The day before Alex Rider's twenty-fourth birthday, Enid Drummond died. She had reached the ripe old age of 79, a good innings for a girl who had started life in the slums of Deptford and who had lived through the Blitz. She had never regained health and mobility after her bout of flu in 2010. Each sniffle, headache and fever had the lodger stay at home and nurse his good friend. The woman who had helped him understand the hard truth families were not necessarily good or kind, hers hadn't been. Alex had to understand there was no blame and no need to dwell on things you could not change. She was a hero in Alex's book, for being a survivor and still thinking her lot in life had been good, as she had improved herself along the way. You simply had to find happiness on your own terms. The last two years had been happy for the handyman. Small jobs had paid enough for him to accrue a nest egg. He had to decide on keeping to his path of trying to slide back into normal life. Enid had subtlety suggested he should not keep hiding in the shadows. He had to trust in himself and in his friends. For Christmas, she had handed him a bundle of used twenties with the wisdom "I can't take it with me and I know you won't hang around for the reading of my will. This is my bequest for you, to invest in your own business, or in a proper home. Start living your life, Alexander. You deserve happiness. You more than anyone that there are no rules and normal is for boring people. Wife and children ain't for everyone."

A tall and very tired tall skinny blond haired young man sat and pondered all her words of wisdom as he sat on a bench in Battersea Park. He looked disheveled and had been wearing the same clothes for two days. His at home super-comfortable clothes, consisting of almost worn out nike track suit pants, a t-shirt bought in Tesco's when he was 17 and a dark blue University of London sweatshirt that he had acquired from the 'Lost Box' at the Dragon . His two bags of belongings hastily packed as he vacated his former home this morning. He had closed his eyes and thought of the events that had changed his life again. He had been reading a copy of I, Claudius and heard the sharp sound of breaking china, when Enid's mug had hit the floor as she watched Coronation Street. He had gone upstairs to clean up to see that Enid was slumped over, her left arm loose and floppy, like the left side of her face. He had quickly sat Enid up and cleaned up the floor, in case she fell again. He then phoned for an ambulance.

The paramedics asked a million questions, while assessing their patient. They then stated they were taking her to Ealing Hospital. Alex followed in the car to the hospital, after quickly getting a few essentials together in anticipation of an overnight stay. A&E was busy, but Enid was wheeled straight through to a cubicle.

Alex waited for news, but he was not 'next of kin', just her primary carer. He did not expect darling Donna to turn up. You pick your friends but not your family. All Alex had was friends, no family. Enid had been enough for him in truth and she had said he was more family to her than her own kin. Waiting was horrid, to think he had done this to Jack on numerous occasions. He felt guilty and worried. He was still just Alex, he would not need to give details for the staff here.

Just after eleven, a kind blond haired nurse came to take him through to Critical Care. "Enid's been asking for you. She's a real sweetie. She's in and out, but comfortable. Her speech is slurred but understandable. We've put on a drip and she's on oxygen."

A small, thin bony hand gripped Alex as soon as he was sat beside the trolley. "You're such a good boy, Alex."

Alex gave a firm squeeze back to reassure the very sick woman. "You're my number one girl, Aunty Enid."

"Charmer, to the end. I'm so tired." The old woman was struggling for breath.

As Enid closed her eyes and relaxed, Alex whispered "Time to say goodbye, Beautiful. Say hello to Jack and Helen for me on the other side."

"I will." With that Enid fell asleep. Alex watched the rise and fall of her chest and listened to the beeps of the heart monitor. The nurse came in every ten minutes or so. At 2:10, Enid passed from dreams into the unknown and the machine announced her heart failure with the sharp alarm.

…

On autopilot Alex had driven back to Twickenham, packed his stuff up and then gone to do the jobs Enid had asked him to, when she passed. He alerted the Undertakers, dropping off her chosen garments to be cremated in. Mr. Morris had assured Alex that Enid would be picked up from Ealing Hospital later that morning and he would personally coordinate the funeral arrangements with Enid's executors, her neighbours David and Sian Jones. Alex then walked down the High Street to drop off the house keys at the solicitors. Enid's final wishes meant her daughter got nothing and her granddaughter only a small token. The old woman had not seen the twenty-two year old Daniella since her 12th birthday, despite the fact Enid's family were only living in Reading. A house the old lady had never been invited to.

From Twickenham into town, the train into London stopped at Clapham Junction and Alex had gotten off and walked north with no real destination in mind. At the Park he sat on a bench and tried to formulate a plan. To move forward from this point, when he was back at the bottom of the pile. As he collected himself, all he felt was the familiar devastation of grief. This time there was no mix of betrayal, guilt or mistrust. Enid had lived her life fully, been her own boss and died of a blood clot in her brain. Not from violence, not preventable and not caused by the world of liars, torturers, assassins and spies that had killed Jack. Alex's grief for Ian had been short and sharp, as he had immediately been fighting for survival and fighting to keep his home. Grief once again mixed with the bitter sense of failure.

This was a fine sunny February morning, Alex looked at the green grass and the park was well attended on this Saturday morning. Alex was hungry and thirsty but still sat and stayed wrapped up in the heavy weight of loss. He was weeping. He had only wept like this for Jack. He paid no mind to the passers by looking at him and hurrying past. In the back of his mind, he knew real men did not loose emotional control in public but it wasn't like Alex had a car or a room to hide in. He leant forward thrust his head into his hands. He needed to get real and start phoning people to find a new squat and a new job. He needed a fresh start. He knew better than to sleep on the streets, breaking into an empty building was better than the open air.

He was sat, shivering in that awful state of snotty, puffy eyes, sore throat and emotionally raw, when one of the passersby, knelt down in front of the distressed man and asked "Are you, OK?"

Alex mumbled "I'm fine" as he hastily wiped his face with his sweatshirt sleeve and noticed the kind stranger was a young clergyman who was playing good Samaritan.

"I'm on my way to visit a colleague at Our Lady and Saint Joseph. I'm sure he'd be happy to offer you a cup of tea and a biscuit, if you wish to accompany me?" The man with dark hair, unthreatening body language and glasses smiled.

"I really am fine. Just off to find Tosh, Liv and Breaker. My old mates normally hang out on Sheepcote Lane." Alex at eighteen had gotten acquainted with all the old timers, who knew all the tricks in the book about living rough and had the up on the best places to be and those to avoid.

"Ah, Livinia attends my soup kitchen at St. Mary's. I've not met Tosh and Breaker."

"I've been in lodgings for two years. They might have moved on, so to speak." Either to prison or off the mortal coil. "I won't detain you any longer, Father… errr Reverend, whatever." Alex had decided to pay a visit to Liv, another old woman who had taught him a lot about survival.