He was unsure if it was the ache in his back or the stiffness in his neck that woke him. Tommy groaned then squinted at the clock through mildly hungover eyes and noticed it was nearly nine o'clock. Slowly he stood and stretched. Still stiff, he rotated his neck gently to try to get some movement back. He looked at the half empty bottle on the table by the couch disgusted that after such a pleasant day he had reverted to old habits. So much for a renewed interest in life!

He had been unable to persuade Barbara to stay to listen to the rest of the opera, so he had sat and nursed a whiskey bottle for company. It was probably for the best because he had become a bit too sentimental last night. He wondered if she had sensed his mood and had made her escape before things became awkward. As they sat close together while he explained Nessun Dorma he had put his hand on her arm. She had not flinched but he suspected it had annoyed her after the way she had so vehemently rejected his hand in the crowd. Feeling the softness of her skin he had been almost overwhelmed by the desire to wrap his arms around her and hold her close to his chest while they sat back and allowed the rich voices to insulate them from the world.

He doubted that she had ever known the comfort that the warmth of another body snuggled next to you, enjoying the same moment, can bring. It was sad, she deserved to be loved, but in a way he envied her because she did not need that physical connection the way he craved it. He did love her, as a friend, and he was sure she knew that but he could not help but wish that sometimes instead of companionable silence she would just hold him and let him know he too was loved. He cursed his mawkishness and went for a shower.

By eleven he had finished his chores and was unreasonably restless. He thought about a walk to clear his head but it was drizzling outside. He picked up his phone and toyed with his short dial list before punching a number. It answered quickly with a friendly, "Good morning Tommy."

"Good morning Mother. I just thought I would let you know I have solved my problem. I've invited someone to the opera."

The delight in his mother's voice was hard to contain. "That's wonderful. Who did you choose?"

"Barbara," he said as nonchalantly as he could.

"Barbara?" It sounded as if his mother was mentally running down her list of names. "Oh Barbara," she said at last, "well Tommy that's good. It's a nice safe decision."

"Safe?"

"Yes, it says you are up and around again but not ready for anything serious. It keeps your doors open." Tommy was about to say something rude when his mother continued, "Just make sure you don't hurt her Tommy. She's been a good friend and doesn't deserve that."

"I won't. She understands exactly why I asked her." After his mother had hung up he sat and stared into space. Does she? After last night I'm not sure I know.

He bowed to the inevitable and dialled her number. "Havers."

He tried to sound light yet sincere. "Good morning Barbara. I just rang to thank you for yesterday. I haven't had that much fun in a long time."

"Me either Sir, thanks for coming along."

"Seeing it's Sunday and I suspect this week will get busy at work I wondered if you wanted to come over and finish listening to Turandot this afternoon?"

Barbara paused just long enough for Tommy to know she was about to refuse. "Sorry Sir, I would actually like that but I …have plans."

"I see," he said sure he had not hidden his disappointment very well, "another time perhaps."

There was another pause and he wondered if he was expected to ring off. "You could come if you like," she said slowly, "but I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Why would I be uncomfortable?"

There was a large intake of breath on the other end of the line then she said slowly, "I'm going to the cemetery. I go every month."

A tear formed in his eye. It was a nostalgic side of Barbara that he had not seen before. "I'd like to go with you, if I'm not intruding," he said softly.

"Can you pick me up at one?" she asked, "I am presuming you don't want me to drive."

He was sore enough from his night on the couch so any thought of being sardined into her car left him cold. "One o'clock it is," he said and hung up.

He arrived early and knocked on her door. She let him in while she finished dressing but as she passed her table she guiltily covered something over with her washing, clearly not wanting him to see. He remembered the last time she did that shoving her underwear into a drawer that he then opened to fetch a knife. He smiled at the memory; life had been simpler then. A gentleman of course never commented nor snooped but curiosity overcame his manners and already ashamed of himself he lifted the shirt for a quick peak. 'Opera for Dummies' stared back at him and he let the shirt fall. When she returned he was standing a long way from the table but had a huge grin on his face. She quickly checked her clothing which made him laugh. "What's so funny Sir?'

"I'm not sure if it is funny or tragic that just because I was smiling you assumed your clothing was on backwards. Am I really that miserable?"

"You have your moments," she said with a smirk, "but you have been better lately I must admit."

As he drove she talked excitedly about the day before. Her voice was a little too high and her enthusiasm a bit too much and Tommy realised she was nervous. It puzzled him but he did not want to pry. He parked on the verge where Barbara indicated. It was still misting with rain and so he grabbed an umbrella from his back seat. Somehow it seemed fitting that it was not a sunny day. Barbara bought five individual flowers from the vendor near the gate; four imported brightly colored zinnias and a single red rose. They walked down the path next to a sign labelled "Garden of Remembrance'. Tommy wondered how many gardens around the world bore the same name in a vain attempt to make everyone believe that the people named on the plaques were in fact remembered.

A small brass plaque had her brother's basic details inscribed and Tommy was struck by how little of whom we really were remains for the world to know. For him, in the family cemetery at Nanrunnel, he would simply become Thomas, 8th Earl of Asherton, slotted in neatly between his father and his heir, most likely his brother. There would be nothing about how he lived, what he believed in, who he had loved; nothing whatsoever to distinguish him as an individual. He looked around at all the names hiding under the leaves of poorly trimmed branches. They too had been individuals who had experienced the complex hopes and horrors of life but in the end they were reduced to just names and dates under the thorny sticks of a bush that blossomed with false promise once a year.

Barbara had stooped to pull some old flowers from a small vase next to the plaque. She placed the brightest flower in its place. "Terry, this is Mr Lynley, my boss."

It was a clear introduction and Tommy felt obliged to respond. "Pleased to meet you Terry."

Barbara continued her conversation with her brother as Lynley looked on in fascination. "You will never guess what we did yesterday. We went to see your team play and they beat Chelsea 1-0. I know it's taken me far too long to go but we've talked about it before and yesterday it was the right time." She went on to tell her brother about the game and the couple they had met and how funny she had been. Tommy held the umbrella over them and watched her wondering if she actually believed Terry could hear her and understand.

Eventually he heard Barbara promise to be back next month. He wondered if he should say anything. "Good bye Terry, it was nice chatting." It seemed appropriate and Barbara looked up and smiled at him infectiously.

As they walked to the car she answered his question. "Thank you Sir. Thinking, even for just a few minutes, that he can hear me helps me to cope better. I come out here and visit him and my parents. Do you mind if we go to visit them too?"

"Not at all," he said tenderly hoping that his voice did not crack. He had never thought about visiting a grave other than to check the plaque was correctly spelt. Now he looked up the hill to where he knew Helen was interred and wondered if he should come back one day and visit. Her family had wanted her in London to be closer to them. He had not cared at the time as they had never lived at Nanrunnel but it now occurred to him that they would never rest together and he was unsure if that bothered him or not. He was no longer a spiritual man in a religious sense, if he ever had been. For him it was clear, the soul of a person existed wholly within their living being. When the body died there was nothing left; nothing that went on to a better life or lived an eternity in torment. Just a void in the lives of the people left behind.

"Do you believe in the afterlife Havers?"

"Sometimes. I'd like to think that they're out there somewhere in a better place but most of the time no. You?"

"I think if there is it scares me more than if there isn't. I don't want my father or Helen looking down knowing what a complete hash I'm making of things. I used to believe, but not anymore. Once you're dead you're dead I think."

The Havers were interred in a brick remembrance wall; just two other plaques amongst hundreds of others. The anonymity of it all saddened him. People actively attempted to create memorials to their loved ones but in the end, in death as in life, everyone was reduced to basic statistics and remained unknown and unloved by the strangers who passed them. Barbara placed a flower and spent a few minutes at each plaque but did not talk to them the way she had with her brother. He did not really know what to say to her so simply smiled, his mouth closed in a tight line. It was a smile he used when words failed him but he wanted her to know he understood.

"You know sometimes I think it would be nice if they were all together, like a family again and that there was a plot for me too,' she said wistfully. He was about to offer to pay for them to be moved but she must have read his expression. "Oh no you don't; I don't want you organising that behind my back."

"I'd happily do it if it would help."

"No, it wouldn't! And it has nothing to do with a misplaced sense of obligation like my parents' house. They are where they are meant to be. It would be wrong to move them. It was what we could afford at the time and that's the way it was supposed to happen."

Tommy nodded and promised not to interfere. He looked at her two remaining flowers, a white zinnia and the rose, and must have frowned. "Come on," she said and started walking to the car.

Tommy followed puzzled. "Where are we going now?"

"To see Helen."

He stopped walking momentarily as he took in what she had said. He was not sure if he wanted to visit the grave but when he reached the car he dutifully drove up the hill. He looked around to orient himself, trying to remember where the plot was located. Oddly Barbara seemed to know and she headed purposefully across the immaculately green lawn with him five paces behind. She stopped at the marker which was far more ornate than those down the hill with a chiseled granite headstone with gold embossed lettering. Tommy had chosen 'Always remembered' but looking at it now he thought how pathetic and lazy his choice had been. It had seemed the right thing to say but he had promptly done his best to forget. Barbara squatted and replaced an old flower with the new white zinnia. "Look who I brought to see you today Helen, it's Tommy. I'll leave you to talk." She handed Tommy the rose and started to walk back to the car.

Lynley stared after her amazed that she visited Helen ever month, then turned back to the headstone. "Helen, I'm sorry. Sorry for not visiting. Sorry for everything." He started talking, releasing feelings and thoughts he had struggled to articulate. It was like old times, before they had married, when they had been friends and he could tell her his deepest secrets. He knew he was crying but it was different to the tears he had shed before. These were genuine and not for him but for her. A sense of sadness gave way to an inner peace. He placed the rose against the base of the headstone then let his hand linger on the stone before he turned and walked away. He doubted he would ever come back but he was grateful Barbara had brought him today.

She was waiting by the car, her hands thrust deep in her pockets and her face turned away from the rain. "Thank you Barbara. She really is dead isn't she."

"In one sense Sir but Helen won't be dead while ever you live. People are only truly dead when the last person speaks their name. Until then they're alive in our hearts and memories." She smiled sympathetically at him and he extended his arms inviting her to hug him. She obliged without hesitation and held him. He knew she understood.