Dear Beatrice,

I'm glad to hear you are doing well. What a small world, that you are in my son's care! I was worried sick when I found out you had gone.

I hope everything is okay. Evidently, they haven't been, otherwise you wouldn't be with Rey- but I'm glad things are at least safer for you now.

Evelyn is wondering where you are. I gave her your address, maybe you'll see her soon? The cats are doing well, they miss you lots.

See you soon,
Ada Caddel

Mrs Caddel. She wrote to me.

I think about her. She feels like someone from a past life. I remember sitting in her living room as a child as she brushed and plaited my hair; lit cigarette in one hand and the brush in the other. Her house always seemed slightly dusty, with a constant smell of incense burning.  Her eyes held so many stories.

I remember her face- the skin soft, lines of experience crossing over. Her hair, silver and fine, was always well made up. She kept a red lipstick next to her armchair at all times, telling me that class is the only thing that doesn't age. She was, to my memory, a beautiful woman. I didn't see her as an old woman, sat in a dusty house, wearing red lipstick and smoking- I saw her as a mentor; as every story she had; every piece of love she had to give.

The swamping realisation of how much I miss this lady hits me like a truck. I have to see her soon.

Rey is sorting out paperwork. He has a lot of it.

"Rey?" I ask him. He looks up at me.

"Hello, Bee, what can I help you with?"

"Um... I was just wondering... well, would it be possible to see your mother?"

"...my mother?"

"Yes. I... well, I miss her." I pause. "It's ok if not, I just-"

"No, no. I can organise that."

And so it was organised.

A week passes and Mrs Caddel visits. For a ridiculous moment as she walks in, an old fur coat around her shoulders and cigarette in her hand- exactly as I remembered her- I feel suddenly shy.

Then I get a glimpse of those eyes. She rarely smiled but I know, I just know that inside she's happy to see me.

She doesn't say hello, she just looks me up and down and nods approvingly. "Glad to see you looking healthy." It's true, last time she saw me I was weak, delirious from lack of food and sleep, horrifically depressed.

I smile, a real smile- but it feels clouded. I look at her. She looks smaller than ever. Her hair is looking wispy. I realise I was looking after her as much as she was looking after me.

"Sit down, mum, I'll get the kettle on." Rey says.

"Beatrice, could you help me to the couch? You know how my knee acts up." She asks.

"Of course." I smile and take her arm. "Do you want me to hang up your coat?"

"Yes, please, that would be lovely." I take the fur coat. Like Mrs Caddel, it looks slightly worn, yet so beautiful and full of life. I hang it up and momentarily wonder how it would feel to wear it.

Mrs Caddel is chatting to Rey, about wallpaper. She is an interesting person, unfortunately for her wallpaper will forever be one of life's boring things.

I take a moment to fully look at her. I notice a couple of small spots of discolouration on her arms. She seems to have lost so much weight; too much weight. She always made a point to tell me that food was the very stuff of living, and if you're not eating what you enjoy you're not really living properly- I can't imagine a random diet being the cause.

I feel a pant of worry. What if she can't take care of herself? What if me leaving is what's slowly killing here? Surely she should be in a residential home?

But I know she would rather die than leave her home. She's owned it since the 60s. She wouldn't want to be in with the other old people, who she would regard as 'too boring'.

I think for a moment about visiting her more often.

She lives on my mother's street.

My heart races at the thought of returning. But my mother, after the trials- she was sent to prison. She wouldn't be there.

I vow to visit Mrs Caddel more.

I don't even realise Rey is serving up dinner. He puts extra on Mrs Caddel's plate. I catch his eye and there's a simultaneous understanding that he has noticed it too.

...

I am so grateful for her. She is the closest thing to a family I have ever had. I cannot bare the thought of losing her.