Kiss of death?

First posted February 2008, most names have been changed to protect the guilty.

 
Number 2 son knows that I am a widow.  The wedding photo is there for all to see and he knows Phil died before I got together with his father

Or as he said when I was explaining this “Then you got a new man – you bought Daddy”.   

If only it were that simple.

I could trade him in for a quieter model that doesn’t snore, have gout or sort invertebrates in my kitchen.

The other day we were looking through a photo album I put together in 1979/80.  I’d told Number 2 son that I’d spent a summer working on an adventure holiday in the South of France and he wanted to see the pictures. 

After the Ardéche photos I’d filled up the album with pictures of the Newcastle Kingsmen, who I first encountered around Christmas 1979.  There were photos of them dancing in the Spring and Summer of 1980 – including one of a young Fester resplendent in Royton kit with a hat full of what looks like red peonies.

There was also a page full of photos of the first Kingsman I met, who introduced me to the rest of the team (amongst other things).

“Who’s that?” asked Number 2.

“Oh that’s Seamus Murphy” I said as casually as possible “He and I were friends years ago.”

Number 2 looked at me sideways

“Is he dead?”