A Visit from the Queen

A hot, golden sun rises in a parched sky. It hangs over a distant, dusty landscape, flooding the red soil with hazy light. A little girl with dark curls and emerald eyes, her fair skin burnt sienna, runs shrieking with laughter into the arms of a small, soft woman, wrapped in a warm, white sari. The embrace is pungent with a musty scent of spice and incense. A circle of smiling men, women and children shower them with saffron, magenta, viridian and turquoise coloured powders which transform into flower petals as they fall on the little girls’ skin. The scent of jasmine and roses envelops her… Suddenly the light is snatched away, the flowers turn to rain and the warm embrace is replaced by a cold, damp bed sheet that wraps her in loneliness as her screams rip through the darkness…

Liz woke up with a start, her pyjama top soaked with perspiration. She glanced over at her clock and groaned, no time for journal writing this morning she was late. She wasn’t a morning person; ‘you’re an owl not a lark, Lizzie’ Mum used to say. Writing set her up for the day, the early morning conversation with the pages helped sort out her thoughts. Today she needed to be on time she told herself as she rushed through her morning chores, Dad would be waiting and she didn’t want him to be anxious. This was her first proper visit since he’d moved into Glendales two weeks ago. Glendales, yes she’d have to get used to him being there with all those old people. She’d tried to convince him he wasn’t old and he should move in with her but he wasn’t having any of it. ‘I like my independence’ he’d said, ‘ and besides I’ll enjoy flirting with all the old birds!’ Liz had to agree, the reality was that she had a busy life with a job that took her away a lot so he would get lonely. After Mums’ death he had become less and less mobile. Liz sighed, ‘Miss you Mum’ she whispered as she pulled away from the curb. ‘Talk to me when I’m gone, I’ll still be listening’ Mum had said, but Liz wasn’t sure she believed in an after life. Every now and then she would have a go, just in case, and Dad talked to Mum all the time, which could be embarrassing.

Liz pulled up outside Glendales. It was a bright, chilly, spring afternoon and the house looked rather grand, framed handsomely by landscaped, manicured gardens. Quite a few of the residents were out, wrapped warmly, taking in the fresh air as they strolled in the grounds with relatives. She spotted Dad waiting by the entrance waving a gloved hand frantically to catch her attention. They found a quiet corner in the drawing room with their tray of tea and cake and snuggled down in to cosy armchairs bathed in the sunlight that was streaming in the windows overlooking the miniature lake. They sat silently for a while, sipping tea, enjoying the view and listening to the chorus of birds enjoying the spring sunshine.

‘So how are you settling in Franklyn,’ Liz ventured finally, affectionately using his full name as she had done as a child trying to be grown up.

‘Just fine Elizabeth love, just fine. Learning the ropes you know… and checking out the other folk.’

‘Flirting with the ladies you mean.’

‘And that! What about you? Have you sorted out all your mothers’ junk yet?’

Liz sighed. After Mum had died she’d packed away all her stuff in the attic without sorting it, as she just couldn’t face throwing anything away. Now that Dad was at Glendales and the house was to be sold she couldn’t put it off any longer.

‘I’m down to a pile of boxes at the far end circa 2,000 BC I reckon.’

‘Find any treasures yet?’

‘Nothing that would star on the Antiques Road Show. Rather disappointing really, mostly old papers, magazines, books and broken appliances.’

‘Hmmn, Margo hated throwing things away.’

‘Too bad she didn’t hoard interesting stuff that other people might want to collect.’

After Liz left Frank stayed by the window and watched the fading afternoon sun create patterns on the rippling surface of the pond feeling the knot in his stomach grow tighter. ‘She hasn’t found your treasure box yet Margo. Won’t be long now. What then dear… what then…’