It took eight hours to get from door-to-door, but we’re finally here.

Wrangling two young children, a buggy, and luggage, on even a short plane journey on your own, is a feat worthy of a medal.

Two airports, customs, a shuttle bus ride, and then a taxi, made for eight of the longest hours of my life.

But we’re here.

Ivy is over-excited and about to make herself sick, while Arthur is out cold, and I know I have zero chance of getting him to sleep tonight.

But we’re here.

Palma airport is ridiculously big for such a small island, and it’s a maze of departure and arrivals halls, travellators and people. So many fucking people.

One thing nobody warns you about when someone you love dies is that you see them everywhere; even when you aren’t looking for them or even thinking about them.

You can be mindlessly carrying on with your day, putting one foot in front of the other, taking one breath at a time, and you’ll spot someone in a crowd, and everything will freeze.

Time, your breath, your heart. It all just stops dead.

Then it crashes back into your chest at a million miles an hour when they turn their head or smile at the person next to them, and their eyes will be the wrong colour or their smile too thin. Or they will look nothing like the person you wished it was, and it’s just your mind playing tricks on you.

Especially in crowds.

Gather together a large group of people, and your mind goes haywire. Your long hidden dreams surface in painfully realistic apparitions of the one you loved and lost.

I saw Laura bending to pick up the fallen teddy of a child in a buggy. I saw her dragging a bright red suitcase, while her gaze scanned the tour reps that gathered in the arrivals hall. I saw the moment she found the man who had been waiting for her. I saw her discard her luggage to fling her arms around his tanned neck. I saw her pull back to stare into his eyes before placing a long kiss on his lips. I saw him pick her up and haul her body against his.

I saw all this without taking a breath.

When she turned to grab the handle of her suitcase, he brushed away her arm and grabbed her luggage for her. I watched in silent pain as she pushed the long strands of her white-blonde hair behind her ear, and the bottom dropped out of my world.

It wasn’t her.

Her nose was the wrong shape, and her lips were too red. Her brows were too dark and her cheeks too round. And even if she had been the spitting image of Laura, identical in every way, my soul knew it wasn’t her because of the look on her face, the one she gave freely to the man at her side, that is the look that Laura only ever gave to me.

Laura Smiles.

By the time we get to Nate’s villa, it’s not just the kids who are weary and emotionally ravaged, I am too. I want nothing more than to close every blind, turn off every light and curl up in darkness. But that’s impossible when you have two little beings that need you and rely on you, one of which is currently bouncing and twirling like a spinning top asking on repeat, “Can we put on our bathers? Can we go in the pool now? Can I take off my clothes? Can you find my mermaid swimsuit?”

“Ivy,” I chastise a little too sternly, and I watch as she stops mid spin and tumbles onto her bottom. “I need you to take a time out, and relax or you’re going to make yourself ill.”

“But, I…”

“No buts. Take Dolly and your backpack to your new room and chill out for a little while. Arthur is sleeping, and once he wakes up we’ll have some lunch, and then if you’re good, we’ll think about going in the pool.”

“But, I…”

“Ivy,” I bark out, causing her bottom lip to tremble. “Daddy has said it’s time for everyone to calm down. We’ve had a long trip, and the pool will still be there in an hour.”

“Okay,” she whispers on a shaky exhale, before grabbing her doll and small bag off the floor by the door where she dumped them in her excitement. She walks on reluctant feet down the hall to the room that Liv and Nate have set up just for her.

I survey the space around me. The villa is classically furnished with luxury fittings, most of which are white or cream – that’s going to be fun with two kids - and my eyes lock on the plush, corner sofa that all but begs me to lie on it. With a quick glance at Arthur asleep in his buggy, I all but collapse onto the comfy, plump cushions, roll onto my back and close my eyes on a deep sigh.

Buzz. BUZZ.

I open a single eyelid and stare at the ceiling, my brain trying to catch up with the sound that I’m sure I just heard.

Buzz. Buzz. BUZZ.

Okay, that’s most definitely coming from somewhere in this house.

Buzz. Buzz. Tap, tap, tap. BUZZ.

Arthur stirs and grumbles at the interruption, his arms and legs kicking out in annoyance as the sound drags him unwillingly from his slumber.

On alert, my body shoots up from its prone position, my hands curling as I rush towards the front door with livid steps, determined to stop whoever is inconsiderate enough to wake my sleeping baby and give them a piece of my…

Buzz. Buzz. BUZZZZZZ.

Arthur wails, his lungs opening on a full-blown cry and I swear to God whoever is one the other side of this entryway is going to wish they hadn’t knocked on this fucking door incessantly, over and over and over.

“What the fuck do you think you’re…”

My angry tirade dies off when I open the door only to be confronted by a giant, five-foot tall teddy bear wearing a black bow tie, top hat and a tuxedo.

Arthur’s cries ramp up in the background. He’s likely more upset at waking up in an unfamiliar place with nobody around to calm him, and I have an almost uncontrollable urge to punch this humungous soft toy in its furry, ridiculously happy, face.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to put him on the ground in case he got dirty.” A feminine and unfamiliar voice from behind the huge bear calls out.

“Nate and Liv asked me to drop some things to you, but this big guy took up my entire boot, and I didn’t want to drive with him in the passenger seat, so I have to go back and get the rest of the stuff.”

I’m still stood staring at the bear in irate silence while Arthur continues wailing in the background.

“If you could, ah… take him from me. I can be back in fifteen or twenty minutes with the rest.” She pushes the bear towards me, her tone becoming hesitant at my lack of response.

Arthur waits for her last word before he really starts to give it both barrels and in-between his cries I hear Ivy’s sweet voice coming from the hallway behind me.

“Daddy, Arfurr is crying. Daddy, can you hear him?”

The fact my daughter even has to ask me if I hear her little brother’s distress only serves to ramp up my anger, and, without a word, I take a step back and slam the door on the giant teddy’s face.

“I can hear him, Princess Ivy,” I assure her, as I rush from the door to the living room where Arthur is strapped in his buggy. I manage to tamp down my simmering annoyance at the stranger with the bear, and I unbuckle Arthur quickly while trying to soothe his cries. Isaac would usually be the one to calm him at times like this because every time I’d attempt to pacify him, his wails would only increase. Isaac had the magic touch when it came to Arthur. Who am I kidding? He was more of a father to him than I, so it’s no wonder my little boy sought my brother’s comfort over mine. I understand it, I accept it, but it doesn’t lessen the sting.

As expected, Arthur doesn’t settle in my arms. His angry face scrunches up in a red, snotty ball, his little arms and legs go rigid, and his back arches away from my hold.

“He wants a bottle, Daddy,” Ivy offers helpfully. “And his Tatty.”

I turn to see her rummaging through his baby bag, pulling out a spare bottle of milk and his Tatty dog soother – which is really just a square of fabric with a dog’s head attached. It used to be Ivy’s when she was a baby, but Arthur has become very attached to the worn and rarely washed soft fleece material.

“Here you go, Arfurr,” she says as she walks over to us where we now sit on the sofa with Arthur still wailing against my chest. She hands her little brother his Tatty first, then his milk, and it’s like a miracle happens when he places Tatty by his cheek then leans against me to tip up his bottle with both hands.

Silence. Blessed and beautiful silence.

Ivy smiles up at me triumphantly. “Uncle Iz said I have the knack and that you and Mummy are both very proud of me.”

I swallow down the sharp slice of pain at her words and give her a bright smile. “We are, Princess Ivy. So very proud.”

She smiles down at her now content baby brother before her eyes take on a thoughtful sheen and when she looks back at my face and says, “She isn’t coming back, ever. Is she Daddy?”

It’s a fight to remain composed enough to answer.

With my free hand, I reach for her and tug her against my side.

“No, Princess Ivy. Mummy can’t come back to be with us, but she’s here-” I place my fingertips at her heart “-and here.” I lift my hand to run them lightly across her temple.

“We won’t ever forget Mummy, and I don’t think she will ever forget us.” I look down at Arthur who has almost finished his bottle and add, “But we need to help Arthur remember who she is, okay?”

Ivy’s eyes are wide and sad, but she gives me a tremulous smile and answers, “Okay, Daddy. I can help him remember.” Then I watch as a little light bulb goes off in her brain, and her smile returns. “In fact,” she decides, pulling away from my embrace. “I’m going to go and a draw him picture right now.”

“I think that’s a great idea, Princess Ivy,” I say to her disappearing form as she races away from us back to her room.

One last slurp from Arthur sees his bottle empty, and with a now full belly and a milk-drunk smile, he sits up, drops the bottle and Tatty on the sofa to his side, and wriggles off my lap. With one last look over his shoulder at me, at which I nod and encourage him on his way, he crawls off in the direction that his big sister disappeared, with me hot on his heels. We are at her bedroom door a few moments later - Arthur’s crawling skills are pretty impressive and ridiculously fast when he puts his mind to it - when the bloody door buzzer goes off again.

Buzzzzzzz. Tap, tap, tap.

It’s all I can do to hold back a curse, and Arthur stops mid-crawl and turns to plonk himself on his bottom, his inquisitive eyes now locked on the front door at the other end of the hallway.

“Come on, little man. Daddy needs a buffer.”

I scoop up my little boy, deposit him on my hip and walk towards the front door. Without Arthur crying, I don’t feel the need to murder whoever is on the other side, but I’m still pissed off that they’ve returned. What did she say she was doing here before with a ridiculously huge teddy bear? I can’t remember because I couldn’t focus on her words for the screeching of Arthur’s cries and the pounding of blood in my ears.

Taking a deep breath, I pull open the front door expecting a teddy bear and come face-to-face with a slim, petite, strawberry blonde with a headband of daisies in her hair, carrying what looks like a dozen grocery bags.

“Hey,” she offers, with a nod of her head to me and a bright smile for a gurgling Arthur.

I stare but don’t offer a greeting.

“Okay,” she draws out in a long breath. “As much as I want to stand out here and get the silent treatment, I’ve had a long shift and I’ve yet to see my bed. So, if you can point me in the direction of where you want this lot-” she shakes the bags a little in emphasis and almost drops a few “-I’ll be on my way and out of your hair.”

Her smile doesn’t falter, but it does become more brittle. Her brows rise in a slight challenge as if to say ‘Shut this door in my face again. I dare you’.

“Da-da. Da-da,” Arthur exclaims excitedly trying to escape my arms. When I turn my head to see what has caught his attention, I spot the giant bear from earlier propped up against the side of the villa.

“Maybe get Da-Da to take him inside for you, hey little fella,” the girl with the daisies in her hair offers sweetly, but I can hear the edge in her tone. “And then maybe Da-da can take all this stuff off me that I’ve forsaken my sleep to go and buy as a favour to my boss, so I can finally crawl into my bed and go to sleep.”

I turn my head and our eyes clash. Hers are the deepest chocolate brown I’ve ever seen.

I remain mute.

“Huh,” she grumbles, shifting the bags around in her grip. “Maybe Da-da doesn’t need my help, and I’ll just drop these-” she releases the bags all at once, their contents spilling out onto the floor. Glass bottles clank and at least one smashes. Fruit and vegetables roll across the path at her feet, “-right here for Da-da to decide what to do with, in his own sweet, damn time of course.”

“Da-da, Da-da,” Arthur exclaims excitedly, clapping his chubby hands together with glee at both the mess at our feet and the giant teddy who sits silently, bearing witness to his father getting his arse handed to him by a daisy-haired girl.

“Nice meeting you, little fella,” she salutes to Arthur before turning and carefully stepping over the mess that surrounds her.

And still, I don’t say a word.

I watch in silence as the girl with long hair the colour of a muted sunset, with flowers in a halo around her head, walks away from the villa towards a beat-up looking VW bug. Without turning back, she starts up the rusty pale green car, places sunglasses on her face to shield her eyes from the midday sun, and drives away from us with one arm stretched out and floating on the warm air outside of her open window.

“Da-da,” Arthur continues, dragging my stare away from the empty road before me.

“Okay, little man. Let’s get you inside, and I’ll grab the big ted, is that a good idea?”

“Da-da,” he answers back happily with the only words he’s yet to master, a sound that he applies to everything and anything.

With one last look at all the groceries on the floor, and with a tired sigh, I turn, grab the giant teddy by his ear and drag him into the house behind us. Arthur bounces excitedly on my hip the entire way. Placing them both where I can see them with a clear view of the door, I return to the front of the house to collect up all the bags and escaped produce.

Food, beer, nappies, wet wipes, fresh fruit, and vegetables. You name it, and she bought it. For us. For my kids and me. And what did I do? I slammed the door in her face the first time, and the second time I stared at her like she had two heads. At no point did I thank her, or ask her name or even smile. No, I stared. In fact, in all honesty I glared.

I don’t care if she was asked to help by her boss as a favour to Nate and Liv. I don’t care that she went shopping instead of going home to her bed after what was likely a long shift in Nate’s club. I don’t care what her name is or that she has long tanned legs and pretty, brown eyes.

I don’t care because I came here to get away from people. Away from their pity and their help. From their concern and compassion. But mostly from the memories of Laura that they wore on their faces.

If Ivy said something funny, they’d get this look that said, ‘Laura would be so proud.’

If Arthur hit his next milestone, they’d smile with watery eyes, their thoughts and feelings as plain as day. ‘If only Laura could see him.’

I don’t want their memories haunting me. I have enough of my own – a million feelings, a thousand thoughts, and an uncountable number of memories. Ones that I seal up inside a shatterproof box during the bright sunlit days, only to drag them out, one-by-one during the endless dark of night.

We are unable to appreciate the worth of a special moment while we live it, and its true value is only known once it becomes a memory. For most, these snapshots of special moments are precious. For me, they are torture, and like a junkie craving his next fix, I uncover my hidden stash in the dark of night when there’s no one there to stop me using them as weapons. When there’s no one around to watch as I carve each memory into my skin. When I sink into the self-flagellating pain of every day, hour, minute and second, I spent with my wife.

Memories are my self-harm weapon of choice; who needs to cut into flesh with knives or razors when remembering one moment with her carves out my heart.

Laura Smiles.