“Enough is enough, Mum. Beards, moustaches … I don’t need this at the moment. I feel like taking a break.” A break, dear?
“Yes. Stop hurting my head with these daft conversations. I’m just going to go off and pull some weeds or make some crumpets or something.” That sounds nice, dear. And I really do understand. But I don’t think you can just go and leave me here you know.
Oh, well, if you really must … then I wouldn’t say no to a couple of those crumpets.
“That’s enough, Mum. At my age I have enough whiskers of my own without you adding Dad’s beard.” I didn’t do anything dear.
“You did. I know you. You always get me just where you want me.” Oh … how can you say such a thing to your poor old mother.
Anyway … where have I got you? “Confused.”
Of course dear, when your father was older he grew a …
“No Mum, don’t… Not the …”
… Beard “Beard.”
When you said that I’m not a ghost but a part of you… Is your Dad a part of you as well?
“I’m sure he is Mum. But he’s been gone such a long time I don’t think I can find him in the same way.”
Oh… Shame. He was a lovely man. I’d love to see him again, dear.