Sylvia Smith was relaxing in the best way possible. Listening to the Afternoon play on Radio 4 and knitting. She had started a new project, an aran jumper to keep Jon's boy warm this winter. She stopped her counting at the end of the row and looked at the boy in question, who was fast asleep on her sofa. This weekend must have been really tiring for him. He had an appointment at the doctor's in the morning and dependent on that, he would go back to his rented room and going to work. Sylvia was in two minds about Alex working for the government like her Jon. She was only placated by the fact Alex was disabled and unable to go galavanting around the world to dangerous places like Jon had. At least he'd been looked after in Brecon. Alex had told her how he'd been checked twice a day by the medical team. His infection and the inflammation had eased.

It had been a hard year for her since Jon had died. It had been like she had lost Alex as well. Tony had taken her to the British Championships last April but then she had heard not a peep from anyone until the summer. Alex had a series of sent postcards from Spain and then Athens, Corfu, Venice, Nice and finally California. Short notes that did not say very much. She had them stuck on her fridge door. She was extremely fond of Alex and understood his reticence over the rest of the Smith family. Jon had always been her favourite nephew. She herself had been an outsider in some ways to the Smith family. She had no children herself, five miscarriages and two still births. The large family she still grieved over. George her husband had died in 1986. Jon had helped her through her grief, such a kind sensitive boy. In him, she had a surrogate son and in Alex a surrogated grandson.

She had not been surprised when Jon had fallen in love with the bohemian free spirit that was Tony Fletcher. In some ways it had been obvious that Jon was not cast in the same mould as the rest of the family. He was always an individual, creating his own path in life, not caring of the attitudes or prejudices of others. Margaret and William had two perfect sons and then Jon, a true cuckoo in the nest. Their youngest was their oddest, never accepting his place to be a working man with narrow tastes and perceptions. William was in many ways a bigot. Her George had accepted the changing face of London. Cheerful until his last day working for London Transport. He had friends who were Londoners just as much as himself whether they were born there or somewhere else. William had painted Jon with the same brush as the foreigners, the freaks and weirdos.. not normal, not right, to be avoided at all costs.

She half-listened and caught Alex as he spoke a phrase of french in his sleep. It made Sylvia smile 'I need to get some new trousers?' What was Alex dreaming about? The door bell rang and Alex sat bolt upright, immedeiately awake at the unusual sound.

Sylvia muttered "I wonder who that could be? I normally don't see a soul outside of my normal social circle."

"Its your WI meeting tonight, isn't it?" said Alex rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Yes. You stay put, they can wait for my old bones to get to the door. Probably just some tike selling stuff." In her own good time, Slyvia packed her knitting in her bag. She stood stiffly and shuffled down the hall in her slippers.

Alex overheard "I was just passing Sylvia and I thought I'd drop off those photos of Des's two boys I told you about."

"Come in, Maggie. Just to warn you I have a guest staying."

The two women entered and Margaret stood stock still looking at a blond young man put on prosthetic legs before stating "I'll go make tea , shall I, while you girls talk." At that Alex got up and went into the kitchen.

"Girls? He's a strange one. He makes me feel young, so its good for my heart I recon." Sylvia sat again in her comfy recliner before noting Margaret Smith still frozen in the doorway. "Come in woman, make yourself at home. Alex is staying for a few days. He's been a bit under the weather. So I've been feeding him up. He's living on his own in a room in Clapham. Starting work next week."

Margaret had been a frequent visitor and Sylvia had never mentioned the boy Alex. "So, no longer swimming in Loughborough?"

Sylvia spoke in a low whisper "His allergies flared up in LA a few months ago. He had to take some drugs that are banned, so no more swimming professionally. He was a bit cut up about it but these things are sent to test us."

Alex busied himself and made up a tray. Jon's mother was not a person he wanted to known. He was afraid he blurt out what he really thought of the woman and he was positive Sylvia would not be impressed if he called her sister-in-law a bitch. He could be polite, he just had to think of it like work. Smile, be charming and do not tell the truth. Come off it lying was easy, wasn't it.

He came in and played mother, pouring tea and passing around the plate of the hobnobs. The women talked of people and children he did not know, he smiled and nodded like a professional actor as pictures were shown.

Sylvia noted the time, "Oh Maggie I have to get myself ready for the WI tonight. We're having salad for tea if you're staying"

"Oh no, I have to get back. Its been nice catching up."

Alex then asked "Where do Jon's parent's actually live now?"

"Oh, Ealing. A nice semi, in a nice area. They moved there in 1984 and stayed. Jon insisted on finishing his schooling at Brookland and ended up staying here with George and I. It was the beginning of them not talking really. The area changed in the seventies and eighties, first a bit more ethnic then the yuppies. Des lives in Hounslow with his wife Tracy and their two boys and Michael lives in Stevenage. He's getting divorced. His wife ran off with his best friend, so the less said about that scandal the better. Maggie gets upset at that harlot. I always think there is no smoke without fire, most youngsters get divorces now anyway, even the Royal family."

Alex could not help but glance at the china cabinet with its fifty years of carefully collected Royal memorabilia and tasteful collectibles on view.