On my phone, I’m looking at one of the last messages Felix ever sent me. ‘Hi Mum. All is well here in Leicester. The play is coming along nicely. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to talk. Been rehearsing more and more. What about your visit?’ This was in March 2017. Felix, who was 20 years old, had gone back to university a couple of months earlier.
I was preparing to go up from our home in Devon to watch him perform on stage, and we were messaging each other to make arrangements.
I was so looking forward to seeing him, especially as, finally, I was feeling less worried about him. He’d had a difficult few years, after developing epilepsy at 13. He suffered regular seizures, despite taking medication, which had affected
