Light floods through the curtains with the promise of a new day, as I gently wake him for his pain medication.

Every morning as he opens his eyes, I say a silent thank you that I have one more day with him.

His weathered face now has pain etched onto it permanently yet he still awakes every morning with a smile. His once thick blonde hair now is thin and sparse from the chemo, his tanned luminous skin now ashen; but his blue eyes still shine and that gives me hope- after all, they say the eyes are the windows to the soul. As long as they still shine there is still life in my father.

'Morning Lilla du,' my father says this means little one, which he has called me for forever and amuses me greatly considering I'm now 6ft 3 and tower over him.

'Morning, did you sleep well?' I ask as I lift him up to position him in some kind of comfortable place in his bed, which since he's been ill has become his whole small world.

'I dreamt of your Mother,' he smiled, 'the day I met her'.

My parents met when they both were at university; they would constantly tell me how they knew from the first moment they met that they would get married. Originally my father was only in England to study but he knew once he had met my mother he would never go back home to Sweden, she was the other half to his soul. He told me she was his home, so they married and moved to Whitstable, my Mother's home town where I was born.

Our conversation is interrupted by the tap of the bedroom door, signalling that the carers were here.

The carers come in every morning and evening to wash him and fix his food, fluttering around him like wingless angels. I'm truly grateful for their help. When they are here I finally get a moment alone. I know it sounds selfish, but I can just for five minutes' walk away, without it I'd have crashed and burnt weeks ago.

I listen as they chat away and he shamelessly flirts with them.

'So Lucas, how are you feeling today?' the younger carer asks as she washes his face. He winks at her, 'Much better, last night I went dancing all night long then I drank champagne on the beach and watched the sunrise. You will have to join me next time'.

The carers giggle, then the older one of the two tuts. 'I could believe that of you Lucas, I bet you keep poor Oscar on his toes'.

I play along. 'You don't know the half of it, he wakes me up at all hours stumbling in from another wild night'.

He starts to laugh which turns in to a coughing fit, instantly all joking stops as he gasps for air. We all rush to his side, trying to prop him up until it stops.

He breaks the silence with just a few words, 'Maybe no dancing', then winks at me to let me know he's okay.

********************

The day rolls on as they all seem to at the moment; he sleeps on and off in between pain medication. Friends visit, never knowing quite what to say. I try to get him to eat while he tries to pretend everything is fine, and so we roll on until it's finally another afternoon.

'Oscar, you must go out, you must get some fresh air, being stuck in here with me it's not good for you,' he mutters after his afternoon pain meds start to kick in.

'I'm fine.' I snap back, not wanting this conversation again with him.

'You need to see people, see your friends if just for a moment Oscar'.

I laugh. 'I see people'.

He snorts. 'Who? Me and the carers?'

'Yes, you, the carers and .... the crazy woman from last night'.

His eyes dart to mine, suddenly distracted by his previous chain of thoughts. 'What crazy lady?'

'Just a woman who was at the door last night, demanding to see you. She said she was an old friend and to tell you....' I paused as I recalled her exact words, ''little Viking she would be back''.

His eyes become large as he digests the words I've said to him. 'What did she look like?'

I shrug. 'I don't know, it was dark and I was tired.... she was petite, had black hair....'.

He finishes off my sentence. 'And emerald green eyes?'

'Yes, do you know her? Is she a friend?'

He slouches back into the cushions and starts to chuckle. 'Yes, I've known her for many years, since I was a boy'.

'I highly doubt this', I think to myself. She couldn't have been any older than 19 maybe 20 at a push and my father is in his late sixties. When he was just a boy she wouldn't have even been born. I put this down to his pain meds and the side effects I was warned about.

He grabs my wrist as I go to get up. 'Oscar, if she comes back and asks to come in, you let her in.... promise me, Oscar?'

I nod obediently, hoping she won't come back.

He lets go of my wrists and mutters, 'Liten Vampyr ....my old friend has found me again'. The pain medication takes hold of him and he drifts off to sleep.