Gareth's mother has died. He came to work today to tell us the news, and the consequence of this news, being that he can't come into work today. Despite the warm weather, his raincoat was zipped to the hilt but he had given his head a fresh shave so, although not making any eye contact and possibly unsure how to present himself in grief, at least he wasn't falling to pieces. Saying that, he could have called us with the news. What did he want, a hug..? I could have stretched my arms for the death of a mother but Gareth wasn't looking tearful, or tactile. Rather, he looked like a man who was grieving over the loss, not of a parent, but over his attitude to that parent. Having renounced his family he was now, in returning to Wales, renouncing his renunciation. But grief is a long road and I quelled these thoughts by making him a coffee he hadn't asked for. No thanks, he said. I stood on my heels a moment, as if something darker were going on here. But will you be able to take my group for me...? I nodded an affirmative,  remembering an attractive brunette sat by the window. Who will you stay with, I asked. Gareth didn't answer this. Instead, he seemed to pick something from his teeth and said, thank you, and left. So, after twenty years absence, has he cascaded back into the bosom of his family? Will he, in fact, become its bosom? Perhaps I'll never see him again.