Margaret arrived at her son's apartment block a week and a half later, worried for not having heard a word from him in a long time and a feeling in her heart told her that everything was far from being okay. She cursed her husband's intolerance and their son's stubbornness, or rather, the lack of it - had he stayed true to his heart and rebelled against Joseph's cutting words, none of this would had happened. She found the key to his flat in the usual place - under the floor mat before the flat where Francis had stayed - and went inside, finding it empty as she suspected. The place was a mess; everything Arthur had dropped had just stayed there, the room giving out a sense of emptiness and despair. It teared her apart, knowing her little boy was desperately broken and feeling horrible for all his actions. She started to tidy the home, picking up shattered tableware, putting fallen lamps and pillows back to their respective places. When she had changed the sheets on the bed, she sat down on it and started to cry, having found photos of the two laughing in Brazil and many crumpled up and smudged letters Arthur had desperately started writing, but never finished. Even though it pained her, she wished Arthur had never brought Francis along with him to his childhood home. Margaret knew the Brit never tolerated being in that house for long due to those many mishappenings and troubles he had had there and the thought that he had brought Francis along was one way to make his stay there more happier clenched her old heart. She watched Bosey climb on top of the bed and lie next to her, resting its head on her knees. "I know," Margaret whispered and petted its wrinkled forehead. She heard the door click and hurried to it to greet her son back.
Arthur sat against the door, gasping for air and writhing in pain. For the past days he had gone out to run in such a way, that after a while he'd collapse from the incredible strain he had put on his muscles. Pridefully, he usually managed to time his wearing out when he was back at his apartment block, nearly crawling to the elevator after resting for a few minutes on the front steps. "Oh, Bosey," she sighed heavily and ran to him, almost taking him to her lap after having sat next to the Brit. "You foolish boy," Margaret whispered, her son starting cry after feeling her warm arms around him. "I couldn't fix it," he crackled, not being able to hold himself back anymore.
A little later they were on his bed after Margaret's stern commands to Arthur to take a bath and eat some of the sweet applepie she had made before taking the bus to London. "It's alright, mum, I'm fine for now, it'll pass, we'll soon forget each other," he sighed, earning a slap from his mother. "Don't say that! You know you're hurt when you have to convince yourself that you're fine," she said after kissing the cheek she had just hit. For the next many hours she told him just to tell her everything; what he and Francis used to do together, the happy memories they shared, what had happened with Joseph and dreadfully, what had happened with his friend. She already knew how they had gotten into that fight, but she wanted him to tell it again - so he would be able recollect his memories and know how wrong he had behaved, listening more to his father's words than his own heart. "Have I ever told you how much I love it when you call me and just tell me about how happy your day has been?" Margaret asked and caressed her son's head. "Reassurance is the best. When someone reminds you how important you are to them, how they still care for and love you, it's like so much weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. A big relief, that they're still there. Reassuring, catching up on things. It's a good feeling, it makes you smile. Don't you want the best for him? Didn't you say a long time ago you love it when he smiles?" she softly spoke, swaying herself and Arthur a little, as if trying to calm down the small boy he used to be and put him back to sleep after having a nightmare. "I do love it... I love him," he whispered, tears flowing down his striped cheeks. "But it's all over... what I've done, he could never forgive me. I know I hurt him more than I hurt myself." Margaret stayed calm, supporting her son, and said quietly: "Sometimes two people have to fall apart to realize how much they need to fall back together." She reached for his phone and handed it to him. "Call him, we both know you want to." With shaky hands, the Brit took it, but threw it away after a while. "I can't... it wouldn't be right. To make a petty phone-call after such a big thing would be dishonest and uncaring," he said and fell back to his mother's lap. "How I wish..." he sighed, catching his breath from crying. "I... If I could, I would go visit him right now." Margaret hushed him and held him close, softly saying: "Distance means so little when someone means so much."