1985

So today is the first anniversary of the death of our hero, David Bowie. I've been writing this chapter for weeks, trying to perfect it, changing something each time I look at it just for today! I just wanted to thank all my fans for following both stories until the end, it means a great deal to me! So this is a chapter dedicated to David who is very much missed, and I really hope you enjoy it.

- BusyScott x

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David POV.

10th January 1985

The rain splattered heavily over us, people huddling together under black umbrellas in their black clothes to say a final goodbye to my darling girl on this chilling day.

A bunch of sweet pink roses lay across her coffin, and rain jumps off of it angrily, trying to spoil whatever is good in the world.

Ziggy holds my hand loosely, his skin, pale and cold, the colours flushed from his face, and there's barely a life in him anymore. Tommy can't control his tears, he hasn't stopped crying since I told him that his mother was dead, the poor boy is exhausted, his mind fogged by the reality of this day.

Zowie's good to them, he tries to be strong for them, but late at night I can hear him wailing, sobbing, as he tries to fall asleep, but all he can think about is how kind Ros had always treated him, his almost mother...

The large lump in my throat weighs my jaw down, and has been all morning. Even now I'm finding it excruciatingly hard to stop the tears slipping away from my eyes. The despair of knowing I'll never see Rosalind again, never seeing those blue jeans on her or the denim jacket or her red lipstick or hearing her sing my songs makes me crumble...

Police are out to find Kevin, sad really, we have two policemen in the back of the crowd just in case he shows up. Policemen at Ros's funeral... It chokes me, and I know that people are afraid they could be next.

With my glossed eyes I peer around to see who else showed up... Of course, Ros's father is falling to pieces inside at the site of his daughter's grave. The poor man, lost his wife, now his daughter... My heart melts in sadness inside, because I could now relate to the old man. I had lost my future wife, and in the same day, lost my unborn daughter.

Henry has his arm firmly around Ros's father, Henry's lip quivers every now and then when he thinks of the good times he had with his sister and places his hand over his mouth every few minutes to hide his hurt.

Old friends show there faces too, many she hadn't seen for years like Abby and her family. Many of the workers from the concert grounds came to show their respect to their fair minded and friendly boss, lots of locals from the pub turned up too.

Even El had decided to show up and she too sobbed loudly. Her thick, black mascara dripping down her icy cheeks as she tries to rock the baby to sleep, hushing him because she thinks he's ruining the service. I could tell she felt out of place, the baby's father was of course Kevin, and the fact that he had killed her best friend disturbed her, and this was clearly a never ending nightmare for her.

I tilt my head slightly over and see Larry was holding his own umbrella. His white locks combed back, his face even more elderly then last week when I went to the pub to drown my sorrows - I'll probably be there later tonight too. He was getting older by the day, Ros had taken the spirit from so many of us, that it was almost haunting.

William was there too, silent tears slip away from his eyes, he had fully recovered from his mental health issues, I could see so clearly how much he regretted trying to kill Rosalind now that someone had managed to actually achieve it. Soon we'd have to go to court on who would have the boys, but that discussion was for another day. I knew he hated me, his teeth were always gritted together when speaking to me, spitting words at me. I knew he blamed me for Ros's death, and in some ways, I blamed myself too.

Margo, Juke and Madison are all together, their smart black clothes forming into one. Margo leaning heavily onto Juke's shoulder, crying, but every time little Madison looks up, she gives a small smile to her little girl.

The grief was tiring, I'd have to live with this for my entire life... How could I possibly be happy again? How could I possibly make music again?

Once the service had finished, people began drifting away from her grave, heading in all different directions back to their normal, ordinary lives. Rain still throwing itself down on us. Margo, Juke and Madison going back to my place here in Brixton, Henry and his father still gaze at Ros's burial, the boys still latched onto my hands, my palms sweating as we read her name over and over.

"Henry," I murmur, and let go of Ziggy's faint hand and see it drop heavily back to his side, his eyes haven't moved from the grave. "Why won't you stay with us?"

"We should-" he gulps, holding back tears. "We should get back." He stumbles out. "Dad's feeling awfully tired and-"

"I might be old but I can speak for myself." Ros's father huffs. "David, we'd love to stay with you and the boys for awhile, we could all do with each others company at a time like this."

"Boys?" Henry calls and a louder thunder cries in the skies, nobody flinches. "Do you want to walk back with me? I think your father would like some time alone..."

The boys didn't hesitate except Ziggy for a moment, but after a little tug from Tommy, all three of them pace quickly towards their uncle and walk side by side. I watch them go, until they're shadows and I can see that I'm the only one left in the grave yard.

My knees drop into the gooey mud, the moisture seeping into my black trousers turning them dirty brown. The umbrella is heavy, and weakens my hand until it falls beside me. Raindrops feel as if they're burning me, crawling and racing all over my skin, clothes and hair. Another loud sound rumbles from the sky and the rain turns into a rapid shower, the sound of the water hitting the soil is too loud, so loud I can barely hear myself wail, screaming out my little rebel's name! I grab two fistfuls of dirt from the top of her grave and look up to the sky with my eyes tight shut, screeching harder until I can't breathe anymore.

She was never coming back, and my heart jumped every time I reminded myself that.

Whilst everyone's life continued without Rosalind, I always knew that my life had stopped still, and I knew I'd never be able to move forward from this agony...

****

My clothes were damp from the rain still, but the mud patches had dried on my knees. I notice soil was stuck deep under my fingernails as I grasp hold of my pint glass tightly. I was in the pub, like I had anticipated.

"It was all my fault." I repeated under my breath for the hundredth time.

"David," Larry croaks. "This was never your fault!"

"Larry I shouldn't have left my phone in the pub, I shouldn't have been so forgetful!" I spit and feel the anger tearing inside of me. "I shouldn't have gone to the pub, I should've gone straight to the wall...!" I scream and throw the glass across the room and see it smash into thousands of tiny pieces, the smell of beer suffocates my nostrils and I see the beer drip down the wall.

Larry says nothing, he barely blinked when he saw me throw the glass, but he sighs, almost, disappointed...

"It's my fault she's dead, isn't it." I admit.

"David." Larry sighs again.

"I shouldn't have come back, I shouldn't have knocked on her door, she'd still be married to Will, she'd-"

"Be unhappy still!" Larry protests.

I slam my hand down on the table and roar: "Be alive still!" I pause and take a deep breath. "It was only last night I had a dream about her, she was singing to me, telling me to look up because she's in heaven. She said she's as free as a blue bird... I wrote everything I could remember down as soon as I woke up so I couldn't forget, but... her voice sounded so... distant, so far away... I wanted to run towards her..."

Larry watches me for a moment and sighs again. "David," he huffs. "Not so long ago, the little las came in here on her own."

My watered red eyes look up at him in awe and I listen closely, Larry does a shaky sigh, finding it hard to speak.

"She- She asked for a napkin, which of course I gave, and she took a pen out from her denim jacket. She was here for hours, David. Hours." He breathes his last word, trying to express how long Rosalind was sat there for. "She hardly spoke, she bit her lip, concentrating, it was fascinating to watch, truly!" He chuckles thinking of the thought. "When she was done, I peered over the counter to see the whole napkin covered in words."

"What did it say? What did she write Larry?!" I smile happily knowing she was creating something.

"David, if I knew I'd tell you, but-"

"It's a song." I mutter. "She's wrote a song!" I cheer. "We wrote rebel rebel right here where I'm sat now! Of course!"

"Where did she put the napkin?" I get up from my stool and lean closer to Larry.

"Back in that denim jacket I believe." Larry says scratching his head thinking.

"I have to find that napkin. Larry, thank you." I shake his hand, and run towards the door.

I open the squeaking door, cold air blows through the deserted pub and I glance back at the stool where Rosalind Chester used to sit and smiled at it, a genuine smile, as if she were there, smiling back at me.

I run down Brixton's roads, hurrying back to the house.

Out of breath, I pass Ros's rustic car and my black open roofed car and open the door. The lights were off, everyone must've been asleep, it was past 2 a.m.

The denim jacket was still hanging on the door frame in the kitchen, it hadn't moved since the last time she placed it there. I take it down, and take a large inhale, I can smell her sweet scent again, and already feel my eyes watering again. I clench my teeth, turn the light on and sit down at the table already rooting through her pockets.

I pull out her red lipstick, some lose change, the pen she used for the napkin, her Aladdin Sane bandana which goes straight into my pocket, and then I find a crumpled up napkin.

I carefully unfold it, and see her beautiful swirled handwriting. The papers ripped in places, but I can still read it.

She had wrote a song, a song dedicated to me, and she called it Blackstar.

I read it, and again and again, and release most things she said as she was dying were her lyrics to me.

At the bottom she had wrote 'for my Starman, I love you.'

It was a final farewell from Rosalind, a last goodbye in her own way... Even if she didn't quite know it herself.