Ezra's STORIES

Written with love, the precious tales needed to be treasured forever

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He's been a poppet, as always,' Anne said when I arrived at her house to collect my son. On the days that I worked, my ex-mother-in-law picked Ezra up from school for me.

She smiled indulgently. 'He did some drawing and I read him some of the stories. Of course, he wanted his favourite one read twice.'

'Thanks, Anne,' I replied, with a knot of anxiety in my chest, knowing she'd soon be asking what I'd decided to do about the stories.

I followed her into the lounge, where my five-year-old was sitting on the floor, intent on building a tower of red Lego bricks.

'Hello, sweetheart,' I said.

He looked up and grinned. 'Mummy!' We hugged for a moment before he wriggled away. 'Did you have a nice day at school?'

He nodded and went back to his tower.

'Tea?' Anne asked.

'Please.' I perched on the sofa, unable to relax. On the coffee table, lay the green plastic file containing Ezra's Stories, the 15 tales I'd printed out a year ago, featuring a fictional Ezra. My son's favourite, Ezra's Easter Surprise, featured a little boy finding his mum's long-lost necklace while on an Easter-egg hunt in the garden.

Greg had bought me a gold locket when our son was born, identical to the one described in the story. I'd never lost it, but it was that particular story, which always caused a stab of hurt in my chest.

Anne came in with a tray of tea and biscuits and a cup of orange squash.

'Greg phoned last night,' she said, putting the tray on the table. 'I mentioned my idea about publishing and he said he'll leave it up to you, but he's happy to pay for it.'

'Did he?' I replied, sipping my tea. Since the divorce, he'd often offered more than the agreed maintenance, as though money could compensate. Still, I was relieved that he'd left the decision to me.