A TRIBUTE AND MY THOUGHTS ON ENTERING ONE PART OF YOUR LIFE WITHOUT THE PERSON MOST PEOPLE EXPECT TO BE THERE FOR IT. 

A picture's worth a thousand words and the picture on the net in front of her said millions but not the millions the rest of the world thought it said.

She'd clicked a news site -bored and over herself, ready to move on and yet here it was – the past. Calling her back reminding her of what she had lost at a time when she had everything to gain.

She looked at the photo in front of her and her heart ached in a way that had nothing to do with the heartburn her current situation brought with it. Nothing to do with the not so tiny person kicking away inside her.

The picture brought her past to her present.

A young mother and her 12-year-old daughter on a shopping trip, snapped by the paparazzi – a shot now two decades old– the last shot of the mother and child before an accident that ended the life of one and changed that of the other forever.

She read the caption – the last trip – Princess Diana and her only daughter enjoy a fun day out just days before the accident that shocked the world.

She didn't read the thousands of comments underneath.

She didn't have to or want to.

She couldn't.

Everyone had an opinion, the whole world –but no one knew the truth, no one knew what they were really seeing.

No-one but the young girl in the picture.

Now a woman.

Soon to be a mother herself.

Very soon -imminently.

Princess Victoria, Elizabeth, Francis, Diana of Wales as she was. Now Doctor Tory Hiddleston – mother, wife, obstetrician, princess.

But looking at the picture in front of her, the year's fell away and she was just that young girl, any young girl – on the day she became a woman, sharing that special moment with her mother, being made feel special by the woman who gave birth to her, buying the things a young woman needs and wants. Having coffee and cakes and talking about boys and womanly things, like a million other young girls and yet not. She didn't know many girls, many of her friends who had been treated to such a day, she knew it was something special, something she would do, if the child inside her now or the next one she and Tom created was a girl.

It had been a special day.

A poignant final day as it turned out.

But if you must have a final day it was perfect.

Her mother had headed to Europe later that week.

To a tunnel in Paris and Tory was forced to grow up.

She hated that picture when it was taken but now it meant the world to her and the world thought it knew why.

But it didn't.

It couldn't.

That picture told a story.

That picture told HER personal story.

That picture helped her remember. Remember giggling and talking with her mother in the upscale café, that she still frequented – often on her own now – sitting in that corner, their corner. How ironic that her last conversation with her mother was even more relevant now - today.

Relevant not just because of the anniversary – she hated anniversary's and in a day, it would be here– twenty years. And any day her baby would come, part of her wanted tomorrow to be the day, partly just to have it over and done with and partly to claim it back for something good. But part of her dreaded it.

That day – this god-awful anniversary, an anniversary that would remind her that her mother had missed more of her life than she had seen. Remind her that Diana hadn't been there for her graduation, to kiss her and hold her through her first heartbreak, the ups and downs of life, her breakups with Tom and then their marriage. She hadn't helped her pick out the dress – the one she'd worn for the world or the one she'd worn just for him, for them. And she wasn't here now. She wouldn't be the first one there to see her after her child was born, wouldn't be there for the birth like she'd seen other mothers during her time as a doctor. She was missing out – they were missing out.

But fate hadn't taken every bond away – every first.

And Tory smiled then because there were things Diana had known – that day – things that Tory hadn't even realized.

Things that were still reverberating now.

The child moved as if to reaffirm that thought. It stretched inside her making its presence felt as she sipped her milkshake and smiled more. Tory supposed they were both just happy to be away from Kensington Palace, to be out. Even if it was for a small time.

She put her hand on her tummy and her smile grew even wider – the seat across from her was empty but she wasn't alone, she carried someone with her all the time.

Someone other than the thoughts of her mother.

And one day she'd tell that someone about today and about that day.

About her mother.

Because at least she'd known, even though she couldn't really, she had still known that day. The day in the café, this café, with ice-cream sundaes and milkshakes – coffee ones – sophisticated then, a warm memory now. Sitting there as women, talking about boys.

The boy she liked.

Her best friend's handsome, dorky older brother.

No one in the world knew of that conversation, knew that the picture Tory was staring at now reminded her not just of her past but her future – well maybe the security guard that was with them that day. But maybe not. Mummy had seated them in the corner – and shooed the guards away.

Girl-talk she'd explained and they'd nodded – taken seats by the door.

She'd whispered conspiratorially then.

"Tell me about Tom?"

Tory had blushed then.

How could her mother have known?

He was unattainable – older, away at school with her brothers, a crush then.

She had no idea her mother had guessed about her crush but her Mummy had said "a mother always knows".

The last thing, the last person she'd talked about with her mother was the boy she'd had a crush on.

She sat here now.

In that same café.

On her own in the corner.

An empty chair across from her.

Her laptop in front.

Waiting.

Not for her mother.

A mother who could never come, who would never come no matter how much they would both have wanted it.

But for that boy.

That man.

Her man.

The father of the child that moved restlessly inside her now.

The man who made her look forward while the rest of the world looked back.

The man who she had fought to love and fought against loving for so long.

The man who would not take the title of Prince but was playing one on stage.

The man who was walking through the door now, smiling a tired but excited smile.

This baby hadn't been planned but it had been wanted and he'd talked about changing his schedule when its presence was discovered but Tory wouldn't let him. It was a rite of passage for a British actor to play the Danish Prince and being father to a British Prince – or princess shouldn't stop him, well that was his wife's view.

His wife.

They were both still adjusting to that.

To their double fishbowl life.

The media speculated – speculated that their ten-month-old marriage was in trouble – that there were other women if he was even photographed in the same place as anyone remotely mammaried, other men if she was photographed at a charity – even now as their baby went from vague to unmissable the gutter press did their thing.

But none of that mattered.

He was offered more overseas roles, less in Britain. He was the princess' husband.

But none of that mattered.

It rankled a little sure.

But as she stood and they kissed it all fell away. It was more than woulds then, really didn't matter. He pulled her close and felt his child move. Electricity and excitement ran through his tired body.

He apologized profusely for his tardiness.

"Rehearsals went on a bit," he said wearily as they both sat heavily in that corner. He looked at her across the table, his wife – yes, he really was still getting used to that. Still pinching himself every time he looked at her.

Tory, his sister's best friend, now his wife, now his world and mother of his impending child.

She looked tired too.

He knew the date – it was hard to avoid -her mother was everywhere and people asked him about it. Did he meet her, how Victoria was coping, what it was like living in her old flat – he didn't answer much – he couldn't. How could you? This was worse than the incessant questions about Bond, this was personal and private and no one else's business but theirs.

If he could or would answer,  had told his director at least, that she was fine, a ball of emotion maybe a little more reflective than usual but that was normal when you were pregnant – wasn't it?

He knew with the birth of each of her sibling's children had come that melancholy feeling caused by the missing face in the hospital room, the missing call on the list of people to phone. And now this child was hers, overdue and heading for a calamitous clash of dates a possible fusion of past, present, and future, of joy and sadness.

And here he was looking at his princess – his life – the two people who made his world revolve now.

Not that he'd really know how she was – not really – she wasn't always forthcoming and he wasn't always there.

He had a project – a play. THE play – one of those that, as a British actor, your work, your legacy, your life is judged on ultimately.

"Oh yes he did well in those super hero movies but his Hamlet wasn't much,"

He felt the pressure.

But she knew.

Understood.

She'd known him forever – probably longer than he'd known himself.

And she was usually pretty busy trying to change the world, he could imagine having a child would make her more like that. His mother had said it would mellow her – but he knew better.

Of course, at the moment she had more pressing matters. Not saving the world but "saving her sanity" and his.

Tory had been on bed rest for the past week or two, blood pressure rising as the baby grew bigger.

She was the most active person he knew and locked in her prison – okay their recently renovated well-appointed apartment in Kensington Palace – she was going slowly stir crazy.

And he'd hardly been there – he'd been in another realm, another kingdom. A kingdom where an uncle killed a father and a son questioned his existence. And he'd come home to find her watching the Lion King – just to stir him.

"Disney did it better," she joked.

He'd rolled his eyes, she'd cheeked him more until he'd tickled her – carefully. One thing had led to quite another and then they'd made love for the first time in a week or two – slowly sensuously – well as sensuously as you could when your partner is carrying at least two bowling balls in her womb. He had tried to be careful though – he couldn't help it – he treated her like glass. He had touched her – really touched her that night though, for the first time in weeks. This wasn't a frantic or tired coupling but one of those that moved on a cellular level. They had sat in the middle of their bed, naked, him buried inside her, running his hands over her curves -over her expanded breasts, her tummy, knowing her changing body again as she reacquainted with his. Whispered words of love, of passion and then moving and loving, caressing each other into that sweet oblivion.

Yes, he'd been overly cautious, treated her like he could break her and of course, she hated that but he didn't want to hurt her, them, in anyway, anyway at all– he had something precious now and his biggest fear was fucking it up.

Maybe that's why he still hid in his work.

Though he suspected that was still more about being a perfectionist.

"So, you weren't seen escaping?" he asks as he watches across the table.

"Oh god yes we were seen how could we not but I think they all thought we were going to the hospital, plus I'm sure no one is game to actually follow or to be seen chasing us at the moment. But you can bet there are press camped around the hospital as we speak," she sighed.

"I thought being seventh to the throne meant the press would be mildly interested but it has been wild. Remind me to look at the possible due date next time we even think about having a child.

"If this one is born tomorrow and female the press is going to go into a frenzy. I'm keeping my legs together I can tell you."

Tom laughed telling her if they tapped on her laptop now there would be pictures of the car leaving Kensington and reports from the hospital.

"Should we tell the rest of the family where we are?" he asked.

She sighed.

"If we did that everytime the press suspected I was on labour we'd drive them all crazy."

Tom sighed, nodding he reached his hand across the table to snare one of hers. They were swollen and currently without her engagement and wedding ring, which were now around her neck on a long slender chain. He'd been shocked to see her bare fingers the first time since their wedding, almost hurt until she'd explained why. Now the voyeur in him liked to watch them swing down between her currently extremely voluptuous breasts. Breasts that any day now would be feeding his child.

His child.

Princess Victoria of Wales.

His Tory was pregnant with his child.

He was playing Hamlet.

And he'd made a baby.

Pride swelled his chest.

He'd come a long way.

He was a man.

Of course, he'd been a man for a long time now but there was something about reaching those milestones that filled him with pride – and scared him to death.

His eyes sparkled.

Tory smiled.

"I'm glad you're feeling smug about my situation," she laughed reading his thoughts. "You're not the one carrying the bowling ball."

He squeezed her hand.

"I'm sorry," he sympathetically – not feeling that sorry at all. She looked beautiful, tired certainly, but beautiful. He wondered if there was some primitive gene that made a man feel the way he was feeling now. Surely there would be some sort of research somewhere, he would seek it out. But not now. Now life was moving fast – almost too fast and yet, conversely not fast enough.

"Almost over!"

She nodded.

"And then we get to meet him or her," she smiled again.

"Yes – the little person we've made!" he answered with twinkling eyes. He loved that she acted as if she didn't know what they were having for his sake. Tory was a great doctor and a smart woman and he knew that she'd be well-aware of the child's gender. He'd thought about asking her but she'd never tell, he knew that. She wanted it to be a surprise and really, he didn't care, he just wanted them both to be healthy and safe. He wanted the birth to be over, the next adventure to begin.

His stomach grumbled then.

He wanted to eat.

"You didn't order food?" he asked.

"I didn't want to eat on my own," she said seriously and he laughed. The chic black and white decorated restaurant was far from empty but most of the people in there were very familiar faces. She'd wanted to go out at a time when all eyes were on her, at a time when there had been security threats. She was an old customer and a good one so arrangements had been made – there were no other diners today – just her but there were still people here - her security detail and his.

He didn't always have a detail – though they were with him more often than not these days. Unlike the other in-laws and minor royals, he had a profile of his own and so he was considered more of a target, more accessible. Mostly he paid for his own security but here and now with the anniversary of his mother-in-law's death looming and the birth of his child – seventh in line to the British throne. He had an official detail. It embarrassed him – a drain on the country's coffers – but it had been decided on by others.  Both he and Tory had argued against it – but the safety card had been played and the heartstrings tugged. She had been brought up with one parent – did she really want that for her child?

The short answer to that was no.

She didn't want her child to have that hole in its heart, that ache that moved into the background but never diminished. But this was still the fish-tank life that neither of them wanted – that came with the territory. Two homebodies surrounded by security, pap's and even well-meaning fans and well-wishers. It was a lot to take in as they prepared for one of the most stressful and private times in anyone's life – those first few weeks of parenthood.

They would buy a country estate soon – get away from the city – though not too far, she still had work and it would be hard for either of them to really leave London for long.

So the security guards were a small ever-present price to pay.

Martin – who had all but retired and the ever-present Marcus sat enjoying a coffee near the counter. Paul and Jean, were near the door. He knew there were other's outside somewhere.

It was all another reason why he welcomed the birth of his first child- he hoped that the madness would quieten down. He needed his career to be the most written about part of his life not his relationship – but he had gone and fallen in love with a princess. He smiled at her again as she motioned to her friend Lena who ran the café – had run it for years and had known her mother. A kindly older woman in her early sixties now but still elegantly dressed like she was about to go to a garden party she came and took their order personally fussing over Tory like an over protective aunt, asking about his role. That was the pay-off he supposed – there were plenty of people out there who cared about them, for every sycophant and hanger-on there were genuine people like Lena.

The food arrived quickly – they hadn't ordered much – he didn't really have a lot of time and the nervous energy that was fueling his work and life kept his appetite down. The bigger Tory grew the less she seemed to eat. Diana – his Diana – his mother would tut at him – at them next time she saw them. And since she was staying at Martin's in the city now, that would be very soon. She had mentioned coming to stay with them when the child arrived – Tory might need a mum and she had one in Diana, had always had her even before she really had him. Diana had taught her to cook and had been there – first as her best friend's mother, then as her friend and now Diana had got what he always suspected she'd wanted –Tory as an official member of her family. He'd faced some frosty calls at times during his "courtship "of his wife, in those rocky moments when the sheer enormity of their relationship and what it meant hit him or her and they had recoiled from each other. But she was over the moon now and desperate to be there for Tory – though with the anniversary he knew she had been holding back, ringing him or Martin for updates instead, letting the girl be with her thoughts.

He wondered if he should ring his mum now? So, she had someone with her, for her. Though he knew she had Marc – he overstepped the mark big time and often – was more friend than security. Best friend. He should be moved but no-one was game at the best of time and certainly not now that the strong-willed Tory was over-due and very hormonal. But maybe his mother should be there with her too?

He watched her eat, watch her touch her stomach gingerly and wondered, not for the first time, why he was taking on Hamlet now.

"When the play is done and we are through the birth, we should go away," he said as he picked at his food and watched her do the same.

"The practice," she started.

"Will wait," he finished for her.

"Don't you have other jobs?" she asked.

"Yes, but I have a wife and child too and I can't be that man anymore- though it's going to take a lot of effort to change," he sighed.

She put down her fork and reached across the table.

"You shouldn't have to," she said as they held hands again.

"Yes, yes I should – marriages are a lot of work and we are under the microscope – I'm still in love with my job and I know so are you – but it isn't the whole world."

He stroked his thumb along her fingers and looked up into her bright blue eyes.

"You are!" he whispered meaning these words more than he'd really ever meant anything he'd ever said before. She was, Tory and their child were everything now, he'd lost sight of that but he wouldn't let that continue.

He kissed her then – across the table in the café that she'd sat in with her mother on that final meeting and it didn't feel like an ending it felt like a beginning.

She went into labour the next day – early stages but enough for her not to meet with her family at Althorp.

And at 2am on September first, with her mother-in-law there holding her hand and a teary Tom cutting the cord, the Hiddleston's welcomed their own sweet prince into the world. A bleary-eyed Harry made the call to their grandmother and the announcement was made by Buckingham Palace in the formal way of the Royals. The public and press woke up to a new world – just as it did 20 years earlier. But this time they hadn't lost a royal but gained one.

Callum Charles Alexander Hiddleston was perfect in every way or so his grandfather remarked as her big family gathered around her. The sun shone out the window and as they welcomed the new member to the clan tears were wept for the woman who should have been there too.

Gone but missed forever and never forgotten.