Long after she left, the smell hung in the
room. Marianne had sat at her dressing
table for the last time, applying her make up by the dim early morning
light. A squirt of fragrance to her
wrists. Each item used, she tossed it
into her open make up bag, then zipped up the bulging bag. She added it to the top of her travel bag and
zipped that closed too. She carried her
luggage downstairs and out to the car, packing it all in the boot.
She returned to her room and looked
round. The room was bare, most of her
possessions sent on ahead. Books from
her childhood were stacked at the bottom of the bookcase, the upper shelves
empty. There was her bed, a mirror and a
wardrobe, door ajar and displaying a few clothes still hanging up, a size too
small or a season too out-of-date. She
collected scattered knick-knacks that took up too much room to take and piled
them on the windowsill.
Then Marianne walked down stairs and
without looking round, left the house, got into her car and drove away.
Later that morning, that same front door
opens. Ears listen in the hallway for
sounds of movement.
“Marianne?” a voice
calls. “Are you here, love?” No sound comes from anyway in the house that
Marianne left hours before. “Have you
already gone?”
A middle-aged couple stand in the hall,
holiday suitcases beside them. Their
flight had been due in the previous day and a farewell evening planned for
Marianne before she left for university.
They were to have shared a simple meal, opened the special bottle of
wine left from their anniversary party and arranged visits for when Marianne
had settled in. Of course those could
still be agreed, by phone or email, but it wasn’t the same as planning them in
person.
“She’s gone, Patrick,” said Annette. “Marianne’s gone.”
“I know, love. We knew she wouldn’t be able to wait past
first light, didn’t we?”
“That damned plane. We should have been here with her not stuck
in a humid airport.”
With tears running down her cheeks, Annette
trudged upstairs. Patrick could hear her
footsteps head towards Marianne’s bedroom at the back of the house. He heard the door open and his wife walk a
few steps into the room.
“You OK love?” he called.
“I can smell her, Patrick. Her things have gone but her smell is
here. It’s like she’s just gone out for a little while.”
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