‘Do you remember when your mum used to call you her “little troubadour” because you would write short poems on any piece of scrap piece paper you could find? You could write well by the age of seven, and Eleanor thought it was wonderful,’ says Jack, smiling through his tear-soaked face.
‘I do! I remember lots about my mum, and you, and I’ll never forget mum because she’s always in my heart. I even talk to her whenever I want to. I tell her all my secrets, and sometimes I look to the heavens and blow her a “troubadour’s kiss”. I’ll tell you more about that later.’
Then Ellie leaves the room to fetch a roll of kitchen tissue so she and Jack can dry their eyes.
‘Here you go,’ says Ellie, returning moments later. ‘I think we both need these.’ She raises a smile and hands Jack a couple of sh
