Dust has settled in the Green Thumb, like morning dew on flowers. Oleander and Florence have not returned to it for weeks. Alex has not returned to it for thirty years.

'I can't believe it's still… just like it always was,' they say, reverently. 'I… used to avoid going down this street. It was… too much.' They're tearing up slightly.

They still have things to move out of Moira's house, of course. And new flowers to supply. And the hope that there'll be enough customers to keep things going. But this step across the threshold, with Alex, is the most important thing.

Oleander and Alex Green - they have changed the surname back, now things are public - step together, into the shop their mother partly raised them in. Florence follows. A final wound heals itself.

It took several months for the building works in Bexgate to be sufficiently advanced as to allow the golf course to be a priority. Once there was, once more, a useable stretch of grass though, it wasn’t long before January encouraged Oleander to start working on his golfing skills.

“Since neither of us are busy running Bexgate, of course!” they had declared.

Not that Oleander and January weren’t both rather busy with other things.

Regular golfing practice did indeed do wonders to Oleander’s golfing prowess, at least according to Baxter, who was perhaps not entirely unbiased in such matters. Certainly, Oleander started to be able to multi-task at golfing and holding a conversation with the former senior civil servant simultaneously.

Through these conversations and their time together, their friendship continued to deepen, little by little.

It was a little surprising, then, when one day, January turned up to the golf course not alone, as was the usual arrangement, but accompanied by both Simon and Dr Rebecca Marlowe. More surprisingly still, Rebecca and January arrived hand in hand, Rebecca looking happier than Oleander had seen her in… a while. No one was particularly inclined to ask too many questions, but Oleander did glean that despite a fundamental disagreement on when their first date was, sheer chance had since reunited them.

The additional company did rather change the dynamic of the game, resulting in Simon and Oleander playing almost an entirely different game to the new couple. It wasn’t such a hardship, though, since with Simon and Alex working together on the council, Simon and Oleander had had plenty of opportunity to get to become friends on their own terms.

Fortunately, with a little time, the golfing managed to find a new equilibrium, allowing Oleander to remain firm friends with January, and with Simon.

The market in Bexgate is among the more positive things to come out of the events of late 3914, and is certainly worth a visit. Initially created following the rift in order to allow affected businesses to continue trading, it has only continued to grow in size and popularity, with an increasing variety of stalls. My personal favourite, however, is the stall set up each week by Mr Oleander Green of The Green Thumb. The stall consistently offers a dazzling variety of flowers, and Mr Green or his assistant M. Grey are infallibly helpful at putting together just the right combination regardless of the occasion. Given his role alongside founding council members Mr Caddic and Ms Woodward in arranging the very first of these markets, it was a pleasure talking to Mr Green about his experiences.

The rift has posed a dilemma for many communities across the world, but with Bexgate’s unique position on the rift and the role it played in the events of that fateful year, its dilemmas were all the more potent. In particular, we discussed the difficulties of ensuring citizens settled firmly on both sides of the rift would have access to both the necessary amenities, and the pleasures of life. For those at The Green Thumb, this was brought particularly close to home, as the original premises of the shop were on Providence Boulevard, in East Bexgate.

M. Grey kindly shared with me a little of his own story. He had already been working at The Green Thumb for a number of years prior to 3914, and indeed lived in East Bexgate himself. Following the rift, they, along with so many others, were instructed to evacuate to the West of Bexgate, leaving the shop that Mr Green’s family had held for so many years empty. Although M. Grey declined to share the precise details, events at Bexgate St Renagi’s in the week following the evacuation caused them great personal turmoil. He admitted that in that first week, it was uncertain if he would even attend the market, and in the following weeks, he could not bear the thought of returning to East Bexgate at all, even as Mr Green made tentative plans to return to the shop that had meant so much to his family. As M. Grey gradually managed to recover from these events, the presence of the market in the West allowed him to remain a part of The Green Thumb and continue to work. And, after several months, they did eventually return to the original premises to work alongside Mr Green, as they have ever since. It was truly heartening to see the strong enduring friendship between shop owner and assistant, one that let M. Grey take the time he needed to be able to return to work as normal. Just one of the many ways this market and the sense of community it represents has brought the people of Bexgate together.

This is, of course, just one of many stories that could be told by the stallholders of the Bexgate market. All that remains is for me to offer once more my most hearty recommendation to render it a visit and, if you’re feeling curious, there might just be an interesting tale to be told as you browse the wares.

Manatana's Stele no longer stands in the place where your childhood home once stood. There was significant support in the areas near it for Alex's council motion that it was a cruel, insulting symbol of the Commission era. 'I mainly put the motion forward to test the water,' Alex says, as the two of you stand in the empty square, 'after Manatana's decree.' So far Manatana has issued no protestation.

Debate continues as to what, if anything, should take the Stele's place. Some propose that, to balance out the west's monument to the tragedy of God's death, there should be one built to the positive impacts of it. Most worryingly, Valentine Rinaldi has been seeking access to the plot. 'I'm considering putting forward another motion,' Alex says, 'barring him from ever being granted planning permission for anything.'

Currently, the space is occupied by flowers. Are they flowers for God? For those lost to the machinations of Hell? For those lost to the Commission? No doubt a combination, though it is the third sentiment that holds strongest, here in the east. You are laying your own bouquets. To the childhood together you lost. To the decades of silence and repression. To the indignity of having to see a celebration of your family's destruction, right on the spot where they had once been safe and happy. Flowers, bright explosions of colour, pure effusions of the world's beauty. An antidote to the long, long shadows.

'Whatever else you might say about the old bastard,' Alex says, as you both turn to go, 'He did give us flowers.'