So, she slipped alongside the iron fence, through the open gate. He waited until she took his hand and then together they walked the flagstone path, still wet from rain an hour earlier. He stayed by her side until they reached their destination, at which point he stopped and told her she had to do this alone. He had to forcibly peel her hand out of his and give her a gentle push to get her moving. The tears were already dripping off her chin.

The grave was marked only by a wrought iron ornate cross no higher than her knees and a stone slab flush with the mown grass. The slab bore debossed lettering filled with rainwater, so the inscribed words seemed to shimmer:

Jon Adams

24/12/87 – 5/9/2011

Our Treasured Son

Taken on a Journey, Away for Ever, but Always Here.

‘Taken on a journey,’ she moaned.

Nick approached and knelt by her on the wet grass. He looked at the marker, read the words, and knew Anna was wondering what Jon Adams’s parents had actually meant. Death takes us on a journey, but Jon Adams was on a journey when he was taken. Nick squeezed her hand. In her other hand was a rose she’d brought. One of four.

‘How can they forgive this?’ she whispered.

‘But they did, Anna. That’s why we’re here.’

She shook her head. ‘Trick,’ she said, barely audible. ‘Trick.’

He understood. ‘It’s not a trick, Anna. The parents wouldn’t be doing this today. This boy’s dad wouldn’t have stood up in that court and said those things. You didn’t kill him—’

‘But I—’

‘And before you say you covered it up, don’t. You were terrified and confused. Look up, Anna, and you’ll see clouds, not the ceiling of a prison cell. Look at the clouds and you’ll see that you were forgiven. It can’t stop what you feel inside, but that also comes with time.’

She didn’t answer, instead choosing to scrape rainwater from the lettering on the grave marker. Then she laid the rose. One of four.

He rubbed her back, full of pity. It was early into a long, hard day. He told her they’d be back with Josie by nightfall, because that was what he was using to get through this. And it was a thousand times harder for Anna.

‘Poor Josie,’ Anna said.