Juliet had bid way over the odds, but she’d fallen in love, not just with the chair, but the room she was going to build around its soft red depths. She’d already decided on deep-mulberry walls and a refurbished fireplace for a wood-burning stove that they could drink tea next to in the winter, with a space for Minton’s basket. The front room was light and airy, with a view onto the street and wisteria tickling the window edges, but the back room looked out over the garden, and she’d angled the chair now so it faced the bank of roses and fruit bushes Ben had put in for her. Juliet assembled her equipment on the broad arm: mug of tea, CD remote control, CD player loaded with the music that reminded her of him, photograph album of their honeymoon in New York, big white hankies. Her dad always had a proper hanky, and he always gave it to her when she cried, so now she had quite a collection. He never asked for them back. This was her designated Grief Hour, as recommended by the counsellor Diane had dragged her to see a few months ago.
What do You think about Walking Back To Happiness?
