March 1933

It was Sunday and for some reason Detective Inspector Christopher Foyle's fourteen-year-old son Andrew had decided that he wasn't going to church.

"Andrew you are going and that is final!"

"I'm not going Dad!"

Foyle sighed and ran a hand over his face yet again, "Well unless you can give me a very good reason why you shouldn't I expect you to be up and dressed in 10 minutes, is that clear?

Andrew said nothing and with a final frustrated sigh Foyle left the room. Why, today of all days has Andrew chosen to act like a petulant toddler?

He had just entered the lounge when there was a knock at the door. With a sigh he retraced his steps and opened it to find Andrew's good friend Rex Talbot standing on the doormat.

"Good morning Mr. Foyle." Rex said cheerfully.

"Rex. What can I do for you?"

"I've come to see Andrew Sir."

Foyle nodded, "Well I'm afraid he isn't up just yet, but you'll see him in church in less then an hour."

Rex's face darkened instantly, "You aren't actually making him go are you Sir?"

Foyle frowned, "Yes of course I'm making him go. What has come over you lads this morning?"

"I must say that's awfully…" Rex began angrily before breaking off, a look of surprise suddenly crossing his face, "You don't know do you Sir?"

"Know what?" Foyle asked wearily, it had been a long morning already and he was hardly in the mood to guess what Rex was getting at.

Rex suddenly looked terribly uncomfortable and was looking anywhere but at Foyle. "Rex?" Foyle prompted finally.

Rex took a deep breath and looked up at him, "Its Mothering Sunday Sir." He said quietly.

Foyle stood there blinking at him as the significance of what he had just said sank in. Mothering Sunday, how could I have forgotten! 2 years ago…had it really been that long? 2 years ago Andrew and I would have been getting Rose breakfast in bed and now…

He swallowed hard as grief and guilt welled up inside him. Guilt for forgetting and for how he had treated Andrew, the lad was clearly upset and he had only made it worse by yelling at him.

Rex was shifting nervously from foot to foot in front of him and Foyle cleared his throat, "I see and you are here to…"

"See Andrew. We," he gestured behind him and Foyle realized that Peter Davis and Thomas Ferguson were standing at the end of the path, they must have arrived while he was speaking to Rex. "We knew Andrew wouldn't want to go to church today so we thought we could all go and play football instead."

"What about your parents? Surely they expect you to be at church."

Rex shook his head, "No Sir, they said it was all right, truly they did."

Foyle cocked an eyebrow and Rex turned and waved Thomas and Peter over. "Mr. Foyle doesn't believe me that we've got permission to miss church."

"Oh we have Sir," Thomas assured him, "My Mum said 'no' at first but when I explained why, about Andrew and all, she said of course I should come over here instead and to tell you that both you and Andrew are invited to tea later if you want to come."

Foyle nodded, "Very kind of her. What about you Peter?"

"My Mum said just about the same Sir. She said as long as I made sure to explain in my prayers tonight that God would understand. She also sent this." He held out a freshly baked loaf of bread wrapped in a tea towel.

Foyle took it, "Thank you Peter, that was very generous of her."

He studied the three young men in front of him, a swell of gratitude building in his chest. They were such good friends to Andrew and their mothers had always been so kind to his boy, especially in the last year.

Andrew seemed to be forever coming home with fresh baking or dressed in a borrowed jumper or trousers saying, "mine got torn and Mrs. Ferguson said just to take one of Thomas' and she would see to it."

He was slowly learning to cook but darning was something he had neither the skill, or time for. Thankfully between Elaine Reid, Helen Davis and Theresa Ferguson Andrew's jumpers, socks and trousers always seemed to get darned.

Rousing himself from his thoughts he looked at boys on his doorstep, "Right, well I need to go and speak to Andrew, why don't you lads come in."

They boys looked at each other quickly and then Rex said, "Thank you Sir but we'll just wait out here."

"Err right." Foyle said with a nod watching the boys troop back down the steps before closing the door.

He made his way to the kitchen chewing furiously on his cheek; he needed to go upstairs and straighten things out with Andrew and truth be told he was dreading it. Suddenly he was very grateful for the discretion of Andrew's friends who were patiently kicking a football around his front garden. This conversation was going to be challenging enough without worrying about anyone overhearing them from the lounge.

Taking a deep breath he set the bread on the counter, headed back upstairs and knocked quietly on Andrew's bedroom door, "Andrew?"

"Dad, I'm not going!"

"I know." There was a stunned pause from Andrew and Foyle pressed on, "May I come in?"

"If you like."

Foyle pushed the door open and found Andrew sitting up in bed, hair tousled, eyes slightly red and felt another surge of guilt and pain rip through him, 'my poor boy, why didn't you just tell me?'

"Err Rex, Peter and Thomas are outside."

"They are?"

"Yes and they told me," Foyle paused and then said softly, "That today is Mothering Sunday."

Andrew flinched and Foyle studied him sadly, "Andrew why didn't you tell me that was why you didn't want to go to church today?"

Andrew shrugged, "I don't know" it looked like he was going to say more but then thought better of it. Foyle waited, fixing him with a patented patient yet probing gaze. Andrew sighed; "I thought…I mean…" he took a deep breath and then mumbled, "I didn't want to upset you by mentioning it."

Foyle closed his eyes against the pain that Andrew's words brought. He rarely mentioned Rosalind but he hadn't realized that because of this Andrew believed that mentioning her should be avoided.

Many times in the last year Foyle had found her name on his lips as he entered the house at the end of the day only to have it stolen by the heartbreaking reality that she was gone. Speaking about her had just been too painful but if his reluctance had led to this then maybe that was a pain he would just have to live with. He could not allow Andrew to grow up afraid to speak about his own mother.

Opening his eyes he studied his son sadly for a few moments and then said, "Andrew, never be afraid that speaking about Mum will upset me."

"But it does!" Andrew protested, "I see it in your face when people talk about her Dad, so don't say it doesn't!"

Foyle sighed, he hadn't realized it was that obvious, "I miss your mother terribly Andrew as I know you do but we should talk about her. That will keep her memory alive and we owe her that."

Andrew nodded slowly, "I'm sorry about this morning, I just can't stand the idea of listening to Reverend Matthews talk about how important mothers are when…" His voice broke and he looked down quickly, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes.

"I understand Andrew." Foyle's voice was rough and Andrew looked up at him with tears shining in his eyes.

"I miss her everyday Dad, but today it seems worse somehow."

Foyle nodded and crossed to the bed placing a warm hand on the back of Andrew's neck, "I know son. I'm sorry that I was cross with you, next time just tell me what the problem is all right?"

Andrew nodded, hastily brushing away his tears as he offered his father a watery smile. Foyle smiled back. "Right, well you should get up, the lads are waiting for you in the front garden."

Andrew nodded and pushed the blankets off, "I don't suppose there's any breakfast left is there? I'm awfully hungry."

Foyle shook his head fondly, "You usually are. I'll fix you something while you dress."

"Thanks Dad."

Foyle nodded and quietly left the room. He was halfway down the hallway when he realized he didn't want to sit through Reverend Matthews' sermon on mothers anymore then Andrew did. He thought for a minute and then went back down the hall and knocked on Andrew's door again. "Andrew?"

"Yes?" Foyle opened the door slightly and stuck his head in.

"How would you like to go down to the river?"

"Now?" Andrew looked surprised.

Foyle nodded, "Yes, I don't particularly feel like church this morning either and I'm sure God will forgive us, just this once."

Andrew smiled, "Sounds good to me Dad!"

"Good, I'll go and see if your friends agree."

"I'm sure they will." Andrew said, "Rex was saying just the other day that he wished his Dad took him fishing even half as often as you take me."

Foyle nodded, "Right well I'll leave you to dress."

Andrew nodded, "I won't be much longer."

Foyle went downstairs and opened the door, watching quietly as Thomas and Peter tussled for the ball. Rex noticed him standing there and signaled to the others before quickly coming up the steps, "Sir?"

"How would you lads like to do some fishing down at the river?"

"Really Sir?" Thomas asked, grinning broadly.

"Yes, I thought you could bring the football along as well." All three boys were grinning at this point and Foyle found himself smiling back softly. "I take it your interested?" He asked.

"Yes Sir!" Thomas replied eagerly while Rex and Peter nodded enthusiastically.

Foyle smiled again, "Good. If you have any fishing tackle of your own now would be a good time to fetch it, if not you can borrow Andrew's."

"I've got some Sir." Peter said, "It won't take me long to fetch it."

Rex nodded as well, "I've got a rod as well."

Foyel nodded, "Good. Why don't you lads go and get your kit now then, Andrew still needs to eat breakfast and I need to change."

Rex and Peter nodded and headed quickly down the path, leaving Thomas and Foyle alone on the steps. "Thomas, you'd best come in."

"Thank you Sir." Thomas said politely as he stepped passed Foyle and into the hall, football in hand. "It really is very kind of you to take us to the river Mr. Foyle, my Dad never has time what with the shop, weekends are his busy days."

Foyle nodded understandingly, "I can imagine. Well maybe we'll be lucky and you'll be able to bring your mother home some trout for supper."

Thomas smiled at the suggestion, "I hope so Sir, she'd be awfully pleased I reckon."

Foyle nodded and led the way into the kitchen, "Have you eaten Thomas?"

"Yes Sir."

"So I couldn't interest you in some toast then?"

"I wouldn't say that Sir." Thomas protested mildly and Foyle's lips quirked slightly. Andrew and his friends seemed to be perpetually hungry these days. Which might explain why they were growing like weeds.

"Right then, why don't you put some plates on the table while I see to the toast?"

Thomas nodded and by the time Andrew came downstairs five minutes later the table was set and Foyle was in the middle of scrabbling eggs. He left the boys with a stack of toast as well as some bacon and eggs and went to change.

By the time he came down Rex and Peter had returned and Andrew was in the process of toasting the remaining half of the bread Mrs. Davis had sent over. He looked up as Foyle came in, "Hi Dad."

"Andrew. Something wrong with the other toast?"

"No it was splendid but we ate it all and Peter and Rex are hungry too so I thought I'd make more."

"I see."

"Would you like some?"

"Err no thank you I've eaten my breakfast. I'll just have some tea while you lads finish up."

"Right-o."

It was 10:30am by the time they left the house. Between breakfast and washing up it had taken them rather longer to get ready then Foyle expected. It was probably just as well he realized as they walked along, everyone else would be at church now saving them from any awkward conversations.

As he listened to the boys laughing and talking amongst themselves Foyle realized that their only hope of catching anything today was if he fished with each boy individually. Once the river was in sight he cleared his throat causing the boys to turn to look at him. "Think it might be best if you lads join me one at a time, too many people fishing at once never works well."

The boys nodded so Foyle pushed on, "You lads agree on the order and then the rest of you can play football while you wait your turn, how does that sound?"

"Sounds good to me Dad." Andrew replied and the other three boys nodded.

Foyle nodded back, "Good. Make sure you play a good distance from the river. With the racket you boys make you'll scare all of fish away for miles."

They laughed and then fell into an animated discussion about how best to determine the fishing order. Finally it was suggested that they just do it by age, oldest to youngest. The boys were only separated by a few months but this was deemed the fairest way and Foyle soon found himself knee deep in the river instructed Rex on the finer points of casting.

Luck seemed to be on their side as each boy was able to catch something while Foyle added several more after the boys had gone off to have a final game of football. So by the time they headed for home each boy had at least 2 fish to take home with them.

In fact they had such a good time that the boys decided to make it a tradition and until they headed off to university, Mothering Sunday always found Christopher Foyle at the river instructing Andrew and his friends on the finer points of fly fishing.