Wish Mama L a happy birthday for me, won't you, darling? I hope you'll be alright this afternoon. Thinking of you. I love you xx

George slips his mobile phone away into his pocket, having read the text message from his beloved husband. On such a bitterly cold day as Christmas Eve, he doesn't wish to keep the device out for long — for it would mean exposing his hands to the dry, icy air. He quickly double checks to make sure his car is locked, before making his way through the colossal grounds, in which his mother rests peacefully. He has never visited her grave before this day, for he has never quite been able to summon the mental strength to do so. Today, he has decided he will face up to the challenge.

At last, he locates her headstone, sat beautifully between two other stones belonging to strangers. For a moment, the sight is surreal; as though he can't quite believe that the name of his favourite woman is written on such a poignant piece.

LESLEY ANGOLD PANAYIOTOU

24 DECEMBER 1937 — 27 AUGUST 2014

AGED 76

A SPECIAL MOTHER, WIFE, & FRIEND

TO LIVE IN THE HEARTS OF THOSE WE LOVE IS NOT TO DIE

"Well, I'm not going to pretend — this sight stings a bit." A melancholy chuckle accompanies his words, as he kneels down in front of the grave. "I'm sorry it's taken almost four months to come and see you, Mum. It's not been the easiest ride of my life, since you died. Oh — but happy birthday, you old git. How old would you be now? Seventy-seven. Levi sent his birthday wishes, too."

He pauses a moment, remaining silent, as if waiting for her to answer what he's saying. He acknowledges that this is impossible, so instead he enters a state of monologue. "You know, Mum — these last four months have been absolutely ridiculous. You've probably been sitting up there laughing your arse off. Watching your youngest child have an existential crisis at the age of fifty-one, just because you decided to ditch me. Sometimes, I feel like ... if I didn't laugh, I'd cry.

"A lot has happened in those few months, you know. Gem has started Year Four, and Kieran started Year Three. They're growing up so fast. There was a bit of a mess involving the school at one point — you'd have probably gone in there, all guns blazing, and kicked ass. Some lass in Kieran's class was bullying him because of Levi and I, but we sorted it in the end. Turns out, her mother is a complete psycho. Did you see when she tried to attack me in the headteacher's office? She got done for that, did you know? Arrested after school one afternoon. That's what I call karma. But the crazy thing is, that lass's dad was actually one of the fuckers who attacked us back in the eighties. What are the odds of that happening, hey? What a small world. He's actually a decent guy now, though. We've become good friends with him.

"But don't even get me started on what happened when we all came down to London for the weekend, a couple of months ago. I swear, wherever our family goes, we bring trouble with us. Levi was nearly murdered by some crazy guy called Mackenzie. He's another one we indirectly knew. Steph's ex, of all things. Oh — and his little brother was another one of the bastards who attacked me and Levi in Reading. He's the one who got beaten up in prison, though. I'll never understand violence, really.

"After that incident, Levi started therapy. He tried to talk me into trying it, but at the start, I wasn't having any of it. I'm a stubborn fuck, aren't I, hey, Mum? Well, eventually he persuaded me. That night, do you remember? When I was in London with Andrew ... and I went off the rails. I nearly jumped off Southwark Bridge. That was where you got attacked by that homophobic prick. The one who killed you. The reason why I'm here today, rather than at yours and Dad's house celebrating with you. They took you away from me, and I'll never forgive that. We're still waiting to find out what that cold-blooded killer gets sentenced. God knows why it's taking so long. Maybe they're taking their time, because it's so serious.

"But I hope whenever the time comes, and he gets his sentence, it'll do justice for all the pain he's caused. He ruined everything for us. There will always be "what-ifs" that I can never answer. You know, stuff like ... How much longer would you have been here for, if he hadn't have taken your life? Would you have seen the kids grow up into teenagers, or even adults, perhaps? What would you have spent that time doing? It's all silly, trivial questions — but I can never answer them. That's the shit part.

"Listen to me going off on another tangent. What am I like, hey? I started therapy a couple of months ago. My therapist has been great. At the start, I wasn't so sure; and we had a fair amount of difficult conversations. But, you know what? I'm glad we did. She gave me a lot of advice, and she changed my perspective. She also got me the help I needed — the bereavement counselling stuff has worked wonders for me. Of course, I'm not one-hundred percent perfect yet. I'll always carry the grief of losing you, to some degree. But I suppose that's the same with any loss, isn't it? Death isn't supposed to be enjoyable for anybody involved. It took its toll on me more than I would care to admit, but everything in this life is a learning curve.

"If losing you has taught me one thing — it's to hold on to what you have, while you still have it. I wish I had held onto you more than I did, even with how close we already were. But the memories we made in the fifty-one years we shared together ... I'll cherish them. Forever. And I'll make sure the kids always remember who their grandma was. They talk about you all the time; in fact, we have discussions — all four of us, as a family — about you, and about Levi's dad. Just so that they can remember the grandparents they don't have anymore. It keeps you alive, in a sense, and it's wonderful. But it also taught me that in the end, all you have are memories. Luckily, I have plenty of photographs of you. I even think I have the odd video or two of you. They're so precious to me now, because they capture the magic you possessed, so flawlessly.

"I guess, after all this blabbering on, that I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I dealt with my grief in the worst possible way. I know I drove my family apart through my anger and my devastation. I lashed out on the kids; I snapped at Levi over nothing; and I almost did something completely irreversible. I was reckless, and irresponsible. I know that, now. If you'd have been able to talk to me, you'd have told me to get a hold of myself and get my head sorted ... for the sake of my kids. But honestly, Mum, when you're in a state of depression in the way that I was, everything feels bleak. Everything feels pointless. It feels as though nothing is really even keeping you here — even if you have a family; friends; kids; a partner. None of it mattered in my eyes, before I got help.

"I couldn't have done it alone, by any means. I really wouldn't be here without all those people I mentioned. I'd have been at the bottom of the Thames River, and they'd have been searching for me. The kids would have one less parent. Levi would have no husband. Mel and Yioda wouldn't have their brother. Dad wouldn't have his only son. Andrew, Nancy, Steph ... they wouldn't have their friend. There would be so many people who had lost somebody significant in their lives. And back then, I wouldn't have spoken so highly about myself. I'd have said I was worthless; I was nothing; everyone would be better off without me.

"And one thing you should know, is that I was wrong. It's only taken me half a century to figure it out, Mum ... " His large gloved hand reaches over, to rest on the headstone before him. "But I know now, that I am somebody."

No sooner has he said these words, does he feel the breeze pick up slightly; the gentle, frosted wind envelopes him — almost like a hug. He finds solace in this, evaluating that it must be his mother's sign of approval for all that he has said to her. He glances down at the grave once again, noticing a single white feather is perched daintily at its base. He lifts the delicate artefact with his thumb and forefinger, examining it briefly. It is as pure as snow; as though it has come directly from the wing of an angel. He gives a mellow smile, carefully inserting the feather into his pocket alongside his mobile phone.

"Thank you, Mum," he says, knowingly.

He forces himself up from his knelt-down position, making a beeline for the bench which is placed opposite his mother. He decides to remove his gloves and respond back to Levi, as not to appear rude for ignoring his earlier message.

Told her you said happy birthday. Sorry for the delayed response, I've just been sat talking to her. Surprisingly I'm feeling alright. Part of me expected to break down, but I'm actually feeling ok. I think it's helped a bit coming here today. Will text U when I'm about to leave. Give my love to the kids. I love U too xx

Once he's pressed the send button, he makes quick work of slipping his phone back into his pocket; and he hurriedly replaces his gloves on his jittering fingers. He assumes that Levi will reply to his message sooner rather than later — but with the temperature so low, he doesn't want to wait with unprotected hands.

"Is that your mother?" The sound of a soft female voice interrupts George's thoughts.

George glances up from the bench, to the elderly woman stood over him. "Uh, yes. Yes, it is."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," the woman apologises. "I saw how recent the date was on the stone. I hope you don't mind me prying."

"Not at all," George assures her kindly. "If you don't mind me asking, who have you come to visit?"

"The one to the left of yours," the lady explains. "It's my son, Stephen. He's been gone about three months, now."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," George frowns, unable to even begin to comprehend the pain this poor lady must be going through. "I couldn't imagine losing a child."

"He died not long after your mother, by the looks of it," the woman acknowledges. "Sorry — where are my manners? My name is Margo."

"George," George returns. "Isn't it strange how two people passed away so close in time together, and they happen to be right next to one another?"

"Isn't it just?" Margo agrees, taking a seat in the space by George's side. "You know, my Stephen died a hero."

"That's wonderful," George praises. "If you don't mind me asking, what's the story?"

"Well." Margo takes a moment to consider her answer. "I say he died a hero — unfortunately, it seemed to be more in vain. He was trying to save a poor lady who was being attacked in London. The evil man behind it all managed to knock the woman down. My son tried to intervene, but he suffered a harsh blow to the face. He fell backwards against a concrete beam on Southwark Bridge, and became concussed. He was in a coma ... for a couple of weeks. But he was badly brain damaged from the impact. He died in hospital. But I'm so proud of him for trying to do what was right."

"Southwark Bridge?" George repeats, in disbelief. "Th-That was my mother. Your son tried to save my mother's life."

"No." Margo's hands cover her mouth in shock. "You're not serious."

"I am," George asserts. "I wish I was lying. My mother was attacked on Southwark Bridge a couple of weeks before your son's death."

"Oh my goodness." Tears form in Margo's eyes, as she pulls George in for a hug without a second thought. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

"And I'm so sorry," George answers, silently dumb-stricken by this newfound information; though, despite this, he hugs her back just as deliberately.

The pair remain in this position for a few moments, crying gently together at their mutual understanding of one another's losses.

Upon their eventual withdrawal, George feels the need to bring some comfort to the fragile lady. "I-I found this white feather just before you got here," he divulges, withdrawing it from his pocket to show her. "I heard that white feathers signify that a loved one is nearby."

"How beautiful," Margo comments, her voice broken from her sadness. "Maybe they're both nearby."

"I just know that they're looking down on us right this moment," George tells her. "They made this happen. They wanted us to meet. They did this on purpose."

"I believe that, too." Margo gives him a sorrowful smile, nodding in agreement. "A mother lost her son; and a son lost his mother. And together, they reunited the mother and son that were left behind."

"That's a beautiful way to look at it," George compliments, a sweet sincerity in his voice. His amber eyes move up to the sky, observing it. "Hey, look." He points over to the horizon, to draw her attention to it. "Look how stunning the sunset is. They must have done that for us, too. To remind us to appreciate the little things in life."

Margo beams, knowing that George is absolutely right. Together, they watch the gorgeous array of reds, pinks, purples and oranges mingle in the air; as the night before Christmas draws ever-nearer.

A single tear rolls down George's cheek, as he whispers to his mother. "Admire the view with us, Mum. Look how beautiful you made it."

• • •

Chapter thirty-five! This one made me feel cosy and warm to write. Hope you enjoyed. xx