Barbara and Martin Howard sat together at the breakfast table. They had the Daily Mail and Daily Mirror spread out in front of each of them, along with their tea and toast. Barbara had just finished her bowl of All Bran. They ate in silence and without appetite. In the background the radio played.
“As less and less money is available for healthcare is it right to spend public money on treatment for conditions that will extend life for a year maybe two. Or should we divert resources to life enhancing medicine and prevention. Should we prioritise the cure or the cause that is the subject of today’s debate, phone us on 0845 505022. I’m Richard Barker and I want to hear your views after nine.”
Martin munched on his toast, looking at but not reading his paper. Barbara spread a little extra Marmite on her toast.
“Do you remember that holiday in Brighton, eighty nine I think?” Martin asked.
“Camping, when we borrowed your boss’s huge tent and we took our John’s dog with us, Trixie?” Barbara said.
“That’s the one, David loved the pier didn’t he? Everyday we went on the pier. He went on that car ride that went round a circuit.”
“He wanted the fire engine every time. Cried if another boy got to it first. He loved that pier, still does, well did,” Barbara said.
They sat in silence for a little longer.
“He was doing so well on that course, a PhD, our David studying for a Doctors degree. He made us proud Barbara love, made us proud.”
“He did love. Do you remember when mum was still alive and we stayed at that Haven site in Poole? It had that kids club,”
“Terry the rabbit,”
“That was it and David met his friend Ryan there who was from down the road, they were at the same school. What a coincidence.”
“Ryan Stevens, they still play rugby together, he was there Saturday night drinking with David. Before he went on that bridge.”
Barbara swallowed to control her sadness, “he’s crossed that bridge a thousand times. How could someone?”
Barbara trailed off. Martin finished his tea and stood up. From the door handle he took a black tie and started to tie it around the collar of his crisply ironed white shirt.
“A bloody monster or a raving lunatic love. It’s not for us to try to reason why. We just need to give him a good send off.”
Barbara dropped her head and sobbed hard into her hands, “I just can’t believe he’s gone Martin. He’s gone. Our baby.”
Martin walked to her side and lovingly held her shoulders in his big hands, “I know love. I know.”
Together they cried. Barbara stood and they embraced. On the dresser behind them several photographs of their only child, as a schoolboy, his graduation and holding a winners medal in his rugby kit. They were loving parents grieving the loss of a loving son.