Who. Thom Noble. What. An anniversary of sorts - Thom pays a visit to the most important person in his life. Where. Romford Cemetery. When. Early Monday morning. Warnings. S for sadness.
The morning had not yet spread its vibrant colors across the sky when Thom left his flat that morning; dabbles of a dim, dark grey and a soft purple still visibly hanging within the distance. There was something fitting about the setting overhead. It felt like a bout of deja vu, as if that day in history was linked to its counterpart so many years ago. Thom kept his hands in his trouser pockets while he walked with his head hung low, a paper-wrapped bouquet of daffodils tucked underneath the crook of his right elbow. Most would assume, with his state of dress, that he was on his way to a nice get-together, a date scheduled for a time too early - but these assumptions couldn't have been more wrong.
He made sure to walk the distance. She always said he never got enough sun, he was never physical enough. It was this trip, the all-too familiar path, that he always took the initiative to close the argument he could never quite finish. The route was always the same, always coming full-circle: down the road, make a left, three blocks, make a right, push open the gate, and walk down the trail of trees until you find the Paisley family plot. There only managed to sit a small cluster of them, Martha, Harriet, Christopher, and -
"Hi, Mum," These were the first words Thom whispered that morning. His voice cracked with the obvious signs of the day just beginning and the weakness the sight still caused him, even to this day. He swallowed, a dry lump suddenly clawing at the inside of his throat. "Been a while, eh?" His brows knitted together. He tried to laugh, but only a gentle shaking of breath escaped his mouth. Thom bent down on one knee and leaned forward to pull the flowers from underneath his arm. "I - uh, I brought you these. I figured you were probably a wee bit envious of all these other birds and their bouquets." His bottom lip curled up underneath his front teeth. Thom originally hoped that he could forget just how much the sight of his mother's headstone made him hurt, but he had since learned that that time was far off. In the distance, like the full rising of the sun.
"Things got a bit -" He carefully placed the flowers upright, being sure to tuck the stems firmly in the ground. "Things got a bit complicated recently. I've ...found out that I'm actually a fictional character. Rubbish, I know. Then, I got transported to an alternate universe. And I was - I was a dad." Thom's heart skipped a beat within his chest. Since returning from the mishaps of the week that never was, he had not once spoken the word aloud. "You'd have loved 'em, Mum. Twins, they were. A bird and a bloke. Claire and Charlie. Heh," he offered a gentle chuckle, "th- they were beautiful. Jan, her name is. She was my - we were together there. The twins were ours."
Thom looked down at his knee, a distinctive swelling in his eyes. "I couldn't do that. Not here, Mum. I'm not fit to be a father. I'm not fit to do much at all, really. I wish -" He glanced up. Devoted mother. "I wish you were here, Mum. Some days it feels like I can't do this without you. I've forgotten what you sound like anymore. I've forgotten your laugh." He could still hear it in his dreams, but he knew the moment he would awake, it would disappear again. Just like her. "I've forgotten how to be properly happy." He scraped the pads of his fingers down his chin and inhaled through his nose. "I know what you'd say, though. 'Thom, you aren't a bloody child, luv. If you want to be happy, only you can make yourself happy.'"
He paused, a tear rolling down the curve of his cheek. "I'd forgotten what it was like to be happy until I was in that ruddy nightmare." He sobbed noiselessly. A thumb of his reached out. It spread over his mother's name, the chill of the stone causing the smallest of goosepimples to rise up the length of his forearm. Thom cleared the excess vulnerability from his throat. "I should be going now, Mum. Tabitha's had me under close watch since -" He stood back onto his feet, dusting off his dirty knee with a flick of his fingertips. "I'll try, of course. To be happy."
Thom cupped the top of the headstone firmly, closing his eyes as tightly as he could manage. There she was, just behind his eyelids. He could see her smile through the black. "I love you." Both eyes opened again and all he saw was stone. "Happy Birthday, Mum."