"Granddad tell me a story."

"OK Mollie… get me one of your books then."

"No not a book story… you tell me a story."

My young granddaughter climbs onto my lap, her head resting gently against my shoulder as I wrap my arms around her. At eight years old I have heard her comment to her parents that she might be getting too big for cuddles now but I'm glad to see that doesn't extend to her old granddad.

"What kind of story d'you want to hear?"

"I don't know… tell me about you… tell me about when you were a boy."

I smile fondly as I stroke her soft blonde curls. She reminds me so much of her mother at that age. A cascade of golden hair that tumbles to her shoulders, and the brightest blue eyes that I had ever seen, well almost.

"Well when I was a boy," I begin, smiling softly as I recall my youth, "I used to live in a place called Hollyoaks."

"Was it a nice place?"

"It was a very nice place. And I lived there with my mummy and my brother and my two sisters."

"Did you not have a daddy?" Mollie asks me in a sad voice.

"I did… but he went away."

"Like Chloe's daddy went away?" Mollie says referring to a young friend whose parents had recently divorced.

"Just like Chloe's daddy."

"Were you sad? Chloe was sad."

"I was sad for a little while," I said gently, "But then my mummy met a nice man called Jack and we went to live with him and we didn't have to be sad any more."

"That's good," I can feel Mollie nodding into my chest.

"And we all lived above a pub called The Dog in the Pond."

"That's a funny name," Mollie says in a giggle that only girls of that age can seem to manage.

"It's a very funny name," I agree with a smile. It's been so many years since thoughts of that pub had crossed my mind and thinking of it now is rather comforting in a way that memories of your youth can be when you get to my age.

"Did you have a best friend when you were a boy?"

Out of the mouths of babes. Mollie's question is so innocent and yet it makes me catch my breath as a pain, that never completely left me, stirs inside my chest.

"I had a very best friend," I reply quietly, "His name was John Paul."

"He had TWO names?" Mollie asks in amazement.

"He did… I guess his mummy realised he was a very special boy and decided one name wasn't enough."

"Was he a nice friend?"

I struggle to answer the simple question of my grandchild. How could I ever explain to this young girl the truth behind John Paul McQueen? How could I find the words to express what he meant to me now when I haven't been able to manage that in the last 50 years?

It shocks me when I realise that it's been 50 years since I last saw that beautiful young man. 50 years since I let him walk away from me and stood motionless as my heart broke. 50 years and yet even now, as I close my eyes, I can picture every inch of him with perfect clarity. I can see the brightness of his dazzling azure eyes looking at me with the love I never saw anywhere else in my life. I can still hear his laughter… and his tears… I can recall every stolen moment, every hope and dream, every second that I lay in his arms and every second that I missed him when he wasn't there.

How can I recall this man from my past with such precision when I have trouble picturing the face of my wife who died only a few years ago?

It doesn't mean that I didn't love Mollie's grandmother. The gentle girl that I met in my final year at Trinity and the woman I made my life with. It's not that the memory of her is gone from my mind, or my heart, I still see her every time I look at our daughter and even more so in the face of our gorgeous grandchild. But the memory of John Paul was always something special, something that I have cherished all my life and something that I have been grateful to have during some difficult times.

"Are you crying granddad?"

I didn't notice the tears on my face until Mollie's gentle hand was brushing them away and I force a smile as I noticed the concern in her soft blue eyes.

"Did I upset you granddad?"

"Of course you didn't darling," I tell her as I kiss her cheek softly, "I just got a bit sad remembering my friend."

"Why sad?" Mollie tilts her head to one side and looks at me with a breathtaking innocence.

"John Paul," I hesitate for a second, just saying his name again after all these years feels wonderful, "John Paul had an accident when he was 18 and he died."

Mollie looks at me with an expression that makes me wonder if she even understands what I said.

"Will he be in heaven then?"

"Yeah… I suppose he will be."

"Will you be going to heaven soon granddad?"

I stroke Mollie's soft hair and take in the wondrous miracle of this beautiful child who is a part of me. It's been a month since my diagnosis but the thought of dying no longer holds any fear for me. I've led a good life, a full and happy life. I saw my daughter grow into a strong woman who found love of her own and gave me a grandchild that I couldn't love more if I tried.

On the whole I have very few regrets in my life. If I'm honest probably only the one. Of all the choices and decisions that I've made over the years letting John Paul leave was the greatest mistake I made, and the one I will always lament, even with my dying breath.

"You remember how mummy said that granddad is poorly don't you?" I ask Mollie gently.

Mollie nods her head in understanding. "Maybe when you get to heaven you'll find John Paul there," she says with a smile that melts my heart.

"I hope so Mollie," I reply with a sigh, "I really hope so."

No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me