Its occupants stayed inside, trying to find the strength to leave its familiar confines. The house looked decidedly gloomy without its usual array of lamps and lights beckoning to them from within. The curtains were drawn and the windows no longer sparkled. It was a house in mourning, unloved and slipping further into decay with each passing day. Olive released her rather ineffective seatbelt and breathed deeply. Mac patted her hand. ‘You all right, old girl?’ She nodded and placed her hand over his, still drawing strength and comfort from physical contact with him, even after all these years. ‘Less of the “old”, if you don’t mind.’ She loped from the car and knocked hesitantly on the front door. She felt tentative, unconfident; her stomach sat somewhere just below her throat. She could never have envisaged being made to feel unwelcome at her daughter’s front door, but today of all days, she wasn’t so sure. It had been many days since she’d last had any contact – the family had decided that it might be best to give Grace the space she seemed to crave – but enough was enough.
What do You think about Three-And-A-Half Heartbeats?
