There was something defiant in your delivery: br ‘I’ve got a huge bloody carcinoma br of the stomach - br Inoperable they tell me.’ br br But there was relief too – br I know how much you dreaded br being left… br br ‘Take care of your mother, for me. br Promise? ’ br br I didn’t cry. br I didn’t need to. br I just held your hand br and looked gravely into your green eyes. br br I remember noticing br your moustache - br every defiant ginger hair of it. br br ‘He loves that moustache’ - br Mum used to say. br br It disappeared soon after - br along with the rest of your hair br and the hale and hearty br proportions br of your Henry the Eighth body. br br Chemotherapy does that. br br You were ridiculously small br when you finally died.