Constance carefully replaced her beautiful wedding hat in its protective striped hatbox. It would always remind her of that perfect September day. The wedding, the house full of her children and grandchildren instead of the empty shell it had now become. Everything was so still and quiet. Although she could hear the radio going in the kitchen and the clock ticking in the hall, the house was silent, as if waiting for something. Waiting for flesh and blood, children and mess and noise and laughter and loving to fill it again. Her breath caught in her throat – for she could never again provide these things. She wanted to cry for all that had passed, slipped through her fingers like sand, babies, toddlers, teenagers now all grown and gone, getting on with their own lives while she sat in empty rooms surrounded by old toys and books and mementos.
Helen and Sally and the boys and even Shay were right. Things couldn’t continue like this. She had to let go of the past and begin to move forward, create a new life of her own, let this house live and breathe again and be what it was meant to be. A family home!
Sally had persuaded her to consider going to Cyprus with them for Christmas. Chris’s parents had insisted that she would be more than welcome. Her lecturer, Don Sullivan from Trinity, had said that it would be very useful as the museums in Cyprus held some of the finest examples of early Greek and Roman art to be found.
On her morning walk around the neighbourhood she had discovered someone was building ten two-bedroomed duplexes on a site just off Seapoint Avenue. They were compact and easy to keep, with balconies and a sea view. When Helen and herself had gone to view them, Constance had been surprised by the light and the magnificent sweep of Dublin Bay that would greet the occupants every hour of the day. The kitchen, small and neat and full of every mod con, was divided from the living space by an island so that even the cook could watch the boats sail up and down the shore. The gas fire lit with the touch of a button, and the duplex was altogether more appealing than she would have imagined.
She swallowed hard, put on her glasses and reached for the telephone directory to search for the name. Dialling quickly, her voice shaking, she began to talk to the auctioneer. It was finally time to sell the house and move on.