I close the door behind her and move to the kitchen, watching through the window as she walks away. Her sleeves are a little too long. Did I do her hair right? She turns, our eyes unable to connect through the glass mirrored between us, and yet she smiles, knowing I will be here. My heart feels like a hot air balloon inflating inside my chest, swelling, pushing up, snatching my breath away as she disappears. Around the corner, out of sight. Is she ready? The light flickers on the kettle as it hums into life and I reach to retrieve a new box of tea bags from the top shelf, lazily stretching on my tip toes. I forget where I left the step. Dust motes dance in the air as I wait for the water to boil, the sun casting an unforgiving ray through the smeared window. My house, dusty and disordered, neglected after a summer filled with better ways to spend my time. Other ways at least. It will have my full attention now, whether I like it or not. Mug cradled between my hands, I head for the garden. Away from the mess; away from the pictures adorning the fridge; the elephants, recycled from milk bottles, parading along the shelf; the salt dough snake softening with condensation on the window sill. Reminders of the months spent indoors, me her makeshift teacher. The endless sunshine, the isolation, the loss. Out in the garden I kick off my shoes and fold my legs beneath me on the bench, my tea held close. The enormous sunflower rises above my shoulder, it’s shadow waving like a puppet telling a story, reminding me. I see my little girl dwarfed beside it those few short years ago, the memory of each first day captured and shared, revisited again and again. We looked ahead as she raced through the classes; her grand finale stolen by an invisible enemy. No end of school play, no final goodbye service, no little T-shirts scrawled with early autographs. All the things she missed, or perhaps I missed. More so than her, I think. ‘Hello? Are you out here?’ Louise’s head peeps around the hydrangea. ‘The gate was open,’ she says, releasing Button. He races across, bouncing up onto my lap. ‘No kissing.’ I pull my face away from his, rubbing behind his ears as he rolls over to expose his soft white tummy. ‘You know the rules.’ ‘Join us?’ She lifts Button’s lead as he jumps up, trying to use it for a game of tug-of-war. ‘I was planning on a date with the sofa, a bar of Fruit & Nut and something weepy.’ ‘Thought so.’ She rolls her eyes and sits beside me on the bench. ‘Go grab your trainers, bring the Fruit & Nut with you, if you must.’ I head indoors obediently, returning my mug to the counter, fetching my shoes from the mat. I pause at the hall table where three generations beam back at me and use my sleeve to wipe their glass frame clean. ‘Ready?’ she says, as I emerge into the sunlight. I nod. ‘And so is she.’ Louise reaches out a hand to my shoulder. ‘Yes.’ I look again at the flower rising up above the patio, it’s face turned towards the sun, then think of my kind, strong girl, and wonder why I ever doubted it. ‘Yes. She really is.’
*
She closes the door behind me, but I know she’ll be watching me go. Stood at the kitchen window, reaching for the kettle. I turn so she can see me; give her a smile to remind her I’m okay. Around the corner, out of sight. I quicken my pace. My hair feels too tight stretched back away from my face, uncomfortable after a summer, more than a summer, hanging loose. My steps are too loud on the pavement. The new shoes echo off the parched tarmac, their strong leather squeezing my protesting toes. I miss my flip flops. My mind begins to start, the questions coming uninvited. They sometimes do. Who will I sit with? Will they like me? Is my hair fixed right? I push my hand deep into the pocket of my stiff blazer, fingers searching for the map Mum printed for me, and gripping it tight. ‘Morning.’ Kirsty stands waiting at the corner just as we planned, her shiny newness mirroring mine. ‘Morning,’ I smile. My grip loosens and I let go. Our steps fall in line as we cross the road together, their echo softened by the noise of traffic, birds, Kirsty. We walk on past the corner shop; a sideways glance at our covert plans for a sweet stop off after school. Freedom. ‘Hang on.’ She stops in front of the old churchyard, reaching into her bag. I wait, wondering if she has forgotten something and we’ll have to go back, but then she lifts her face up next to mine, hand outstretched in front of us. ‘Selfie?’ she grins, taking it without warning. ‘Look.’ She pulls the phone in close, showing me the photo. It’s not the best shot of us, but as she zooms in closer I see it - a tiny robin perched in the bush above my left shoulder. I turn to look behind me and spot her on the railings, red breast puffing out proudly. ‘Ready?’ says Kirsty. ‘Yes.’ I shift my eyes away from the robin in the churchyard, linking my arm in hers as we begin to climb the hill. ‘Yes, I think we are.’