Our lips meet and I can almost hear Marie chanting, ‘Leah and George sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.’

We break away. He tenderly tucks a strand of hair behind my ear; it’s still long, still red.

I’m still me.

We’re still us.

Epilogue

Leah

Eight months later

‘Mummy!’ My son’s face is pure joy as I walk into the kitchen. Archie is my warmth on this biting autumn morning. ‘My rucksack is all packed.’

‘Great.’ I crouch and clip the lead onto the dog’s collar while George zips up Archie’s coat before tugging his bobble hat over his head. ‘You can come along for the ride, pooch.’

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ George looks at me with concern. ‘You know we don’t have to.’

‘It’ll be exciting for Archie and good for me to see it.’

‘Can we get a hot chocolate afterwards? With cream. Please!’ Archie pleads.

‘Yes.’ I ruffle his hair. I wouldn’t normally encourage such a hit of sugar in the morning, but then this is a special occasion.

It’s the day I’ve been waiting for.

The sky is dull and grey, which seems fitting. The windscreen wipers swish intermittently, although it’s more moist air than drizzle dampening the windscreen. I watch the scenery flash by, absent-mindedly running my fingers over yesterday’s new tattoo; a comma. I was terrified of infection and threw up beforehand, but I did it.

‘Can you pull in here?’ I gesture to a lay-by next to a café. ‘I think we could do with that warming drink to take with us, don’t you?’

Archie squeals in excitement and launches himself out of the car. I think how wonderful it would be to see the world through a five-year-old’s eyes. Finding the joy in something most of us would take for granted – complain about even, I think as I look at the queue.

Eventually it is our turn.

‘Three hot chocolates, please.’ Archie beams his biggest smile.

‘I think we only want two,’ George turns to me. ‘You haven’t brought your cup, have you?’

‘No. But I’ll have one, thanks,’ I say to the barista. I can feel George still staring at me in shock. Inside I am a mass of delight and pride with a hint of trepidation. The Acceptance and Commitment therapy I’ve been using seems to be working for me in a way that other methods haven’t, which isn’t to say I’ll drink the chocolate that’s now being topped with a heap of swirling cream, but I’m willing to try.

Small steps.

It is properly raining when we get there.

‘We’ll stay in the car and watch,’ George says to Archie. ‘Snuggly and warm.’

There are only a handful of spectators. An elderly man in a wheelchair in full army uniform, medals pinned on his chest. Someone – I’m guessing his daughter – holding a black umbrella over his head.

A reporter from the local newspaper scowls from under his hood, his cameraman shielding his lens with his hand.