The Sun pours into the room through the large bay windows, warming her heart. It's been beautiful today. Fluffy clouds edge their way West towards the hills that lie softly in the distance. Vinyl spins on the turntable. Soothing melodies carry through the air, as cars hum by outside, and people enjoy their Easter Sunday walks. The new home is lovely. Counting her blessings, she admires the pink flowers in the Macintosh vase. Two have petals already fully open, some are starting to peel back from the protective green bud, and the rest wait their turn to show off. Long dormant, they now begin to bloom. She imagines the water traveling up the stems from the diagonal cuts that spike the bottom of the rectangular colored glass, to the thirsty flower heads that splay from the vase. Always have flowers little bird. It's a reminder of the beauty in life. And we all know, anything that can do that, should be treasured. This is the first time she has ever lived by herself. A shocking fact, considering her age. How do you get to 47, and never been by yourself? A mixture of circumstance and subconscious choice she suspects. When not in a relationship, she had found herself in shared accommodation, or with her family. With work colleagues, or friends. Staff houses full of interesting characters, had been the standard when she was younger. Crazy times..and oh..the parties. 18 years in the Casino Industry will give you an experience of people and the world, like no other. Between the staff and the customers, she has seen it all. A sound like wood hitting wood from outside breaks her from the memories. Is that something being loaded into a van? She tries to fathom the riddle, but sees nothing. A door closes, and an engine starts. Must have been someone putting things in the boot. Detective Shirley Holmes was right she thinks to herself. Lighting a cigarette, she turns back to the laptop screen. The temperature has dropped. It's early evening. Soon it will be time to close the blinds, put the lamp on and prepare supper. No more home cooked meals. Mum is such a good cook. She will miss that. Wishing she had the meal preparation gene that her Mother and Grandmother had, she contemplates the tomato pasta and sauce that will fill her belly tonight. Hands starting to chill, she gets up from the couch, and closes the window, and fetches a grey dress/jumper from the closet. Her hands return to the keyboard. Brown from the fake tan applied earlier that day, when it seemed possible that the weather was going to be good enough to go out in. Two cheap rings adorn her left index and right pinky fingers. Wishing she had some decent jewelry, her thoughts turn back to Mum. It would have been a good bonding experience to share in her skill for cooking. A time to learn the secrets and recipes passed down from Matriarch to Matriarch. Chop the ingredients. Stir the pot. Alas, no. She enjoyed eating much more than making. Feeling ashamed of a missed opportunity, to connect with her Mother, she tries not to dwell on the feeling, knowing that it will return from time to time. Like one of those Soul Truths that re-appear to remind you of something important. Her thoughts turn to the chapter that has now closed in her life. Ended by that terrible fire. The family home ruined. Toxic smoke permeating the carpets and soft furnishings. During the time it had taken to find a new place to live, the hours had been full of cleaning, packing and frayed emotions. Black soled socks thrown into laundry baskets at the end of each day. Lucky to escape when the flames came. Memories of heat and asphyxiation will stay forever, in some corner of her mind. The chapter had ended with ruin, and charred books on shelves. On the new page, she sits in comfort. Leaving the big, now half empty house behind. Soot stained walls and stench of burned wood and plastic remain only in memory. The heating is on. Supper has been eaten. The second evening alone starts, as the light begins to fade. The world awaits, and she smiles...gently rises from the leather sofa, and puts another record on.
