This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Manufactured in the United Kingdom.
Colin Abbott looked down through the darkness of his shadow at the smooth white headstone and the grooves of words cut into it; truth, set in stone. Few things could be more final.
The grave beside his mother’s was still new enough to be marked by a name etched into a small wooden cross. There was also the rounded mound of earth, discoloured by the glorious life of flowers placed on top. A beautiful shroud of sadness for the body within.
The rotting of petals and stems on his mother's grave had happened weeks ago. The sight of it hadn't been as sad as Colin expected. Reading both his parents’ names on the headstone that day was the first time he understood why. Part of Colin had always thought his mother would find a way to live forever. That had made finding her cold, lifeless body both unexpected and even more traumatic. What he hadn't realised until then was that he'd actually been preparing himself for it since the day his father had died.