bear hugs. Every single time she heard a phone ring or saw a door open, she half expected it to be him. Each time that it wasn't, she felt the pain of his absence anew. Peanut's dad was an artist, like her. A painter, to be more precise. And he was good—or at least Peanut thought he was. She had inherited her passion for drawing and creating art from him. He was her hero. She'd loved hanging out in the small,

bright conservatory at the back of the house that Dad had used as a studio. It had been chaotic, but always full of the most interesting objects: half-empty tubes of paint, old mugs filled with paintbrushes, colour charts Sellotaped to walls, poseable wooden dolls, and easels of every size imaginable. But best of all were the paintings, which had been scattered all over the studio. Some were finished, some were half-finished and some looked finished, only to have been crossed out at the last minute. Peanut loved them all, but her absolute favourites were the empty canvases. Paintings yet to be. There was something so magical about them. Every time she saw that expanse of pure white, she knew that her dad would soon turn it into something more. Something new. She'd felt so lucky to have a father who could conjure beauty out of thin air.

And then there were the Post-it notes. When she was little, Peanut had been very nervous about leaving nursery and starting school. At nursery, she'd only had to stay for the morning, whereas at school she would have to stay for the whole day. She'd been dreading it. She would miss the fun afternoons she and Dad had spent together and she'd cried for a week in the build-up. Her parents had been very worried. 'I've got an idea,' Mum had said, the day before Peanut was due to start. 'What if, every day, Daddy draws you a little picture on a Post-it note and we put it in your lunchbox? That way, you'll have something to look forward to all morning, and something to laugh about all afternoon. I think it will really help. And just like that, Peanut's Packed Lunch Post-it Note Collection started. Every day, her dad would draw her a picture on a small square of yellow paper and hide it among the sandwiches, yogurts and fruit bars. She couldn't wait to see what she would get each day. He drew pictures of her favourite

characters from books, TV shows and films, portraits of family members, mini versions of famous paintings and much more besides. Anything and everything Dad could think of. And every single one would have the words 'Love you forever x' hidden somewhere within the drawing. Throughout the whole of primary school and the start of her time at Melody High, Dad didn't miss a single day, and Peanut treasured every note. She would carefully bring them home each afternoon and put them in a plastic bag under her bed. Then, last year, Dad made a special wooden box for her to store them in and 'keep them all safe'.

'Why "Little Tail"?' she had asked, reading the inscription on the box. 'Well,' he'd replied, 'pencillus, the Latin word for "artist's paintbrush", translates to "Little Tail" in English. It's also where the word "pencil" originally comes from. I thought it was appropriate considering a paintbrush and a pencil is mainly what I use when I draw them for you. Peanut still had the box, full to the brim with more than 2,000 drawings. Of course, there had been no new Post-it notes since Dad had gone. In fact, the daily reminder of his absence she got when she opened her lunchbox to find no drawing inside was like a knife to her heart. Lunchtime had gone from being the best time of day to the worst. Every day, she asked herself the same question: Where is he?