“Ms Smith, We’re sorry to disturb you. I’m Constable Brian Stokes, can we come in – it’s about Mr Ian Brown – there’s been an accident.”
Fiona walked into the flat kicking off the ugly flat pumps and shrugging out of the hot woollen jacket. The funeral had been awful. As an only child with dead parents she was alone surrounded by Ian’s family who all knew each other and seemed to consider the event to be a catch-up of friends. She had left as soon she could but now the empty flat seemed to be mocking her. She looked at the birthday card on the mantlepiece “All my love, always”.
Two weeks later the card – the last thing Ian had given her the morning of her birthday was still there- but now a small terracotta urn was beside it. The last piece of Ian she had. She slipped the ring off her finger, unscrewed the urn and dropped it into the ashes.
It seemed that as soon as she opened the urn the flat warmed – It felt as if Ian had returned to her in some way. The rest of the day she moved the urn from room to room with her and she felt his presence with her.
That night she placed Ian on his bedside table and lay down beside him. As she rolled onto her side she felt the comforting warmth of him like she used to do as he spooned into her back and put his arm around her.
“It’s hard to tell how she died. She was young and healthy nothing seems to be wrong with her.”
“I know – the funny thing was, she was alone in the flat but the pillow next to her was dented as if there was another person in the bed.”
