She parked her car outside the large, slightly run-down Edwardian house where her rented flat took up the entire second floor. The paint on the front door was flaking off in places, but the stained-glass panels were still intact and along with the original brass knocker and a rusty boot scraper in the porch, they gave the entrance an air of faded grandeur. In the shared lobby she collected the mail from her allocated metal post box and climbed the stairs to her front door. The flat was light and airy, and even had a small balcony where she was attempting to grow some herbs and a couple of pots of geraniums. The bare walls were punctuated with well-framed prints of paintings she loved and knew intimately from her years of teaching history of art, and various antiques and curiosities were displayed on side tables and in cabinets around the room. Unlike her university lectures, her collection was neither curated nor hung to demonstrate any meaningful narrative. It was simply a cacophony of clashing colours and contrasting styles that brought her daily joy. Skulking in a corner was a set of golf clubs, undisturbed and gathering dust since Billie had propped them there on the day that she had moved in. She kept meaning to sell them. She had learned to play to pacify Giles, her ex-husband. He had insisted that they try something new together in an attempt to resuscitate their ailing marriage. Giles had suggested golf, but Billie would have preferred salsa, so they tossed a coin. Golf won and Giles loved it, but it bored Billie to death and finally finished off their marriage. It was a mercy killing. Giles became secretary of the golf club and Billie became a free woman once again. Perhaps now it was time to sell the clubs and find a salsa class. In the galley kitchen she flicked the switch on the kettle and while she was waiting for the water to boil, she sifted through the post. Amongst the bills and junk mail was a brown envelope, which she knew from the postmark must be from their family solicitor. It was probably something to do with the sale of her parents’ house. She poured boiling water over a teabag in her mug and then tore open the envelope. As she read what was written on the pages it contained, her whole world washed away like the chalked hopscotch squares of her childhood in a sudden downpour of rain.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Now