By the time she had managed to slide the knife in and remove
the object that was preventing the drawer from gliding out she had forgotten
what she wanted to get.
She shook as she carried the overfilled draw and placed it
onto the small table next to her armchair. It was one of those jobs she never
got round to but now it was forced upon her.
She slowly lifted out the collection of mail shots, letters,
cards and other paraphernalia that had found its way into the dark recess examining
each with care. The top layers were recent and the vast majority she threw onto
the open fire in the hearth.
As the more modern strata were slowly disposed of she began
to come across photos. Holding them between her fingers she began to look
through a haze of tears. There was her husband when they were young, before his
illness, when they were together. Here, one of Christmas with the children when
they were little. Each photograph chipped another tiny hole in the dam of
dementia keeping back her memories. The photos she placed to the side along
with the letters she must have kept from her one ‘true love’.
The bottom of the drawer was a collection of safety pins,
string, thimbles, badges and pens. Not worth keeping but not worth getting up
to throw away. At the back was a single balloon.
She lifted it carefully out and brushed off the dust and
lint. How long could that have been in there? She couldn’t remember the last
time there had been balloons in the house. It must have been for one of the
children’s parties. She lifted it to her lips and began to blow.
‘You silly old fool,’ she thought as she struggled to start
its inflation. ‘It’s probably perished. It’ll go bang in your face,’ but she
kept blowing.
When it had taken a reasonable shape she knotted it with her
trembling fingers and liver marked hands.
Looking into the balloon she could see the reflection of the
room behind her. Slowly she realised she could hear the noise of a party which
she put down to increased blood pressure from all the effort.
Well, she did until she could see the reflection of her husband standing behind her with her children either side. Behind them were her parents and sister and brother. As she focussed through the tears she could see herself in the middle of them all as she had looked many, many years before.
She saw her husband reach out for her and closing her eyes
she drifted away to meet him.
The balloon fell from her still fingers and bounced towards
the fire before popping with a loud bang.
Moments later the young couple from the upstairs flat were
banging on the door shouting ‘Mrs Glaze, Mrs Glaze are you all right?’
It was the police who forced entry and found her in the
chair. Glancing around the room the younger policeman took in the scene as the
young woman from upstairs quietly sobbed held close by her partner.
