"I can't believe it's almost Christmas already. Doesn't seem like five minutes ago, it was New Years Day and we were seeing in twenty-fourteen."

Levi makes light small talk with George, as the pair head down the frostbitten gravelly pathway. The crisp winter atmosphere pinches at their noses, tinging them a warm pink hue, while simultaneously draining the pigment from their cold, white lips. The glistening, browned leaves sit on the ground below them, crunching underfoot as they walk closer towards the grassed area before them.

"Tell me about it. This year has been one of the most eventful years I've ever known," George agrees, his breath escaping as a fine mist in the air as he talks. "But we've gotten through the majority of it, now."

"I have a lot to catch him up on, haven't I?" Levi questions rhetorically, as he finally spots what he's looking for.

His footsteps lightly increase in speed, until he is met face-to-face with the large slate stone he has grown familiar with over the last few decades. He kneels down before it, withdrawing a cleaning cloth from his coat pocket, which he uses to brush old cobwebs and leaves away from the memorial in a bid to spruce the space up a little. He smiles a small, melancholy smile as he reads the beloved name engraved onto the stone.

ANTHONY MICHAEL JONES
APRIL 13TH 1935 - DECEMBER 14TH 1976

A BELOVED FATHER, SON, HUSBAND & FRIEND

FOREVER 41 YEARS OLD

Levi's eyes graze over the words written lovingly in the memory of the man he cherished so dearly. "Hello, Dad."

"His stone has kept incredibly well even after all these years," George comments, conscious of the volume of his voice. "It's looking great."

"I feel as though I don't come here nearly enough," Levi murmurs, feeling slight shame in himself. "But life gets in the way, doesn't it?"

"And today is probably the most suitable day — you know, with it being the anniversary of his passing," George reminds him. "How many years is it, now? I can't quite do the maths."

"It would be thirty-eight years today," Levi answers. "I can't believe it's almost four decades since he died."

"But he'd be so proud of you now," George assures him, reaching down to rest a comforting hand upon his husband's shoulder. "Married with kids, and been through hell and back. He'd be amazed at your strength and willpower."

"I'd like to hope so." Levi nods, feeling it's best not to question his father's opinions when he isn't around to argue his case. "It's funny to me, that he hasn't been around to see any of it, though."

"Unlike my mother," George compares. "Who I was fortunate enough to have around for the large majority of my life."

"Grief as a child — or, a teenager, I suppose — is entirely different to grief as an adult," Levi asserts, as he stands himself back up again. "I was fourteen, perhaps fifteen when Dad died. It felt like my life was over, and yet it hadn't even started yet."

"It's just crazy how different life would have been for you, had he have stuck around for longer," George states. "I wonder whether he'd have liked me. Whether he'd have accepted me into the family."

"My father would have loved you," Levi smiles, evaluating that he has enough insight to determine this. "He loved everyone. Well — he loved everyone who treated him and his family with kindness. He would have accepted you with open arms, my darling."

"It's good to hear that," George answers. "And, I suppose, it's good that you knew for a fact my mother adored you. She told you plenty of times."

"She did, she did." Levi nods, unable to dispute the bond he had with his late mother-in-law. "And I adored her just as much. And I told her that plenty of times."

"I wonder if your dad and my mum found one another up there," George contemplates, glancing pensively up at the grey, lifeless sky. "I bet they've been laughing their arses off at how we've been dealing with all that stuff that's come our way lately."

"It does give me a bit of a chuckle to think about it, I suppose," Levi snickers, forming a mental image of the two parents looking down on them both in amusement. "My dad would probably be telling me not to let what Mack did, consume me. He'd probably say, "Son, life is too short to be dealing with that nonsense". And I suppose I agree with that. That's why I started the therapy stuff in the first place. I heard his voice berating me, in my head. Telling me I needed to do it for the sake of the kids. For the sake of you. For the sake of myself. And I'm glad I listened to that voice, after all."

"I'd assume my mother would have told me the same thing," George breathes. "She'd have said to me, "Georgios, you need to get your shit together for your kids and for Levi. Get your arse into that therapy room and get your head sorted". She always did have a very vulgar sense of humour. Like mother, like son, I suppose."

"Now that, I can agree with," Levi laughs. "That's perhaps why I adored her so much. I saw you within her."

George exhales through his nose, as a substitution for a sigh. He wishes more than anything, that his mother were still alive — that goes without saying. Christmas time was among her favourite times of the year, so the idea of celebrating it without her for the first time seems somewhat daunting; this, of course, isn't helped by the fact he's sitting in front of the grave of his father-in-law, whom he never even got to meet. In his eyes, the festive season seems far gloomier now than it ever has before. He tries not to let it break him, however.

"Yeah," he finally utters, realising he needs to reply to his husband's previous words.

"How is that coming along, by the way?" Levi suddenly questions, pulling George away from his deep thoughts about his mother. "The bereavement counselling, I mean."

"Oh." George's lips perform a little quivering dance, as he considers how to answer what he has been asked. "Um, well ... it's been okay."

"It's been a fair number of weeks since you started those sessions. Is there any advice you've been given that has helped you at all?"

"Well, not drinking a tonne of alcohol is certainly a good start," George teases. "Not that I did that very often anyway. It seemed to be more when I spiralled, I did that. But on a day-to-day basis, it wasn't that bad. I used to just sit and let the grief take over me, I guess."

"I had noticed that you don't drink socially so much anymore," Levi points out. "Which is good."

"Yeah. And the counsellor suggested another small trick, or two," George continues. "One of them was writing a diary. So, whenever my mood feels low and it's clearly the grief, I should write how I'm feeling. Or even if it's not about the grief ... I should write it down. But I already had a diary anyway, so it's nothing new. But she also said that ... if I'm ever finding it too difficult to deal with Mum's passing, I should talk to somebody ... you, or the kids, or a friend — anyone, really — and I should tell whoever it is, a happy or funny story about her. Apparently, the idea is to spread the positivity of the person to other people. And if it's the kids I'm talking to, it helps them to remember their grandmother. The memories are passed down to the next generation."

"And have you tried that at all?" Levi interrogates. "And has it worked?"

"I told them both a few stories the other night, before bedtime," George divulges. "Just silly little tidbits about her. They both seemed to enjoy the stories that involved them as babies. It was nice to sit with them and just talk about Mum to them. They both loved her so much. I'll always try to remind them of what a wonderful person their grandmother was."

"I do wish they'd have met their grandfather," Levi admits. "But if your little piece of advice works, then I'll have to try it too. All they know is that Grandad is up in Heaven with the angels. But maybe, just maybe, they should know a little bit more than that. It would be nice for him to be remembered even by people who weren't around to know him."

"I'm sure they'd love to hear the stories about their daddy's daddy," George replies. "You could even make them into bedtime stories. I'm sure they would like that."

"I'm sure they would." Levi shudders a little from the cool breeze surrounding him, which persuades him to pull the zip up higher on his coat. "So you'd say that the bereavement counselling and the therapy sessions are actually helping?"

George doesn't answer immediately; in fact, he is rather hesitant about it. This is not because his answer is negative — but rather, it is because it means he must admit he was actually wrong about a statement he made in the past. "Well," he starts, uncertain as to how to word his response. "It's ... "

"Georgios Kyriacos Panayiotou-Jones, are you dragging out your answer because you don't want to admit you were wrong about getting help?" Levi mocks, letting out a small laugh as he squeezes his lover's cheek disparagingly. "It's okay to be wrong, sweet."

"Shut up," George snipes, with every intention of being playful. "So ... perhaps it has helped. Maybe the talking stuff was exactly what I've needed. But it isn't foolproof."

"Well, not many things in life are foolproof," Levi says. "I didn't expect it to be the cure to all your issues. But it's definitely helped a fair amount."

"Well, it's only been a month or two," George reminds him. "So I've got a long way to go, yet. I'm not fixed by any means."

"Is that your way of saying you were wrong about therapy?" Levi quips. "You know, because apparently, therapy wasn't going to work for you because they'd laugh you straight out the door. You wouldn't be taken seriously. You don't do the talking stuff. Was there anything I missed?"

"Yes, alright, I get it." George rolls his eyes upwards, in a feeble attempt to seem disapproving of his husband's banter. "None of that stuff turned out true. Can we change the subject now, preferably to one where I'm right?"

"You still make me laugh after all these years together," Levi compliments him. "This, Mister Panayiotou-Jones, is exactly why I married you."

"You must have been craz—" George brings his sentence to a halt, deciding against his usual art of self-deprecation, for once. "You must have seen a lot of good in me, to stick it out with me."

"Of course," Levi agrees. "And I'm glad you finally realise that. It's good that you aren't slating yourself, for once."

"Yeah, well ... a wise woman told me a couple of months ago, that the only opinions of me that hold any weight to them are those of the people I care for," George explains. "Or words to that effect, at least. And if the most important man in my life tells me I'm worthy of his love, then it means I'm worthy of his love."

"You don't understand how happy it makes me, to hear you say that about yourself," Levi beams, coiling an arm around George's waist, to pull him in closer to his side. "It's a breath of fresh air to hear you talk about yourself in such a positive light. It's a change from the usual bullying you give yourself."

"I suppose this therapy stuff really is helping me, then," George chuckles. "If it's helping me to combat one of the biggest issues I've had all my life. Maybe it has helped me to be kinder to myself. Baby steps, as they say."

"Precisely." Levi glances down at the floor, debating in his head as to whether to change the subject to one he deems as important to touch on. "So, um, talking of combating big issues — I actually had an idea of a way to help me with mine."

"You did?" George presses, intrigue in his voice. "Do tell."

"Well, it's a little ... controversial," Levi prefaces, trying to gauge George's reaction with every word he says. "But um, I was thinking of going to visit Mack in prison. They have visitation sessions there. I wanted to go down and talk to him — you know, get some answers about some things. I feel like it could help give me some closure. Life is too short for me to cling onto what he did. I want to be able to move on."

"If you think it'll help, then I shouldn't be one to stop you," George answers, a warmth radiating from his tone. "It could be good to talk one-on-one to him in a safe space. He can't hurt you as long as there are prison officers around to keep watch. When were you thinking of going?"

"Actually, I was thinking of going before Christmas," Levi informs him. "Just to get it done. I don't want to be sat at the family table on Christmas Day, with it playing on my mind."

"That's fair enough," George states, as his eyes avert to the memorial once again. "You know, he would be proud of you, for being mature enough to do this."

"If he taught me anything, it's that life is too short to sit and wait." Levi's gaze shifts to his father's name on the stone. "It's been the driving force behind my entire life. And this is no exception. It's time to take hold of our lives, George. It's time to take back the control."

• • •

Chapter thirty-two! Hope you enjoyed this one. xx