AN: First of all, I'm really sorry I haven't updated in like 4 months. Turns out being a student, living away from home, and studying for diplomas are hard. Well, harder than I thought it'd be.

Second of all, I'm sorry this chapter is so angsty, when the last one was, too. I promise the next one will be happy.


Your Mother's Favourite Flower

28th January 1958

"Come on, then, dear," Professor Layton said, taking his daughter's hand as the bus came to a stop outside Frindley Park. "This is our stop."

The Professor stumbled off the bus with one hand grasping a bouquet of white flowers, and his other wrapped around his daughter's small fingers, as she bounced down the steps and onto the pavement. The bus drove off with a screech as it hit the ice and a puff of smoke from the exhaust pipe.

Lillian looked up at the big, steel gates of the park and analysed the swirly patterns along the top of the gate and then began to copy the pattern into the snow with her foot.

"Lillian..." The Professor chuckled, giving her hand a small shake. "Come on, how about you show the pattern to your Mother?"

"Mhmm," the young girl nodded, before pointing to the right path inside the park. "This way?"

"Yes, that's where she is," The Professor nodded. "Good remembering, Lillian. You'll be able to coe and visit Mama by yourself soon."

"Could I?" Lillian asked, her brow furrowing. "What and take the bus by myself and everything?"

"You certainly can soon," the Professor nodded, withholding a sigh. She was growing fast and learning more and more every day, it seemed. It was wonderful to watch her grow up, but it saddened him to remember that he was watching her grow alone. The small child was becoming more and more creative as the days went by, and Claire was always so thrilled to see her draw and paint. A year ago, Lillian was knitting a scarf for Claire to wear, with help from her Nana Marie.

"But... I can never find Mama here..." Lillian said, as they turned up the next pathway, to the place of resting. "There's so many beds here."

"There are," Hershel nodded. "But remember, last time we came. On Christmas Eve? It was next to that big oak tree."

"Oh..." Lillian thought for a second, glancing around the graveyard. It had snowed heavily this year. Even heavier than last year, although Lillian couldn't remember the snow last year; only the cold. The headstones were blanketed in a thick ribbon of snow. Last time, Lilly had found the quiet echo of the snow to be rather frightening, but now she found it to be nice and pretty. The cold winter had of course meant that no flowers could grown, and so the violets and daffodils that Lillian could remember from her Summer visits were gone, however the snow was rather sparkly. Lillian knew her Mother would be happy to sleep here.

Looking up, she could see some branches peeking out from the Church. She gasped and let go off her Father's hand.

"Over here!" She called to him, her feet padding through the snow and round the corner of the Church. Lillian stopped by the tree. "Here, Papa!"

Claire Marie Layton

16th September 1925

to

28th January 1957

A loving woman, wife and Mother

Until We Meet Again

"Hello, Mama. It's me- Lillian!" The nine year old greeted, with a smile. She bounced on her feet. In the Summer, she'd sit on the grass next to her Mother and make daisy chains to decorate her grave.

Hershel turned the corner and couldn't help but feel rather happy to see his daughter smile. He was so proud of her strength. He had his suspicions that he wouldn't be able to smile himself if it weren't for her.

"Hello, dear," Hershel said quietly, patting the side of the gravestone with his gloved hand.

"I hope you're not too cold with all this snow, Mama," Lillian went on. "I've got two pairs of gloves on I'm so cold!"

Hershel chuckled slightly, reaching into the bouquet and taking out a flower and laying it down on the bed.

"Would you like to put down a flower for Mama, Lillian?" Hershel suggested, offering his daughter one of the white flowers. They matched the snow! Lillian thought.

"Yes, please," Lillian said, taking the flower and placing it down next to the flower her Father had put down. "They're pretty flowers, aren't they, Mama? I hope you like them."

"Oh, she most certainly does, dear," The Professor nodded. "Lilies are your Mother's favourite flowers."

"Lilies? They sound like my name..." Lillian observed.

"Yes, of course," Hershel chuckled. "You're named Lillian after the flower lily. Did you not know that?"

"No..." Lillian shook her head. "But why am I not called Lily if they were Mama's favourites. Why just something that sounds like them?"

"Well, if I'm honest, I much preferred Lillian..."

"I prefer Lily."

"Uh, well..."

"It's much nicer, isn't it, Mama?" Lillian, or Lilly, nodded.

"Well..." The Professor shook his head. She really was growing up. "Well, I suppose you can be Lilly if you prefer it. It's your name, after all."

Lilly chuckled, feeling rather smitten, and reached out her hand for another lily flower.

"It is rather cold out here, I don't think these flowers will last long out here," the Professor said. "How about we take these home and put them on the table. Mama used to do that a lot of the time. We can go and think of her at home, yes?"

"Yes, we can put them by Mama's old seat!" Lilly suggested.

"We certainly can," Hershel nodded, holding out his hand to her. "Come on, then, Lillian- err- Lilly."

Lilly gave him a grin, and then took a step closer to her Mother.

"See you soon, Mama," Lilly then leant in close and whispered: "I think Lilly's a much better name. It's pretty. Like the flower."


AN: A short and rather basic chapter, but I'm tired and not sure if I'm looking forward to going back to classes. A true writer would work harder at this than me. Unfortunately, I am not a true writer.

But FUN FACT: Lilies are also flowers of death! And that's originally why I called Lilly, Lilly. Only with a different spelling (two l's) because it's an abbreviated name.

Feel free to request any chapters if you have an idea!

Nikki~