"Papa, what do you think mummy is doing right now?" a little dark haired girl of about six asks her father as she stands beside him, next to a grave.
"She is singing" he replied softly. "She is singing your lullaby. I can hear it. The wind brings it to me."
The little girl slips her hand from her fathers and turns her head in the direction of the wind. She waits.
She listens.
She waits some more.
No song, just wind.
Some lullaby, thinks the little girl. What lullaby? There has never been a lullaby since she could remember, just quietness.
Just loneliness.
Just…nothing.
No mummy.
Just quiet papa.
Always too busy papa.
And Aunt Lissa.
Warm Lissa.
Cuddly Lissa.
Lissa who is always here…not there…
Aunty Lissa who the girl secretly calls mother… why couldn't she be her mother?
Mum, real mum, why aren't you here? Isn't that your job, to be here? For me? For dad? For aunty Lissa?
Even with the grey clouds covering the sky the little girl spots something glinting in the grass near the tombstone. As she takes a step forward her pretty shoes, the shoes she is only allowed to wear for mummy, slip in the wet grass. She can feel herself start to fall backwards.
But papa is there. Papa catches her. She doesn't fall. Papa is always there, just not here. He'll be there to catch her when she falls. He promised her. He just won't ever be here. Not for smiles. Not for cuddles. Never.
But he'll always be there.
Papa stands her up straight. "Let's go, дочь (Doch). You have a sleep over at your aunt Lissa's. I have a business dinner tonight."
Papa holds out his and and the girl takes it, the glinting object forgotten. "Papa, what was mummy's name again?"
"Rose, her name was Rose" he said softly. "And she was beautiful…and strong and…brave…til the end…"
As the little girl walked through the cemetery, her little hand in her papa's strong grasp, the wind blows. The girl cocks her head toward the wind and as she walked on…a soft melody played gently on the wind…