Dark Clouds Crossing the November Sky

The Christmas lights were already switched on in the High Street even though there were another ten days of November to get through. Maggie glared at the bright, festive displays in the shops. She felt that the twinkling lights were mocking her. When she turned into the lane that lead to her house she sighed with relief. Here it was gloomy and dark. Since the tragedy she felt she belonged in the darkness, deep shadows were hanging over her and a huge empty pit instead of a heart.
 It was only 4 o' clock and pitch black. The lane had no street lights and the houses were all set back from the road,  surrounded by high hedges and fir trees. No twitching curtains here. She pulled up her collar and wound her scarf  tightly round her neck. She walked past the village hall and then quickened her pace as she became aware of how very dark it was. She was almost glad when she caught sight of the house opposite and saw that there was a car in the drive with the lights on. She could make out a curly head in the driving seat. The door was open and Maggie quickly turned into her own drive to avoid any contact.
As she closed the front door behind her she let the tears flow. It had become a habit now. A robot during the day and then a good old cry when she got home from work.
She went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea and check her phone. There were six missed calls and ten messages from Linda, her sister.
The WhatsApp messages were those pithy platitudes that her sister loved downloading onto Facebook and Instagram.
'What doesn't kill me will only make me stronger,' 'After the storm the sun will shine,'
'If you want to give God a laugh tell him your plans.' 'Don't be sad because it's over, be glad that it happened.'
Maggie had always found them a bit annoying, sort of smug, but now they were actually quite a comfort. She knew it was a sign that her sister cared. No sooner had Maggie texted to say that she was home than the phone rang.

'Maggie,'

All her sister's love and caring were in that one word and Maggie felt overwhelmed, the tears came gushing now,

'Oh Maggie,'

Linda sounded like she was crying too.

Maggie took a sip of the strong sweet tea to steady herself.

'I'm alright Linda, it's so good to hear your voice. You were right about this house, it's perfect, hidden from the road and there seems to be no community spirit at all.'

She was surprised to hear Linda giggle and before she knew it she giggled too. Their sense of humour was what had united them all through the years. Their parents would shake their heads  as they watched their daughters collapse in giggles for no apparent reason.

'Oh Maggie it's so good to hear that sound. Look I've got to go now, the babysitter wants to go home. We'll be down to see you at the weekend. Love ya.'

No sooner had Maggie put the phone down and taken another gulp of tea that it pinged.
She glanced at the message, ' Time heals all wounds.'

Just the sight of the word 'wounds' was like a punch in the stomach for Maggie. She decided to have an early night. It had been a tiring day. Linda would probably say, 'just one step at a time, live each day as it comes.' or something like that. It had been Linda's idea for her to rent this house, just for a few months so she could sort her head out. It was secluded and in a country lane but near enough for Maggie to walk to work in the local High Street but far enough away from the cul-de-sac that she'd lived in with Paul and the boys.

When she woke up there were six messages from Linda along the lines of ' Winners never quit,' 'Good things come to those who wait', and then one that made Maggie clutch her throat in pain, 'Let him go, if he loves you he'll come back, if he doesn't he was never yours in the first place.'  Was Paul never hers? She couldn't bear the thought of all those years meaning nothing. Maggie thought of her sister waking up next to her handsome husband with her three beautiful little girls and her house full of love and laughter. She had always been so happy for her, wanted the best, ever since they'd lost their parents it was Maggie who had looked after Linda.
 Somehow Maggie managed to get through the day. Everyone at work was very discrete, talking to her as little as possible.
Walking back home along the High Street she noticed the new lingerie shop had an eye-catching display of red, fur trimmed nighties. A lump came to her throat as she remembered one Christmas when they had no money for presents and she'd tied herself in a huge red bow and jumped on Paul cooing, 'I'm your Christmas present this year.' It seemed a lifetime ago.
 It was a relief to turn into the dark country lane but just as she was about to turn into her drive she noticed the same car parked outside the house in front. There it was again, the lights on and the door open.  It had started to rain, quite heavily, and without thinking Maggie went across holding out her umbrella and called out,

'Do you need any help getting into the house? I've got an umbrella.'

A muffled sound like someone laughing came from the car. Then the curly head appeared.

'Quick get in, it's lovely and warm in here.'

Maggie was so surprised by the invitation that she climbed in and shut the door against the pelting rain and turned to the curly head. In the light of the car she could see a very pretty, elderly woman.  Maggie shivered.

'Gosh you're right, I hadn't realised how cold I was.'

She rubbed her hands together, ' I've come to live opposite for a few months, just for the winter really, a change of air, just for a while, till the spring. I don't really know how long, I'm not sure what I'm going to do.'

Maggie realized that she was gabbling and stopped and smiled.

'Sorry, I haven't introduced myself, I'm Maggie, and you are?'

'I'm really Olive, but I've never liked it very much, I prefer to think of myself as Olivia, what do you think?'
Without waiting for a reply Olive went on,

 'I've just been for a beautiful drive. The beech woods are like cathedrals at this time of year don't you think? The colours of the leaves, the carpets underfoot that make such a lovely crunching sound. The fluttering and the scuttling and the puffs of smoke. The flurries and the scurries of the little creatures getting their hoards ready for the winter. The wood smoke, the dry crackling bracken, the chestnuts, the conkers, round and shiny and so, so smooth and comforting to hold in your pocket. the growing dusk and the gloaming, then just when you think it's getting too dark and you are lost and can't see anything and the crackles and crunches seem threatening, that's when you glimpse the evening star and know you will find your way home after all.'

Maggie watched Olive's face in fascination, an expression filled with joy and passion. She had never heard anyone speak like that before, without ever stopping to catch her breath. She smiled and put her hand on Olive's arm.

'But it's really dark and stormy, you can't tell whether the clouds are full of rain or just dark. I hate November, it's so dull and dark and dreary and so, so , so'
 her voice dropped to a whisper,
 'so hopeless.'

A silence fell between them. They both sat staring out of the window, watching the wipers trying to sweep away the torrential rain.
Olive was the first to speak, her voice was low and soft,

'I love November.  I love the Autumn. It's the time when the abundance of summer withdraws into the roots and the earth. The colours of the fields and woods change from bright red to golden. Deep amber colours herald the parting of the sun. It's a chance to store up reserves for the winter, to take deep breaths of fresh clear air to nourish the body and the mind. There are nuts and mushrooms and pheasants. There are roast chestnuts and crumpets and pears and apples. There is so much goodness to store up in November to prepare us for the dark winter days ahead.  Look at that dark sky, those thunder clouds heavy with rain, they will move away and the stars behind them will twinkle even more brightly, the rain will glisten on the branches of the trees in the moonlight. Believe me.'

Olive's voice faded away. Maggie felt as though she was in another dimension, Olive's gentle voice, the warmth of the car, the rain sweeping down, washing over them. If only it could wash away her pain.

Staring straight ahead she took a deep breath, 'Sometimes the dark clouds never do disappear, the shadows are too long.'

Olive placed her hand gently on top of Maggie's. It felt warm and safe.

' Is something bothering you dear? '

Maggie burst into tears at the kind gesture,

'It's terrible,' she sobbed, 'It's too terrible. I don't know what to do.'

Olive's voice was a whisper, 'Why don't you tell me dear and then I can put my thinking cap on and help you.'

Maggie almost laughed, was this woman real? It seemed right to tell her now, she deserved it.

She took a deep breath,

 'My husband had an affair with his secretary.'

 Olive stayed silent.
 Of course, thought Maggie that's not anything so strange is it?

 'The thing is,' she went on, 'that when I found out I was so angry. My sons were at uni, my parents had died, and I was just so, so angry. I got in the car and drove really fast and then I..'

 Her voice faltered,

' I.. knocked an old man off his bike. He hit his head and went into a coma and.. died.'

The tears came again and she held her head in her hands. The rain beating on the car roof, like it was competing with her grief. Olive started to speak and Maggie held her breath waiting for the usual platitude of 'time heals all wounds'.

 When she spoke though, Olive's voice was firm and clear.

'Nothing will take away that pain. It is a burden that you will have to bear. You won't ever heal. A life is so precious, the most precious thing there is.'

She fell silent for a moment then carried on, her voice louder and very clear.

'You could do something in his memory though. Maybe start a campaign about wearing bicycle helmets, men do tend to think they are invincible, and set it up in the poor man's name. Make a donation, make people aware.'

Maggie lifted her head and turned towards Olive. For the first time in months something shifted in her world, a positive thought at last. Then she slumped in her seat, defeated, as she remembered how Paul hadn't answered his phone when she was at the hospital with the old man. He'd been with her. The by now familiar sickness and pain at the thought of him with another woman swept over her. She wanted to wretch.
 She jumped as Olive called out.

'Darling, two cups of tea.'

The front door of the house had opened and a man stood in the doorway. He lifted his hand in greeting and went back inside.

'Poor men',

Olive's voice was sad but a smile played on her lips.

 'It only takes the lift of a skirt, the flash of black lace, a few buttons undone on a blouse and they forget, forget the one at home, cooking and cleaning and ironing and wiping runny noses or maybe trying to make sense of all they've invested in a career. I feel sorry for men, it doesn't take much to distract them you know. They are simple creatures. Ask them how they feel and they'll answer, cold, hungry or thirsty. Ask a woman how she feels and they just go and on.'

She turned to Maggie,

'Has your Paul gone to live with this secretary?'

Maggie was surprised by the bluntness of the question. She realized the rain had stopped. The dark clouds were shifting.

'Well no actually, he's gone to stay with one of his golf buddies. He said it didn't mean anything.'
Anger charged her voice.

 'Well it did to me. It mattered very much. I thought he was mine and that he loved me. I was aching from the loss of my parents and my sons leaving home and he just .. just.'

Olive interrupted her, speaking firmly.

'I think you should send him one of those phone messages, ask him round for dinner. A good roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, mashed potatoes with lots of butter and salt and pepper,  peas and carrots and then apple pie and cream. That should do it.'

Olive licked her lips.

Before Maggie had time to reply the front door opened and the man came out again, pushing a wheelchair bearing two mugs of steaming hot tea. Maggie opened the car door and he handed them to her.

'Hello there, I'm Tom, Olive's husband. I'd better get her back inside, it's gone quite cold. She likes to sit out here in the afternoon and pretend she's been driving all over the countryside. Ah, careful with the tea, I put a drop of brandy in it to warm you up.'

He smiled at her and lifted Olive into her wheelchair.  Maggie smiled back at them and then lent down to give Olive a hug. She smelt of roses and her cheek was soft, her curly hair like silk, she whispered,

'Thank you, Olivia. Please can I come and have tea with you tomorrow. If you like I'll take you for a drive to see the cathedral beech woods.'

As she was about to turn into her drive she turned round and waved. Olive and Tom were silhouetted against the doorway, they both lifted their arms in greeting. She felt a lightness come over her, like a huge weight was being lifted from above her, the dark shadow dispersing. She practically skipped into the house and picked up her phone.
She had two messages to write, the first to Linda, ' There is some light at the end of the tunnel.' Love you so much.' 

Then after a while sitting and thinking about Tom and Olive she wrote to Paul, ' Would you like to come dinner tomorrow? I've got an early Christmas present for you?'

She put the phone back on the table and stared at it, her heart thumping when it pinged, and she read, 'Can't wait!'










'

Missing Pieces

OK Dad, let's sort out these boxes. Julie sent them to me because she thought it seemed right that I was the one to look through your personal stuff. You see dad, I really need some answers and I'm hoping I'll find them here.

There is just enough time to look through one or two boxes before collecting Nina from nursery school. She's three and she's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I know you'd love her, she reminds me of you sometimes, mainly when she's laughing. She's got your sense of humour.  She feels like the greatest gift life could ever bestow on me dad. Apart from my son Paul of course, but being a boy and then a strapping lad and now a handsome husband and father, we'd never gone on shopping trips or made dolls' clothes. He'd never been interested in fairy tales and baking and all the things I do with Nina.

I keep crying, I can't stop. The boxes smell of mildew and faintly of cigarette smoke. Gosh I feel a mess. I've  sort of collapsed inside. I want to stay in the present with Nina, drawing an painting and singing nursery rhymes but I keep falling into a dark pit where there is a lot of pain.

Ok dad, this is it. I've been going to a counsellor or psychotherapist or whatever you like to call her. I don't think you'd approve would you dad? It's like admitting I'm a failure isn't it? At last I have admitted I'm a failure I hear you say. Did I hear you chuckle dad? The thing is that the psycho-whatsit, she's called Louise, you'd like her. She's your sort of woman, smart and sassy and attractive. Well she said that in a world of mad people it's the sane ones that come to her. There you are, fingers crossed.

Louise had told me to take it slowly, not to rush sorting out your things dad. She said to consider myself a guardian, a guardian of your memory. Louise has helped me so much these last months since you died. The first few times I'd come away with tears streaming down my face, running all the way home and slamming the door on the world, making hot sweet tea with a good slug of brandy.

My G.P, Doctor Wellsbourne,  was the one who'd told me to try this therapy. He'd said that depression can be caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain or deep, deep sadness. I burst into tears when he said that. I thought I'd never stop. The doctor had put out his hand. He reminds me of you dad, he has such a kind face and a lovely voice. He smiled at me when he spoke,

'I've known you since you came here from England. You always keep your English stiff upper lip. You've always been the one looking after others. Maybe you could find someone professional to talk to.'

He'd scribbled a name on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

That day I'd walked home crying the tears I'd held back for forty years. All the terrible homesickness for England, for the countryside and leafy lanes of my childhood, all the pain of missing Julie and you dad, feeling so useless that I'd never had a proper job or a career. All that hurt because no-one ever came to visit us in Australia even though we'd get postcards from all over the world. I felt so pathetic, so unwanted and so guilty for leaving you.

Then I'd started going to Louise and even Geoff had noticed a difference. He'd always been a great support, telling me how much he loved me and how glad he was that I'd followed him to Australia. His mum and dad had been wonderful too. I know you really liked Geoff.

I open one of the boxes. It has 'study' written on the top in Julie's handwriting. It is full of  green folders. I spread them out on the kitchen table. Paul had got me some storage boxes to put the things I wanted to keep. I pick up some papers, yellowed with the years. They were my school reports, all the way from infant one to when I left at eighteen with my disappointing results. A huge lump comes to my throat as I read, a very sensitive child, obedient, imaginative, kind-hearted. Then in junior school, I was restless, unsettled. Senior school and I was trying hard, working well and then towards the end I was disappointing. My childhood in a nutshell.

I look again at the date of the restless period. That was when Julie had left to go to a posh private boarding school. She'd won a scholarship. She'd left me just like that.  I had to walk to school on my own, past the bullies, the dark alleys and the lonely wood. That was when the loneliness had started. Louise had stopped me talking when I got here and said there were some missing pieces. We're still trying to find them.  It's not easy. She'd mentioned Post traumatic shock therapy whatever that is, I can't have that can I dad? Your dad got it from being in the trenches in the first world war. Nothing like that ever happened to me.

You used to like telling me that you came from a generation that had survived a war, you were just glad to be alive. You taught me to make my bed and lie in it, to stand on my own two feet, to get on with it.  They were your favourite expressions dad.
You must have thought I was alright but I wasn't. I looked alright, with my big blue eyes and soft brown curly hair and ready smile. Everyone said I looked like a model, even now I still turn heads, being modest of course. It took a long time to even think of myself as being attractive. You always called Julie the pretty one.

I'd often hear you saying to the neighbours that I would always be alright, I'd always bounce back, Julie was the one to watch, so delicate and sensitive.

I open the next folder and there are Julie's school reports.
She'd sang in the choir of the cathedral near her school, she was Juliet in the school play, she played the piano, she won a French prize with a trip to Paris. I'd been so proud of her, we all had. I'd missed her so much. That was when the loneliness had invaded my heart completely.

You were working so hard and you made a lot of money. We moved to a bigger house in a smart part of town. Julie came home from boarding school and went to the local High School to prepare for Oxford.  She was so popular with her posh ways and you were so generous with everybody. We soon had lots of friends They were different from my old friends. They talked about how much money their fathers earned, they shopped in boutiques and went horse-riding.

The loneliness was still there though, deep inside me. No-one could see it, not even me. There was never a reason to cry. You had lost your brother and parents the year I was born. Mrs Ellis our neighbour had been blind for twenty years. There were real problems in the world, you just had to watch the news or do voluntary work at the local hospital or look at the local paper on a Saturday morning. Really, really awful things happen every day. There is no reason for a young girl with loneliness to feel sorry for herself. You always thought I was alright.

I really, really wanted a boyfriend. Everyone else had one so when John Griffiths asked me out I went. I'd always thought I was unattractive, no-one would ever want to marry me. I thought I was worthless, I didn't think anyone would love me, ever.
John was funny and kind but he wasn't interested in school work at all, so I stopped studying too. No-one noticed.  Only when it was too late and by that time John had gone to live in America with his step- dad and you were busy helping Julie get a flat and a car. When you turned round and saw that I hadn't done much with my life, you panicked. I remember your anger, your harsh words, convinced I was useless.

I check the clock to make sure I won't be late for Nina and open another folder.
There were lots of photographs and letters. The photographs were mainly of Julie getting her degree, getting married, driving around in the sports car you bought her for her 21st birthday.  She looked so radiant and happy. My heart was full of love for her and couldn't stop the tears. I'd missed her so much over the years, neither of us had ever let it show. Her husband Kit was nervous of all technology, he had a thing about privacy and so we only spoke on the phone every few months. And you dad? You tried for a while with cards and letters and the odd phone call but then when you retired that was it.

There are a few newspaper clippings, carefully cut out. I read the first one, there is a photo of you with a serious expression and dressed in a grey tweed jacket.

 I remember how much I liked the smell when you came to kiss me goodnight. A strong mixture of cigarettes and beer, you often stopped on the pub on the way home and I would bury my head in your arms, breathe in deeply that wonderful male smell. No-one would approve of that now would they? A little girl inhaling cigarette fumes.

The article was all about how you had become president of the local business association.
I look at the date. It was the year before Paul was born.
You'd sent some papers for me to sign so Kit could take over from you eventually. It said that you had two daughters, Julie B.A, MA, PhD and Sally who had married an Australian surgeon. 

 I put the article down and sigh.

I'd met Geoff while doing voluntary work at the local hospital. He was doing an exchange and working as a surgeon for a year. We met for coffee just a few times and with his Australian charm and warmth I was soon head over heels in love. I had been trying to decide what to do with my life. He wanted me in his.
 Kit had come to work for you and you were building a house for him and Julie next to yours. When I'd told you that Geoff had asked me to marry him and move to Australia you'd almost looked relieved.
When you all came to see me off at the airport the four of you had looked complete, a little unit, there was no place for me there, I was in the way. I felt so lucky to have found Geoff. Tess, my daughter-in-law and her friends would be amazed at this attitude to marriage, times change, but back then for me it had been a life saver.

There is just time to look at the next cutting. I feel faint when I saw the headline and the date and then the article. My eyes blur as I read it.
It says something about a car crash. There is a photograph of two women, both looked like different versions of me.
Why didn't you ever tell me dad?
It is the piece of the puzzle I've been searching for.
It is why I felt so lonely deep inside, so abandoned all my life, no matter how many people loved me and I loved.
There is a wedding photograph pinned to the back. You were dressed in your best suit, holding me in your arms. Julie was clinging on to the bride's dress. The bride was holding on to you. I feel weak and my head is spinning.

I look at the clock. I must go and get Nina. I must get back to the present. I run down the road to the nursery school. I want to feel Nina's hand in mine. I need to feel her warmth. 
Some other grandmothers and mothers are already waiting. One of them whom I recognize as a friend of Tess's, Jan, waves,

'Hey Sally would you and Nina like to come with us to the playground, they've opened up a new coffee bar?'

I take a deep breath and say I'd love to.  Then we both turn towards the school as the gate clicks open.

Nina runs towards me and leaps into my arms. I bury my head in her soft brown curly hair and feel it go damp with the moisture from my tears.
I carefully put her down and look into her huge blue eyes, so like mine.

There is a shadow near me of another little girl, one who's lost her mother and her grandmother in car crash, whose father quickly marries again, a widower with a little girl the same age.  It's me isn't it? I wonder why you never told me. Did you want to save me from the pain that you'd gone through when you lost them?


I try to stop the tears. Jan comes over and puts her arm round me,

'Are you ok Sally? Tess said you lost your dad and you're finding it hard. Come with us please, Finn really likes Nina, he says he wants to marry her.' Jan giggles and I can't help smiling.

We walk towards the playground, Nina skipping along with Finn. Jan is busy telling me all about her new project making dolls' clothes and would I like to help because Tess has told her that I'm really talented.

I wonder if it comes from mum or Nanna, because that's what I'm going to call them now.  I loved you dad and I know you loved me. Maybe I reminded you too much of her. Maybe you just felt that I was always alright.

The new coffee bar is decorated with coloured lights and balloons. Jan opens the door and Nina and Finn run inside. I pause a moment then enter and there is a loud cheer.
Geoff and Paul and Tess are there along with some of our friends and neighbours. Nina starts jumping up and down and hands me a drawing full of red hearts and pink splodges. There at the front is Julie.

We look at each other and can't stop grinning just like before she went off to school and we'd had such fun together. I know you'd have been happy. I know you wanted us to be a family. Julie clasps my hand,

'Mum told me last week and I got the first flight I could, I didn't know either. She said it must have been worse for you because you knew your mum and nanna, but she said you never mentioned them and thought you'd forgotten them because you were so young.  My dad ran off before I was born. I don't know why they never told us, they didn't back then, no counsellors or therapists in those days,'

I hold up my hand  for her to stop,

'You're here now and it looks like there's a party. ' I hesitate, then throw my arms round her and squeeze her tight,'I've missed you so much Julie.'

 Geoff comes over with Nina in his arms and we all stand and smile at each other and then Nina holds out her hands and we dance in a circle.
 The café is soon full of laughter and music and we are all handed cupcakes with the owner's name on in pink icing. Nina and I have a race to see who could lick it off the quickest. I know you'd have liked that. I know you'd have liked everything about my life. I know you wanted me to have a family.

Tess comes up and hugs me and says she hopes I don't mind the surprise party but it just seems perfect with the opening of the new café and Julie arriving out of the blue.'

Of course I don't mind, who would? All this lovely family and  my heart full of love. I can sense the dark cloud shifting a little from above my head. The bubble that had been trapping me begins to disperse.

Looking at life in the face

A sudden gust of wind caused Diane's skirt to lift up and as she pushed it back down she noticed an elderly gentleman sitting at a table on the pavement outside the café on the corner glance at her and she felt herself blush. At school, their summer uniform dresses were voluminous and long, to protect their modesty and now here she was on her sixtieth birthday still embarrassed by a display of legs.

Diane caught sight of her reflection in the café window. She sighed heavily. From a distance she could pass for a much younger woman. It was her face that gave away her age.

She looked at her watch and walked round the corner to the Age Rejuvenation Clinic. The advert outside the café announcing a special offer to Roll Back the Years and Take ten years off your face had caught her attention last week and she had booked a consultation.

The last ten years had been the worst of her life, she thought as she rang the bell of the clinic. She'd give anything to cancel them out and wipe them away.

The young receptionist was beautiful. She had clear smooth skin and huge brown eyes with thick lashes. Her eyebrows and lips looked like they'd been painted on. She told Diane that her name was Erika and she would show her on the computer what her face would look like after the treatments of fillers and Botox. Erika tapped away and then produced two images of Diane.
As Diane looked at the images on the screen she gasped. In the After picture she looked almost beautiful. Her face had a serene expression and she looked untouched by pain and tragedy. For a moment, she saw herself young again, on the threshold of her life, full of hopes and dreams.

Erika smiled at her.

'You must have been gorgeous when you were young, I bet you had a lot of men after you.'

Diane smiled back at her, 'That's very kind of you. Actually there were quite a lot, but I only ever wanted one of them, my husband.'

Erika clasped her hands together and closed her eyes.

'I love having lots of admirers it gives me such a feeling of power. When would you like me to book you in for your treatments.?'

A sudden noise of thunder made Diane jump and she realised how tense she had become. She looked again at her Before image. She could see her mother's sweet mouth gently smiling at her before she died, she could see her sister's pretty blue eyes trusting and loving before the terrible accident that had taken her away. She could also see the pain and heartache that had haunted her ever since and the deep furrows made by all the tears that had flowed down her face. She could see the creased brow and the hard lines etched round her mouth that had been her defence when her husband Paul had had an affair with one of his students. He had told her it didn't mean anything it was just light relief, that she had become distant and closed in with her grief and he felt he had no place in her life anymore. She hadn't been able to forgive him. She had felt her heart being squeezed by a vice and could only think of her pain. She had told Paul to leave. That was six months ago and now he was staying in a room at the university where he taught.

Erika was waiting, her expression blank. Diane stood up. She couldn't cancel out the past ten years, They had been painful and her heart had broken seemingly beyond repair, but it was her life. It was her life and so precious. She had been broken and hurt but she would survive and carry on living even more for the people that she had loved and had left her. She held out her hand to Erika,

'Thank you so much for your time, but I'm quite happy with my face the way it is.'

A sudden squall of rain caused Diane to stumble just as she turned the corner by the café. The elderly man was still there and he jumped up to steady her. She felt a jolt go through her and turned to look at him. With a shock, she saw it was Paul. He wasn't such an elderly man after all, it was the slump of his shoulders that made him look so weighed down. He looked dejected and very sad.

 He smiled at her, a hesitant guarded look in his eyes

'I thought it was you Diane, or rather I hoped it was, it was your legs that gave you away when your skirt blew up.'

Some of his old mischief crept into his voice. Oh how she had missed that, she had made no room for it in recent years, it had seemed inappropriate in view of her grief.

Paul held out his hand,

'Let's go in the café shall we? It's getting stormy out here. Please can we have a coffee together?'

She took his hand and held on to it like the lifeline it was. They went together into the shelter of the warm cafè. Together away from the storm.

Every Second Counts

The moment the school bell rang excited chattering broke out in the classroom. Miss Price clapped her hands and the children paused just long enough for her to say,

'As you know it's Sports Day tomorrow and we're hoping for fine weather, and I'd like to wish you all the best of luck. Remember though, it's not winning the race that matters, it's taking part.'

She hardly had time to finish her sentence as the children rushed to the gates of the school. It was a beautiful afternoon and Emma was eager to get home and practise her running. Daddy had promised to be home early to help her with her racing. He had bought her a stopwatch and she was determined to beat her record. Mummy was going to make a special tea so she had enough energy for the race.

Georgina Hunter ran up behind her and slapped her on the shoulder.

'Emma, hope you win tomorrow, it's your birthday too. I can't wait for your party on Saturday, it's going to be magical, a fairy party at the stone picnic table.'

She waved and ran off to get into her mother's car.

Emma grinned, she was so excited about her birthday. She was going to be eleven. 'Legs Eleven 'Auntie Mollie called her, because of her long legs. Mummy and Auntie Mollie had been talking about the party for days. Auntie Mollie was daddy's sister and she said it was the last chance to have a little girls party and she was going to make the most of it, making fairy wings for the girls and  magician hats for the boys.  Emma thought that if she could win the hurdles race it would be an extraspecial birthday, she wanted to win it for mummy, for daddy and for Auntie Mollie.

She looked around for daddy's car but there was no sign of it. Most of the children had gone, it was surprising how quickly the crowds of children and waiting parents had disappeared. She could see Miss Price who was on duty at the gate talking on her phone. Then she remembered the stop watch, she'd left it on her desk. She had to have it for her practice with daddy. Without thinking, she ran back into her classroom. There it was on the desk. She put in in her pocket and ran back to the gate. There was no-one there, not even Miss Price. The sun had gone in and an enormous black cloud had appeared. She shivered. She looked back at the school. It looked quite different, gloomy and dark. She became aware of how isolated and lonely it was, surrounded by trees and no houses around. Surely daddy would be here any minute. Maybe she should start walking along the road and if he didn't come she could cut through the footpath to the clearing with the stone picnic table and then on to the common where she lived. She had an idea. She'd time herself. She set the stopwatch and put it back in her pocket.

The rain was falling faster now and she quickened her pace. Just as she was about to take the footpath she heard a car coming up slowly behind her. It must be daddy. She turned round and waved. It wasn't though, it was a red car and it pulled up beside her. The man driving was wearing a green hoody, he wound down the window. The car looked warm and inviting. Her favourite Ed Sheeran song was playing. Mummy and Emma had danced to it only yesterday. She moved nearer the car. The man looked at her. He seemed to be licking his lips. When he spoke his voice was gruff,

'Hop in. you're getting wet,'

Emma's heart started thumping, she took a step back, she felt cold fear grab her. She knew she had to get away. She ran into the woods and heard the car door slam and an unpleasant laugh. She took a deep breath, remembering daddy's instructions, never look behind you because you'll lose valuable seconds, always be careful of your footing, you mustn't stumble, keep your special energy for last, surprise your competitors, just when they think they've got you, you'll surge ahead. She wanted to cry, she wanted daddy. She wanted mummy.She 'd be waiting for her with jam tarts and orange juice. She'd  be making her birthday cake with Auntie Mollie.

There was a loud clap of thunder and Emma tried not to scream. She had an idea. She'd head to the brambles, she was small enough to go through them. The wonderful golden Autumn afternoons of blackberry picking seemed like a dream. She stumbled through the brambles ignoring the pain, her legs felt as though they were on fire, something scratched her face, blood was trickling into her mouth. It tasted like it did when she lost a tooth. She heard swearing and shouting behind her as the brambles flung back. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like it was in her mouth. There was a fallen tree across the path, she mustn't fall, she mustn't trip. She jumped, clearing it easily. She heard the man stumble and curse again as he fell over the tree trunk.Then she saw the stone picnic table, and her legs powered on. Once she was through the clearing she would be nearly home. Home, oh how much she wanted to be home. She mustn't cry, she must save her energy. If it hadn't been raining there might have been a family there having a picnic and playing ball in the clearing and she would have been safe.

She passed the stone picnic table and tried not to look at it and think of her party.
Then at last she could see the common. She could see the roof of Auntie Mollie's house. The rain had stopped. She heard panting and swearing behind her. She mustn't look round. Now was just the time when she needed her magic energy reserve. She surged forward, faster and faster, her legs pummelling the ground. Then she was out of the wood and running across the common. She could see daddy and mummy, and Miss Price and Auntie Mollie, and a blue car and some men in uniform. Auntie Mollie saw her first and started sreaming and screaming. It was a horrible sound yet it was a beautiful sound, she felt tears come up as she ran to them. The men in uniform ran towards her, then straight past her to the woods. Daddy had his arms out and she leapt up into them burying her face under his neck like she used to do when she was little.Mummy squeezed her hard and kept saying she loved her and she started to cry again. She peered out from under daddy's arm and saw the men in uniform bundling the man into their car. As the car drove off she looked up and there was a rainbow over the common. She pulled the stopwatch out of her pocket and clicked it. She tried to speak, fighting the tears and when she did her voice was a whisper,

'look daddy, 11 minutes and 11 seconds. I think 11 is going to be my lucky number.'

Dancing in the Moonlight

The long, warm summer evenings in my parent's garden inspired this poem.

Dancing in the Moonlight

On a warm Midsummer evening
There is magic in the air.
Fairy folk are sprinkling
Stardust everywhere.

Glow worms weave their lanterns
Through the branches hanging low.
Snails leave silver ribbons
To show you where to go.

There's a party in the clearing
In the middle of the wood.
The crickets play sweet melodies
To create a happy mood.

The bees concoct a potion
With honey, thyme and dew.
They pour it into foxgloves
Then offer it to you.

The roses cast their petals,
Sweet and soft they fall,
They'll be the fairies dresses
For the magic summer ball.

Listen for their music
As you gently tread along
Among the ferns and heather
You may hear their summer song.

Breathe deeply in the velvet air
Feel the promise of the night.
The world is painted silver,
The moon is shining bright.

There's magic in the twilight,
You may hear a fairy's bell,
A fluttering of little wings,
Some footsteps in the dell.

The child that is within you
Will always be aware
On a balmy summer evening
There's magic everywhere.

Always Make time for a bit of Hanky-Panky

A bright shaft of sunlight pierced the curtains and lit up the spot where John's head used to lay. Every morning for nearly five years Sally had woken up, gazed at John's perfect profile, his curly, blond hair still perfectly groomed, and listened to his gentle breathing with a smile of satisfaction.

All through their marriage Sally had paid great attention to making their bed. It had been her job as a young girl to make the beds. Her mother had never wanted to know about duvets, not for her a quick flip of a feather quilt and a perfunctory smoothing down. Peggy, their elderly next door neighbour had insisted that the coming of the duvet had revolutionized her life, given her an extra half hour each day, but Sally had learned to do envelope corners and spray the bottom sheet and pillows with the purest lavender water. Next she would shake out the top sheet and tuck it in all around before placing the fine wool blanket over the top and turning down the top edge of the sheet.

 On leaving school Sally had started work at the luxury spa hotel in the centre of the beautiful Cotswold town where she and John had grown up.  They had been childhood sweethearts and married as soon as John had finished training to be an accountant. Sally was quickly promoted to Head Housekeeper and her mother was convinced it was because of her bed-making skills.
Sally's mother had always given great importance to the healing properties of a good nights sleep. It crossed Sally's mind once or twice that her mother had never really used her conscience much and that explained her deep dreamless sleep and unlined face.
Sally shivered, remembering  what her mother had said when Sally told her that John had left her. He'd said he needed space and needed to put some distance between himself and their small town. Sally had sat broken hearted as her mother went on and on about how men were all the same, that John was just like Sally's father who had gone off the moment he had discovered he was going to be a father. Sally pointed out that she wasn't pregnant and John had gone off to find himself, working on an oil rig.

Sally waited for the tears to come as realization dawned with each new day, she now slept alone.   Her daily crying sessions seemed to give her some temporary relief from the pain in her heart.
She made herself a cup of tea and glanced at her phone, hoping to see John's name pop up on the screen.
There were two messages, one from her mother asking if she wanted to go shopping and one from her friend Greta from work.

Sally called her mother, trying to keep the sadness from her voice and told her that she'd come and pick her up, it was her day off and they could go and have coffee in the new department store outside town. 
Next she rang Greta who wanted to tell her all about a walking holiday in Wales, staying in hostel and would Sally like to come to. There had been some cancellations, it was for next week if Sally could get the time off. The holiday was for all ages, called walking for softies or something. if it turned out well then they could go to Spain on the cammino to Santiago de Compostela next year. Sally said she'd think about it and let her know.

As they sat drinking their coffee in the new department store Sally told her mother about Greta's proposal. Her mother nearly dropped her coffee cup and gazed at her daughter in horror.

'Oh Sally that would be awful! How would you get to sleep in a hostel? You'd hear everyone snoring or worse and the sheets would be all rough. You'd never have the energy to do all that walking in the day time without a good night's sleep.'

Something in her mother's expression and the catch in her voice brought a lump to Sally's throat. She' d always thought her mother was strong and independent but now she glimpsed the loneliness in her mother's eyes. Sally had always thought that John would have been hers forever and the pain of him leaving was deep.
She put her hand over her mother's and squeezed it gently then she smiled warmly.

'Mum why don't you come too? You're still young and fit, Greta would be pleased I know. Tell you what, let's go to the bedding department. I'll treat us to a duvet each. I'm sure we'll be fine and don't forget that Peggy next door says you save half an hour each morning.'

She grabbed her mother by the arm and marched her out of the cafe before she could protest.

As they walked round the bedding department they saw a young couple trying out the beds. They were giggling and snuggling up as they tried the mattresses and stroked the fabric of the duvets. Sally thought of the way some of the couples staying in the hotel would emerge from their rooms, flushed and smiling. She'd often find the bedclothes very rumpled and feel embarrassed about what she found among the twisted sheets.

On the way home she texted Greta to say that she would love to join her and could she bring her mother. Geta texted back immediately, delighted.

Her mother invited her in for tea and they looked up the route they would take over the Welsh hills and in the valleys. As she was about to leave Sally's phone rang, her heart leapt when she saw John's name, she moved into the kitchen to answer. John sounded far away and she strained to hear his words, she trembled and her head span as she heard him say he missed her, he wanted to come home, he wanted her in his life.

Sally took a deep breath before replying, she didn't want him to know just yet how desperately she wanted him back.

'I'm taking my mother on a walking holiday with Greta, we'll be back next week, come round on Friday and we can talk.'

She rang off and sobs of relief wracked her body, tears of happiness fell down her cheeks, her mother came into the kitchen and stared, concern all over her face. Sally grinned at her through her tears.

'He wants to come back to me Mum.'

Her mother hugged her tight and told her she was happy for her. There was a catch in her voice as she looked into Sally's face.

'You know Sally, my mother was so prudish. She was always go on about no hanky panky whenever your father came round, she didn't approve of it at all, they're the words she used. '

Sally was about to giggle at the words 'hanky-panky' but tears started to stream down her mother's cheeks.

'Oh mum, don't cry, dad betrayed you.'

Her mother tried to smile through her tears,

'Yes Sally, but maybe of he'd had a bit more of the hanky panky from me, who knows.
He wanted to come back but my mother said she'd never forgive me if I did, that all men were after one thing. I so wish I'd given him a second chance. Don't make the same mistake as me.'

Sally hugged her mother tight. 'Come on mum. we'll have a lovely holiday with Greta and then we'll have a welcome home party for John, everything will be fine.'

On the way home in the car Sally  thought about how she missed John, how much she wanted him back.  He'd said he missed her too, maybe they could start again, make their marriage better, more fun. She thought of the bedding she had bought, the soft silky pillows and the duvet to save time bed making and she smiled to herself, a secret slow smile with a hint of mischief and she knew what she was going to do with that extra half hour.

Broadening Horizons

The warm June sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the classroom and Ellie felt her eyelids droop. She lifted her hand to swat away a fly and then leant across to open the window so it could escape. She missed the catch and there was a loud bang. The careers advisor, Poppy, stopped talking and glared at her. Ellie pulled herself up and smiled, nodded an apology and tried to concentrate.

The subject was Beauty Therapy degrees and Ellie glanced across at Gail Markham who was taking notes but stopping at intervals to flick her long hair over her shoulders or admire her shell pink and silver nails. Ellie caught Gail's eye and they giggled as the career advisor raised her voice to state emphatically that you could travel the world with Beauty Therapy. Cruise ships offered lots of possibilities, spas in far off places like Iceland or Bali were always on the look out for qualified Beauticians from British universities.

Some of the boys were fidgeting and taking off their jackets and loosening their ties and the career advisor cleared her throat.  Poppy moved to the front and wrote in large letters on the board.

'Careers that will let you travel the world.'

She turned and addressed the class, her voice full of enthusiasm,

'Who can tell me the careers that we have mentioned today that will give you the opportunity to travel?'

Hands shot up and Poppy pointed in turn, nodding vigorously at each response.

'Teaching English as a Foreign language, '
'Medicine'
'Psychology'
'Engineering',
and on and on

Poppy beamed, 'There you are, the world's your oyster. I can't say it enough, travel, travel, travel. Don't even think of going from school to university to school again, no teaching until you've travelled, broaden your horizons first.'

She collected up her papers then as she walked to the door stopped in front of Ellie,

'I'd like to see you in the staff room after school Ellie.'

The room broke into a buzz of excited chatter.

Ellie felt a dull weight in her heart.
Part of her had been longing for this day but now it had arrived she felt sad. She would miss seeing Gail and the others every day.

Her mind was a whirlwind of jumbled up thoughts and emotions. Gail Markham rushed past her, knocking her arm as she chased after Dale Brightman. They both turned and smiled, beckoning her to follow them.

Ellie moved to look out of the window at the traffic bustling along outside the school grounds. Often she would watch the lorries climbing the hill and wonder what it must be like to feel so free. No studying and preparing, just loading up the goods and off all over the country, nothing to think about, turn on the radio and sing along.  The classroom had felt stifling then, a small microcosm of problems, challenges and thwarted dreams.

There were only two boys left in the classroom, John Simpson and Trevor Cartwright, they had their heads down over a sheet of paper.

Ellie's phone beeped and she picked it up. It was mum, wishing her well on her last day. Ellie's heart swelled as it always did at the thought of her mum. So sweet and gentle and never complaining in spite of her health problems. Home time had always been Ellie's favourite part of the day. In the Winter mum would have tea and crumpets set out in front of the fire and in summer scones and jam in the garden under the shade of the apple tree. 

Ellie followed John and Trevor and made her way to the staff room to see Poppy.

On her way along the corridor Gail came up to her and linked arms. She waved her perfectly manicured hand under Ellie's nose,

'I was thinking, maybe I could come and give your mum a manicure, I still need lots of practice and I could start by giving her treatments, whatcha think ''.

It had taken some time for Gail to settle down at school, she had been a real rebel, smoking and drinking and many times at risk of dropping out and now here she was talking about a career. She even worked as a volunteer in the Day Hospital doing make up.The same with Dale, John and Trevor, real trouble makers all of them, hanging around with drug dealers and skipping school, but now they were all three hard working young men with Saturday jobs and places at university.

Ellie squeezed Gail's arm and together they entered the staff room. There was a loud cheer and shouting and then singing 'For she's a jolly good fellow'. Ellie was blinded by lots of flashing and popping and someone put a glass of something bubbly in her hand. She laughed in amazement and looked at Poppy, raising her eyebrows.

'What's all this about? ' she giggled,

John and Trevor were unfurling a banner and holding it up for all to see. Dale was handing her an envelope. All the teachers were clapping and smiling.

Ellie gasped and stuttered her thanks, 'but why? so kind, too much,' a strange feeling came over her, her head was throbbing,  her heart felt it would burst.

Then she read the words on the banner

'To the best teacher in the world, you have made such a difference to our lives.'

Poppy shrugged.
 ' The kids did it all Ellie, they wanted you to know how much difference you have made to them and many others like them. Remember when we were at Teachers Training that old teacher who told us, it just takes one person to change a young person's life, for the good or the bad. You've done it so many times Ellie over the years. I've seen so many children be saved because of you, you've got the gift.'

The children and the other teachers had formed a sort of chain and were dancing round Ellie, she was soon drawn in to the circle and found herself linking arms with Mr Johnson from Biology. He span her round and they broke into an impromptu waltz.

Gail whistled and cheered, 'Way to go Miss.'

Ellie stopped and reddened as she remembered that Mr Johnson was recently separated from his wife, Ellie had vaguely heard something about her going off with his best friend. Mum had take up all her life and she'd never even thought about men but the way Mr Johnson was looking at her made her feel dizzy.

 Gail called out 'The envelope, you haven't opened the envelope.'

With trembling hands she opened the envelope and drew out a ticket, a ticket for a round the world cruise for two, for her and mum.

She gasped, then laughed, then clapped her hands to her mouth.

'I can't believe it.'

Poppy whispered in her ear, 'You're never too old for a Gap year Ellie, and when you come back I think Mr.Johnson might like to be invited round for tea.'

Love that is passed on

Emma leant forward and hugged her husband. She breathed in deeply as she enjoyed the smell of his aftershave. He had been using it when they first met thirty years ago and it never failed to remind of her of those first intoxicating kisses.

 She  moved her head away so she could look into his eyes and smiled at him,

'Off you go now darling. Valeria said she might come round later.'

Federico pulled her back towards him and held her tight and stroked her hair.  Then he stepped back and shrugged on his jacket and kissed her.

When he spoke his voice was full of concern.

'Are you sure you'll be alright here on your own?'

Emma opened the door and beckoned him through, she took a deep breath and smiled broadly.

'I'll be fine. I feel as though mamma is still here with me. Her loving presence will always be in this house.

Emma  closed the door behind her husband and walked towards her mother's bedroom.  She let her gaze wander round the room drinking in all the precious memories. How many times had she found solace in that big bed. In the middle of the night when darkness made her fears so terribly frightening she would run and snuggle down next to her mother and feel so safe, all fears melting away.

Emma walked towards the bed with its big old wooden bedhead, so old fashioned now, that had had been the witness of so much in their family life.
She  buried her face in the pillow as she had done as a child whenever her mother went to Siena to look after her own mother, Emma's Nonna Vittoria.
As Emma breathed in the scent of lavender and rose that her mother had always worn she let the tears come. It was painful but at the same time a comfort. Emma had been brought up to not show emotion, to get on with things and put on a brave face. Now though, her tears felt like a tribute, a salute to her mother's memory.

 'Oh mamma, mamma, I miss you so.'

A shaft of sunlight shone across the room. It felt like a sign, like an angel was showing her what to do. She knelt down and  took  a small wooden chest out from under the bed where she had placed it the day before.
One of the removal men had found it tucked away in the old cellar.
 He had handed it to her with great reverence as though it contained hidden treasure. It looked like someone had tried to open it.
  There was no key and she struggled to pull it apart so she could see what was inside.
She tried to imagine what it could contain, maybe some jewels or special coins.

She  gasped as she forced the lid open.
There was a huge pile of letters carefully arranged and tied in bundles with faded red ribbons. Emma lifted the first one out of the chest. It was addressed to her father in her mother's beautiful handwriting. She didn't know what to do. Maybe she should ask Federico and Valeria to come and help.
She felt like she was prying. Her mother had always been rather aloof and severe and never would have approved of Emma rummaging through her belongings.  She was reluctant to read them but somehow she wanted to, to feel part of her mother's life again. She felt like she was the guardian of her mother's memories.

Emma didn't know much about her mother's intimate feelings. They had never had cosy chats and heart- to- heart talks.
Her phone pinged and she looked at it. A message from Valeria, 'mamma ti voglio bene, se hai bisogno chiamami.'
How different things were these days. She pressed call and her daughter's beautiful face appeared.

'Ciao mamma' come va?'

Emma smiled and brushed the tears away from her face and smiled at her daughter,

'Oh Valeria tesoro, stavo pensando quanto sarebbe diverso oggi per mamma e papà. Sono cosi contenta di poter vederti ogni girono. La mia nonna poi, cosa avrebbe dato per avere avuto questa possibilità.'

Valeria smiled back, 'Yes it's amazing, how things have changed in such a short time'
'I'll let you get on I just wanted to  make sure you were alright.

The phone call had brought her back to the present.  She walked round the room and touched the blanket that her mother kept on her favourite armchair. It was there that she had sat in the afternoons, knitting and doing crosswords until her eyesight had failed her.
A sadness came over Emma and she sat down in the chair.

She tried to think of stories her mother had told her of her youth.

There was just one anecdote that her mother  loved telling. A warm feeling came over her as she recalled her mother telling it to her in this very armchair.

In the Summer of 1939, her mother, Elisabetta,  had gone to the mountains in the north of Italy for a short holiday with her two brothers, Alberto and Enrico.
There they had met Toni, Emma's father, who was staying at a hotel called 'Il Paradiso'. Toni was a quiet serious young lawyer. He told them that he had been invalided out of the Army due to his severe asthma and the doctor told him the mountain air would do him good. It was soon evident that he took great pleasure in Elisabetta's company.  He would ring her every day and each time he rang their hotel to ask to speak to her, Elisabetta's  brothers loved to shout out to her,

'Hey Betty, there is a call for you from Paradise.'

When the time came for Elisabetta and her brothers to return home, Toni had already mentioned marriage and soon after he came to Siena to ask Elisabetta's father permission to marry his daughter.
Toni and Elisabetta were married in Siena in 1942 and settled in Toni's hometown in the north of Italy.

Emma knew that her mother had suffered during the war, she had not been able to travel to Siena and had gone for two years without being able to see her family. Communications had been extremely difficult.

That was about all she knew.

The temptation to read the letters was strong.

Emma went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. There was the old china biscuit barrel shaped like an elephant that Emma had loved as a child. She took a biscuit out and brushed it against her lips thinking of her mother buying them for her, knowing they were her favourites.

Her phone rang again. It was Valeria.

'Mamma, I keep thinking of nonna Elisabetta. I miss her so. Please could you look for her recipe book? I would love to learn to make her special recipes.'

A lump came to Emma's  throat. Her mother had been such a wonderful cook. How she would miss all those happy family meals.

When she spoke she tried to sound bright and positive.

'What a good idea Valeria, we can carry on all Nonna's traditions.'

Emma went back to the bedroom and picked up the letter on the top of the pile. She looked towards the photograph of her parents on their wedding day. She blew them a kiss.

' Forgive me for reading your personal letters mamma and papa, but I want to feel you near me again.'

She gently opened the first letter. It was dated 1942.

Caro Toni, dear Toni,
It won't be long now before I can call you my husband, my love. Just the thought of calling you so fills my heart with a joy I never knew could be possible, to lie next to you and wake in the morning and be able to kiss you on your eyes and awaken you, it is a dream that I never dared hope for.
Some more wedding presents arrived today. A pretty pink rug for the bedroom and a glass lamp. I can hardly bear to wait to see your dear face illuminated by its glow and to step on the soft carpet in the morning with my bare feet as I slip from your arms.

Emma stopped and gulped down her coffee. The pink rug was under her feet, worn thin over the years. She tried to imagine what it must have looked like when it was new. She took off her shoes and wriggled her toes in its softness. The glass lamp was there too. Her father would read by its light every evening. Emma wiped away a tear and carried on reading.

Oh Toni, Alberto and Enrico send their best regards. They still love to tease me about you coming from Paradise. They have all their friends laughing. But you do my dearest, you do. You are heaven sent.
Please tell your dear mother and father that all is arranged here for them to stay at the Hotel. I am so longing to call them mamma and papa. They have already shown such great kindness to me. My own dear mother and father have arranged for a short holiday on the Tuscan coast after our wedding. I can hardly contain my excitement at going to see your beloved mountains with you for our honeymoon. You are such a dear. To see the mountains that you love so much together, as husband and wife, will be an emotion beyond my dreams. You say there is a mountain called the Rose Garden where we are going, it is such a romantic name.

Emma had to stop. The letter was so personal, so warm and full of love for her father. She broke down in tears, an unfathomable pain in her heart, but there was happiness there too, knowing that her mother had felt such intense love.
She knew her parents had spent their honeymoon in their beloved Dolomites and every Summer they went to the mountains for their holidays. Her father always seemed to find solace there, it was where he could drive back the demons that haunted him since the war in Ethiopia.

Emma put the letter back and then picked up the packet underneath. These letters were written in her mother's familiar handwriting but were addressed to her grandmother Vittoria in Siena. She opened the first one. It was dated 1943

Cara mamma, dear Mum,
You are always in my thoughts, along with dear papa, and my dear brothers.
How brave Alberto is to be putting himself in such danger. For you dear mother it must be so hard to re-live what yourself had to do. Poor Enrico with his broken leg, but at least he is near you. Toni is working hard but has had to find a new partner. I have got a bicycle now and it is easier for me to find luxuries such as butter. Yesterday I cycled for thirty kilometres to a farm near the mountains. They gave me butter and eggs and some of the maize flour that is so abundant here. I have tried to make tomato preserve but it is not as good as yours dear mamma. How I miss the flavours of your cooking.

Emma put the letter down. She closed her eyes and thought of her mother on a bicycle. She tried to read between the lines of the letter. She knew that her grandfather Paolo had been a military doctor in the First World War. Her grandmother, Vittoria, had travelled around with him and given birth to three children on the way. These stories had always been told with humour and love. Emma was beginning to realise what a gift that had been, to hear women in her family talk in such a reassuring way.
Emma thought of what life must have been like then. She thought of her beloved country. She liked to think of it as an elegant leather boot with the toe gently swinging in the Summer breeze. She knew that the First World War was a tragedy and the mountains near her home bore many scars. The Second World War was more difficult to understand. Reading her mother's letter reminded her of things her grandmother had told her. Friendships were torn apart and families forced to flee. Italy became a country at war with itself. Her paternal grandmother, Marta, had always been wary of expressing any views and told Emma to be careful, that many an enemy has been made by talking about politics. Emma thought she was being dramatic but even now all these years later, Federico avoided to talk about politics.
Emma picked up another letter addressed to her grandmother. She gave a start as she noticed the date, November 1948. It was when she was born.

Cara mamma, dear mum,
My dearest treasure is sleeping now and so I can at last write to you. I cannot find words that are good enough to describe the joy in my heart. She is so beautiful and has the sweetest, dearest nature. Her little hands already hold mine so tightly. Her little head is so soft and silky. She has your dark hair and dare I say your blue eyes. We have called her Emma, after your dear mother from Venice. Toni is enthralled, he sits and stares at her for hours. It will not be long now before you see her for yourself and can hold her in your arms. She makes the dearest little noises. Oh mamma now I know how you must love me, I know how you must feel about me. I have been thinking of you so much bringing me into this country during the First World War, I feel so blessed to have brought Emma into a country at peace. Surely this must be the start of a new hopeful era for us all.

The tears were streaming down Emma's face, she sobbed into her mother's pillow. She felt the full deep, heart- wrenching pain of her loss. When Emma was born her mother must have realised at last the full power of a mother's love. She thought of the love linking the women in her family, like a chain. Vittoria, Elisabetta, Emma, Valeria.
Italian women reaching back into the past and onward to the future united by the immense power of their love for each other.

She went to gaze out of the window. To be a woman, to love a man, to be a mother, to love a child, that is what kept society together, that is what kept a country in health.

She jumped as the doorbell rang, breaking her reverie.
It was Federico, standing there with a huge pizza and a bottle of wine. Her heart lurched as he held it towards her.
He grinned at her

'I thought you might like this, '

He kissed her on her wet cheeks.

'Oh Federico, thank you, thank you.'

Then she saw that Valeria and her boyfriend, Marco, were standing behind him holding a cake box from her favourite Pasticceria.

Later when they were all sitting round the kitchen table where Elisabetta had served so many delicious meals, Valeria's boyfriend stood up.
He cleared his throat and held up his wine glass.

'I know this is a sad occasion and I would like you to know what a privilege it was to know Nonna Elisabetta. I too will miss her terribly.'

Marco paused and wiped his eyes. His voice was low and full of emotion when he spoke, his words coming out in a rush.

'I don't know if this is the right moment but we can't wait any longer to tell you.
Valeria and I are expecting a baby.'

There was a lot of laughing then and hugging and kissing.
Emma felt her mother's love warming her. She felt her presence, all  the love that her mother had given her and then  passed on to her daughter, was now in this room.
 

The beautiful dome of Santa Maria del fiore



Le Pale di S. Martino del Castrozza

New Beginnings

The last rays of the January sunlight glided across the room.  They turned to the fairy on top of the tree like a spotlight. Her wings twinkled and sparkled and Greta looked up and smiled at her as she went to the window to admire the sunset.
Greta had always enjoyed taking down the Christmas decorations. She had a ritual to welcome the Twelfth night full of good luck omens and portents.  This year though she wanted to linger for awhile, she needed to go over the events of the last few weeks.  Greta had wanted to keep the decorations up for a while longer so she could hang on to the happiness that she had felt putting them up with her little cat Timmy. It felt like she needed to keep them longer sort of in his honour.
Paul  had brought up the boxes from the garage before leaving for work that morning and had helped her unwind the lights and carefully packed them away for next year.  Now it already seemed like it was time to move on.
Greta had a ritual for putting up the decorations. At the end of November she would put on her favourite Christmas Cd or a film, make a cup of tea and warm a mince pie and then start decorating the tree.

Each decoration had a story behind it.
The angel on the top from their honeymoon, the baubles made by her niece,  Polly, The Provencal figures from her French mother-in-law, the wooden snowmen and hearts from their holiday in Austria.  When she'd finished, Greta would step back and admire her work, she saw it as a sort of happy memory tree that would protect and warm the house through all the dark December days.

Timmy had played with the tinsel while she was wrapping it round the tree.  Tears came to her eyes and there was an ache in her heart. How she longed for those days to return now. She wanted to immerse herself in the cosy comfort of the days leading up to Christmas.
The evenings now seemed too bright, she was being hurtled too briskly into the New Year and she didn't feel ready.

Her phone rang and she saw it was her sister, Joyce.

'Hi Joyce, have you seen the sunset it's beautiful'.

Joyce was her big sister, older by nine years. 

'Yes it's beautiful isn't it? Mind if I come round after work?' Is Paul working?'

Greta felt a surge of warmth towards her sister,

 'I'd love to see you. we'll finish up the mulled wine. Paul's doing a shoot in London and won't be back till late.'

Joyce worked in an Animal rescue centre and now her elder daughter Polly was following in her footsteps. Greta had married late and then been told it would b difficult fo her to conceive but she had always enjoyed being a popular auntie. She'd seen how much it took out of her sister, looking after Polly and an autistic little boy and how important it must be to have the right man by your side. Joyce's husband Martin was a great family man, always there for his wife and daughter and helping to look after his son. He did voluntary work in the day centre that Ricky went to,  reading stories and building models. Her parents, Anne and Malcolm, often helped out there too and the people that worked there told them this all helped create a family environment for the children.

 Greta was already well into her thirties when she met Paul  on a Fashion shoot in Paris. It was love at first sight. He was the photographer and used to being up close and personal with the most beautiful women in the world. She had fallen in love with him the minute they had met in the make-up room where she was adjusting the look of a model. The moment he entered the room she felt as though a fire had been lit inside her, warming her. It was still burning strongly, just the thought of him made her quiver with excitement.  Greta was the make-up artist and it took her a while to realize that Paul's gentle banter was aimed at her as he moved around the room. It was still a source of wonder that he had chosen her.

Paul was from a large French family and they had gladly welcomed Greta into their warm, comforting clan. Greta and Paul joined them whenever they could for their family get-togethers in Rouen. Anne and Malcolm were always finding excuses to go and visit.  Polly had spent her gap year with them and was very proud of her perfect French accent.

Greta wound some tinsel neatly into a bag and picked up the little Father Christmas that Paul's sister had given her one year when they had spent Christmas in France. A tear fell as she thought of  Timmy playing with it. His little paws quick as silver making the Father Christmas swing to and fro. He'd got tangled in the tinsel and she'd taken a photo of his astonished little face, as it draped over his ears like a halo.
There's no way of knowing what's going to happen from one Christmas to the next, Greta thought as she tucked the Father Christmas away. She couldn't have known, that long ago Christmas that it would have been the last time she would help her grandmother decorate her tree. She couldn't have known ten years ago that it would be the last time she received a Christmas card from her grandfather saying, 'to a special grand daughter.' She couldn't have known this was her last Christmas with Timmy. The man that had come to the door to tell her had looked so stricken that she had found herself asking him in and making them both a strong cup of tea.  They were both in tears when Paul came home. As always, he took the situation in hand. He told the man that it was a dangerous road and there should be warning signs, to try and console him.  They exchanged addresses and then together gently took care of Timmy.
He had been a tiny kitten, just a scrap when Joyce had brought him home from the Animal Rescue. Joyce believed in Cat therapy. A wild abandoned kitten had worked wonders on her son Ricky, bringing him out of his shell in a way that astounded the doctors.

'He's perfect for you Greta.  He even looks like you with his big brown eyes and shiny dark fur. Would you like to give him a home.?

Greta hadn't needed asking twice. Timmy entered their lives and hearts. He used to wake them up in the morning, carefully wrapping his paws around their necks.
He would always be waiting for them by the door and run round the house to express his joy. The vet said he'd never seen anything like him. Lately though he had shown the signs of his years. Greta paused her hand caressing the soft fur of a toy hedgehog that she'd bought in Cornwall, Paul had been taking photos for a documentary about a seal sanctuary and she had been doing a course and then working as a volunteer at the hospital, doing the patients' make-up.
Greta put the last bauble in its box and looked at the darkening sky.  She could see the reflection of the tree in the window. It looked vulnerable without its decorations. She felt a wave of sadness as she thought of all the Christmases past, all the precious treasured memories, each one a symbol of the strength of her family and their capacity to sustain each other as the years go by.

The last bottle of mulled wine held just enough for Joyce.  Greta prepared a tray with mince pies and some cheese straws  her sister's favourites. The doorbell rang and she went to greet her sister and settled her in front of the fire.

'Ooh doesn't it look bare without the decorations? and without little Timmy.' She put her hand over her mouth appalled by her insensitivity.

'Sorry Greta, I didn't mean to mention him. I know exactly how you feel.'

She put her arms round her sister and held her tight. She glanced up at the tree.

'You've forgotten the angel, she's still on the top, what's she holding in her hand? It looks like a magic wand.'

Greta sat back and looked at her sister.

' You know Joyce I was taking off the decorations and thinking about all the past. All the joys and sorrows and how much you've always helped me. I'm so lucky to have such a wonderful sister.'

'Oh go on Greta you'll make me cry, you're a wonderful sister too. I'll never forget the day you were born, my own personal baby doll.'

'It's been hard for me this Christmas losing Timmy like that. I know you understand. I hadn't been feeling well all Christmas, and I'd put it down to being so upset, but then I went to the doctor and he told me to do a pregnancy test. The angel is holding the results.'

Joyce's shocked expression almost made Greta laugh but just then she heard Paul's key in the lock.

' Hey Greta, cherie', he rushed to kiss her.' I came home early, you said you'd got something important to tell me.'

The sound of his voice still made Greta weak at the knees and she sat down again to face her sister, but she had gone, quietly letting herself out so as to not to intrude in the intimate magic moment that she knew herself so well.