It was weird having her hold me because I didn't really know her; she was, little more than a stranger and yet it felt so right. So nice. No one has really cuddled me since my mum died – dad's been locked in a little world all of his own, James has been… well James really and my new uni friends don't really know me well enough yet to offer that kind of support.

Not knowing me well didn't seem to be a problem for her though. She seemed to know exactly what it was that I wanted. Needed. She held me, cuddled me, rubbed my back and played with my hair like my mum did when I was a little girl. In short, she made me feel safe. Secure. And once I felt that way I started to talk, telling her things that I never imagined I'd be able to share with anyone. How I was scared my dad was cracking up, the anger I felt at my mum for what she did, and, how more than anything else, I really wanted to know, and understand, what happened in Switzerland.

As I was talking she carried on holding me, but, as I mentioned Switzerland I felt her stiffen and when I looked up at her it was to find her looking physically sick. I went to ask her if she was ok but before I could she spoke.

"You should ask your dad. He could tell you."

It was a joke. My dad didn't even manage to break the news of how mum had died to me, he left that to her in her letter – the chances of him sharing the finer details were somewhere between very much not likely and no chance at all. I told her as much and she fell strangely silent before blurting out three words that in the first instance made no sense to me, only gradually sinking in when she repeated them a second time.

"I was there."

At first I couldn't speak, consumed by conflicted emotions; furious that this stranger had played a role in my mum's death while I'd been left at home, no clue what was going on until it was too late to do anything to put a stop to it; relieved that my parents had, had some kind of support and scared at the prospect of hearing the full story, even though it was something I knew I needed to hear. To be honest, I might have lost the plot completely but she was so kind and gentle with me that somehow I managed to hold on in there and stay calm enough to listen to what she had to tell me.

To say I always had her down as a hard person, she told the story of Switzerland incredibly gently, and span it in such a way that it almost sounded… well… nice. She talked about what a beautiful place it was, and how happy and serene mum seemed towards the end. She explained that dad made a mad dash to be with them, and how he and mum had had chance to talk before he made the decision to support her and held her as she died. Ok, the whole thing had no happy ending but I think it was just a comfort to hear it – I'd pictured such terrible things; my mum dying in a dirty scruffy backstreet hospital, put down like a dog by a lethal injection, and if Connie told the truth it was a million miles from that.

It was dignified. Just like mum wanted, just like she'd said in her letter.

That said though, by the time Connie finished explaining it all to me I was in tears again, and when I looked up at her I found she was crying too, although she was trying so hard to hold the tears in. Without a word I moved out of her arms and went to find a box of tissues, which I handed to her on my return. She shook her head, pushing the box away but I pushed it firmly back,

"It's ok if you cry. It just means you cared about mum, and that means a lot to me, and," I added, smiling at her through my own watery tears, "it would mean a lot to her too."

The broke her, and as she took the tissues from me, tears began to cascade down her cheeks. I was tempted to try and hold her in that same protective way she had me before, but I thought it might feel a little strange for both her and me so I didn't. Instead I moved over to my parents… my dad's… drinks cabinet and selected a bottle of Whisky along with two glasses.

Seeing Connie watching me I held up the bottle so she could see, "We could both probably do with something stronger than that," I said, nodding in the direction of the bottle of wine she'd brought which was all but empty now anyway. She nodded in agreement but I could see in her eyes that she was hesitant, which I put down to the fact that she thought I was some silly little kid who shouldn't be drinking anything stronger than a bottle of WKD Blue. Later I discovered that was actually far from being her reason, but that would only come with the benefit of hindsight…