suburbansecret

I must admit I'm a bit embarassed by this one. I wrote it before I had taken my writing course and it now seems terribley vague. What I was trying to do was convey deep emotion. Maybe that is also what makes me feel a little embarrassed. But I'll show you anyway.

The Amethyst Heart

 

          Gabriel is the name of one of God’s angels. It is a name that is most often used for little girls. Gabriel was angelic, but he was no little girl. His tall muscular frame betrayed the very maleness of him. His jaw was strong and his hair black. But it was his eyes that made women melt, me included. They were the clearest blue, framed in long dark lashes. They were eyes that could look straight through you.

 

          Even as he lay on the bench looking up at me, his eyes held me there. They pleaded for my help.

 

          “The ambulance will be here soon, you will be alright” I whispered.

          Stay with me, don’t let go of my hand, his eyes seemed to say. I knelt at his side and squeezed his limp hand. This was a man that had known strength, and it had suddenly left him. He told me his name was Gabriel.

         

          “I must go home” he whispered to me.

          He leaned close to my face and used those piercing eyes “I must go now and you must come with me”. It was not an order, but it was a request I couldn’t refuse. I was drowning in the blue crystal of his plea.

 

          I sat with him, holding his hand, waiting for help and then he told me why he was here.

          “I’m sorry I scared you. I had no idea that coming through would make me sick.”

I wanted to ask questions, but his light voice seemed to hold me in a trance until I had heard it all.

“I’m so glad I found you right away, there is so little time left before the Drifters return. I will take you through tonight and you can use the Amethyst Heart to make the city beat once more.”

 

He was growing stronger with each passing moment and he wanted me to help him stand. He turned to me and placed his hand on my chest and suddenly I understood. I felt the purple glow that radiated from my very centre. I was the Amethyst Heart.

 

Gabriel showed me his wings then for the first time. They had always been there. I had just not seen them. The strong white feathers glowed in the light of the rising full moon.

“You are an angel!” I sighed.

He laughed at me. But took my hands in his to soften the blow.

“Not an angel. I am of the people of Icarus. But this is not the first time our city has called on the people of Earth. No more questions my innocent one. It is time to go.”

 

He wrapped his arms about my young frame and enveloped us both with those shining white wings. The lights about us seemed to grow in intensity until I could see nothing of the park. I looked deeper into those blue irises and felt myself fall into them. Brighter and brighter the white light grew until my head began to shriek in pain. I closed my eyes to shut it out. Then all was blackness.

 

At first when my eyes opened I struggled to remember what had happened. I was looking up at a delicately patterned ceiling, like nothing I had seen before. As I began to remember, I realised Gabriel was near. He stood next to the bed in which I lay.

“So finally you join us in the land of the living” he teased.

 

I had slept the better part of the night and a new day. Going through the portal was very hard on the living tissue.

 

Feeling completely overwhelmed, I got my first glimpse of Gabriel’s city. We stood on a balcony high up over most of its roof tops and I could see right to the outer reaches of the cities dwellings. Above us all was a shimmering pink dome, almost like a heat haze.

“The shield weakens as the cities heart beat slows. The Drifters will return when they see it is thin.”

“What are the Drifters?” I asked with eyes wide. The way he spoke of them scared me. I knew I was in no hurry to meet a Drifter.

“They are the souls of the damned. They have no physical form as such, but they can touch us with their corporeal energy. Their evilness burns us. They hunger for the light of the souls of Icarus and the souls of the people of Earth. The dome is our only defence.”

 

I stared fearfully at the fading light of the shield. I knew what would happen when it failed. I realised I had seen the Drifters before on Earth. They ate the souls of humans and turned their hearts into foul things. Drifters had caused wars, murder, and torture. As I watched the pale shimmering of the dome the light in my chest began to burn.

“You feel it don’t you” crooned Gabriel as he locked me in his sapphire stare. “You know how to strengthen the cities heart beat. I can see the power in your eyes.” He cupped my face with one strong hand, his skin soft against my cheek. I wondered if the burning I felt was for the city or for him. He turned my gaze to the city below us and passed his hand across my eyes.

“Know us, feel us” he said. And I did.

 

Every soul, every winged body and every strongly beating heart was before my gaze. I felt thousands of minds, each with their own hopes and dreams. I gasped at their intensity. He let me go then and the glamour passed. But the memory of that moment would stay with me forever.

He looked at me with concerned eyes.

“Are you strong enough to go to the temple now?”

“I must” I sighed. I was tired and my head still ached, but the fire inside me was only growing in strength as it felt the souls of Icarus.

 

I followed him then to the very top of the building, the tallest structure in Icarus. Pale pink light met my gaze as I stepped into the temple. It was beautiful. Pale marble columns supported the gilded ceiling. Granite polished smooth was the floor on which we now stood. The platform was open on all four sides and the only object on the rooftop temple was the delicate silver bracket that held the cities heart high off the ground. I never asked what the heart was. It looked like a huge rose quartz crystal. It was from this crystal that the pale pink light pulsated. But I knew the colour was not right. It’s hue should have been deeper.

 

From the stairs on all four sides of the temple, people of Icarus were ascending. Their step was the careful and graceful glide of royalty. Both men and women wore long robes of many different colours. From their backs sprouted majestic wings. I was surprised to see that not all their wings were white as I had expected. In fact the feathers seemed to come in as many different colours as the birds of earth. Some were raven black, others sparrow brown and here and there the bright colours of a parrot.

 

Now was not the time to stare in wonder at the congregation high above the rest of the city. I had a task to perform. I don’t know how, but I knew exactly what to do. Perhaps it was the light of the Amethyst heart shining within me.

Never had I been one for showmanship, but I sensed the sanctity of the occasion and pitched my voice so that the entire congregation could hear.

“I need help to channel this energy. The Amethyst light must flow through the people of Icarus, and I choose Gabriel to be my conduit.”

 

          Gabriel’s eyes searched mine for meaning. Like those around us he had never seen the renewal of the Amethyst light. It had not been done in their lifetime. His confusion showed clearly on his handsome features. He knew he was not of the class of the dignitaries around us. He was merely the messenger. It was for this very reason that I chose him. He had risked his life to bring me here. I felt as though I knew him. And already I cared for him. This was a bond I was not about to take lightly.

 

          Silence fell like a blanket of mist. Their expectant faces urged me to do my duty. I smiled up into Gabriel’s face and gently guided his hands around my middle. We stood facing the pale pink crystal supported on four long slender and silver legs. My eyes closed. I felt the warmth of Gabriel’s body on my back. His breathing slowed and I knew that he had relaxed into his role. He felt the power of the Amethyst Heart inside me and trusted us both.

 

          I breathed in deep and I could taste the light and purity of these people. I let their essence flow through Gabriel and he gave it up freely to me. When I felt it build to the point of bursting, Gabriel’s body began to shudder against mine. It was taking all his strength to hold me up as I channelled the Amethyst Light into the crystal. Not once was I afraid, and not once did I feel the strain of the power flowing through me. And yet, when it was done and the crystal glowed darkly purple, I felt my body fall limp into the arms of Gabriel and darkness overcame me once more.

 

 

          Soft kisses were placed on each of my eyelids as I awoke. Gabriel lent over my bed and his face was the first thing I saw.

          “I would let you sleep, but you must eat. It must be more than a day since you last supped.”

          He had placed a tray on a table in the room and helped me to it. Cheese, cold meats and fruits tasted heavenly after so long a fast. Gabriel watched me eat and refused to join me when I offered.

 

          When I felt strong again, he took me again to the temple. The crystal was deep and pulsed strongly into the night sky and reflected violet light off the marble pillars. There was no longer a soft glow about the plateau. It was as if a steamy room had suddenly been cleared.

          “The heart beats strongly, and it’s power no longer leaks about the temple.” Explained Gabriel. He turned to me and I could tell there was something he needed to say, and was holding back. He took my hand and looked sadly at me with those magical eyes.

          “Now that the shield is strong, I can take you back. But if I do, I will feel as though a part of my very being will be ripped from me.”

          I laughed then.

          “I can no more go back than you could let me go. The ceremony of the light has bonded us forever. I think we both knew it was coming from the day our eyes met.”

 

He kissed me then, right then and there in the temple. But I knew it was alright. The light that shone from the crystal was ours after all.

I wrote this story with the title "merissa" but it was published in 2006 fast fiction with the title "Man on the Rocks"

 

As Merissa swam towards the rocks, she just knew he would be there today. It was Saturday and the sky was clear, but the waves were impressive and she knew the fishing would be good on a day like today.  Even though she knew he was not even aware of her existence, she loved to watch him.

 

She had first seen him fishing off the rocks nearly a year ago, and he had never once looked in her direction. His eyes stayed on the sea and the surf that pounded onto the age old reef. Her home was not far from the popular fishing spot and she swam near the rocks everyday. It had been raining the first time she saw him and the ocean was cold against her skin. Merissa remembered catching sight of his bright yellow rain coat even at the careful distance she kept from the rocks on such a blustery day. He had stood for hours looking out over the surging waves, keeping a sensible way from the edge himself.

 

On calmer days, she had dared to swim right up to the rocks, and from a concealed overhang, she could float in the water, holding onto a rough edge and watch him fish. His strong arms cast the fine line again and again into the turbulent water. On windy days the surf would blow over him and catch in his short, sandy hair and Merissa loved to see it sparkle with water droplets. Better yet, the spray in his hair made him laugh. His face lit up and his eyes twinkled. From a distance she couldn’t tell what colour they were, but the laugh lines that clearly creased their corners only made him seem more handsome.

 

She knew he had no wife, or other love for she had listened carefully when he spoke with friends who often accompanied him. His first love was the sea. She almost believed from his talk that he loved it as much as Merissa did.

 

Sure enough, he was already throwing his line into the water, as Merissa gingerly slid into the small space she used to watch him. He looked more handsome than ever in a light blue jumper and black cargo pants, his old, fading boots drawn up over his knees. He looked so relaxed that she almost dared speak to him. But she knew she didn’t dare. Though she had a beautiful face, trim body from swimming and long curly hair, she knew that even if she wasn’t so fearful of men, she was far too old for him.

 

Today he fished alone, and he had the rocks to himself. With no conversation to concentrate on, Merissa found herself lulled by the warmth of the sun and the rocking of the gentle waves. And so it was over before she was even aware that something was not right.  Moving to change his gear, the fisherman had slipped in his old boots with little tread. He fell sideways, too surprised to stop himself, his head struck the rocks and his body slumped over the edge. His unconscious form hit the water with a splash.

 

There was no-one else around, no-one to call for help. The holiday makers on the beach were too far away to hear a cry and the man’s body was sinking fast into deep water. Merissa acted before she had time to think and dove into the depths after him. He was heavier than she expected, but she used her strong arms, conditioned with days of swimming to haul him back to the surface. She managed to roll him on to a rock ledge and pull herself up beside him. He was still out cold. She examined his skull, thankful to find a growing egg, but no laceration. He was breathing and his heart sounded strong and fast in his chest. Suddenly aware that she had the man of her dreams in her arms she froze with her head still on his chest. He was so warm, her arms slipped around his chest and she forgot where she was. Nothing was as real or as comforting as the rising and falling of his chest next to her skin.

 

She had no idea how long she lay like that against his wet jumper, but eventually he began to stir and she was brought back rapidly to reality. She couldn’t let him see her, especially out of the water. So before his eyes opened, she gave him one soft kiss full of all the emotion she felt for him. Then she slipped back into the water, flicked her tail and swam towards her underwater home.

Now I realise that none of the stories I have entered into my blog are in the slightest bit steamy, but as I mentioned above, they are written for women's magazines and as a result submissions needed to have a certain feel to them (quite innocent and fluffy, first kiss stuff). I'd love to show you some raunchy work, but I need to know just HOW hot and steamy you like it. Do you like a sex scene? Do you tolerate swear words? Please fill me in by using the comments, so I can gauge my audience.

 

Authors Note: Alright, I’m not stupid…..I noticed there were many more hits on my romance stories than anything else, so I’m giving you what the majority wants. BUT! I’m adding my touch of fantasy because I can’t live without it. I do actually enjoy writing romance stories…… I just can’t seem to get them published, there are so many around I guess.

 

Rachel

Just as I am closing the shop he comes running up with his portfolio under his arm and several more drawings clutched in his outstretched hand.

            “Wait, please I have to see the manager!” he cries so desperately I instantly take pity on him.

            “Well then, you are in luck. I am the manager. What can I do for you?”

            I’m not letting go of the door handle just yet. His black clothes, long unkempt hair and pale face are stereotypical of the artist type, but his manner alarms me a little. Someone as desperate as him may go for the till.

            “I have some work to show you,” he pants.

            My eyebrows meet above my nose as I look him up and down. It isn’t an unusual request given that I am the manager of a successful inner city gallery. However most of the artists I deal with are calm and polite despite their often eccentric tastes in clothes. Something about the way he approached me reminded me of the days when the gallery was small. Against my better judgement, I let him in.

            He is trying to wave the drawings in front of my face as I usher him into my office. I make him put them on the large table I use as a desk. Then he sits chewing his nails as I peruse his work.

            It was astounding. There is more life, colour and energy in everything he does than most of the stagnant pieces already hanging on the high white walls. He has portrayed unicorns in a dream like swirl of colour, maidens made of clouds and characters that could only belong in fairy tales. I think he sees the light in my eyes, though I am trying to present the calm, focused face of a business woman. He seemes to relax.

            “You like them?” he asks.

            I nod and continue to turn the pages of the large format folder. It was no wonder he had clutched some in his hand, there is simply no more room in the portfolio.

            “You certainly are prolific!” I comment, eyes still following the flow of one fantastical work to another.

            “I’m driven by a very potent muse,” he sighs.

            My eyes leave the colourful artworks then and study him some more. He does indeed look driven. Grey circles hang from his eyes and his cheeks look sunken and underfed. His long black hair is oily and unwashed and his face sports a rough stubble for such a young man. Despite his dishevelled appearance I am instantly attracted to him. I can’t look away from the dark eyes that stare hopefully into my own.

            He blushes and looked away. Embarrassed, I do the same. I have at least ten years on him. I need to stay professional.

            “Well Mr….Oh I didn’t get your name,” I begin.

            “Ashley Wright. Please call me Ashley,” he stammers quickly.

            “OK then, Ashley! I do feel that your work is highly imaginative and skilfully done. It is quite different to what we usually sell, but I am willing to give it a go. We do actually have a charity auction in a few weeks that I would like to introduce you at,” I say, playing the role beautifully.

            The tension seems to leave him at my words. He collapses with relief, a tired smile playing at the corners of his full mouth. It is so infectious that my face brightens with a smile in return. His smile does something to me and I am possessed with the nerve to do something I never do. I ask him out.

            “Now I’m just going to get some dinner across the road. Would you like to join me?”

            To my amazement he accepts. I don’t care if he is just hungry, excited or feeling obligated. I want more time in his company. Feeling like a silly school girl I go to get my coat.

 

 

 

Ashley

            Rachel is great. She is smart, funny and soulful. When I am with her I can almost forget the monster in the mirror.

            Every time I glance at a reflective surface I see the beautiful witch. She stands at my shoulder and holds me with her green blue eyes so that I can’t look away. I want her. I need her. If only she didn’t push me so hard. Work harder Ashley, pour more of yourself into the paints, she whispers. She will drive me until there is nothing left and then laugh over my corpse.

            There is no rest for me. At night when I try to sleep she is there in my dreams caressing my aching flesh. Silver hair floats like smoke about her perfect form, brushing lightly now and then against my sensitive skin. She kisses my lips and moans escape from them when she leaves, so addicted I am to her touch. I’ll give you another vision, if you give me another piece of your soul, she sighs. And when I wake it is there behind my eyes until I release it onto the page, taking a slice of me with it.

            And then there is Rachel; calm, earthy Rachel. There is nothing stunning about her. And yet I love the way she looks. Dark curly hair sits on her broad, strong shoulders. Brown laughing eyes that hint at golden straw in the sunlight. I even love the tiny crinkle in the corner of her eye when she smiles. She has taken me under her wing and I show her so little of what she means to me. Even as she crosses the road to bring us coffee, the sun hits her hair and it leaps to life with streaks of red and copper. I can’t take my eyes off her.

 Yet she doesn’t need me to pull her down; me and my consuming muse who eats away at my being. So I hide my feelings and enjoy every moment she gives me of reality.

“You look very thoughtful,” she says tilting her head and turning up just one corner of her mouth.

“Just reflecting on life,” I say, longing to tell her the truth about how she has given me just a shred of hope.

“I thought you didn’t think. I thought you just leapt form one emotion to another,” she jokes. She is the only one who can tell me.

“You never complain about the emotion in my work,” I tease, referring to the fact that I am making us both a lot of money. From the very first auction the public couldn’t get enough of my energetic visuals. But it reminds me that I have the muse to thank for that and I want her out of my head. Thinking quickly I realise there is a way to forget her and spend more time with Rachel as well.

“Mt Ives Girls School is having a garden festival; fancy a look?” I suggest, hoping my posture doesn’t betray how much I want her to go with me. She raises an eyebrow and I can’t help laughing. Her face is so expressive making me enjoy her even more.

“I didn’t know you liked flowers,” she says. “Oh no, wait, I know what it is! You’re hoping to catch a glimpse of a catholic school girl or two,” she giggles and it is infectious.

We finish our coffee in the sun and then head to her car. All thought of the witch is gone.

 

Rachel

            The change is remarkable. I glance over to the wall where he is surrounded by a group of fans. Gone is the oily mop, replaced by a mane of soft black waves. He wears a black suit with a designer label and stands with his hands in the jacket pocket looking relaxed. I am not the only woman in the room who finds him desirable.

            But I am worried. Tonight the last of his collection goes on sale. He has not painted for months. I miss that part of him. He would bring me each new painting with such excitement and trepidation, so eager to please me. Now he seems happy to sit and relax with me. We don’t even need to speak.

            He sees me watching and beacons to me. When I reach his side, he surprises me by slipping a casual arm over my shoulder and introduces me to his new friends. I almost can’t bare his touch. I’m so close to him I can smell his aftershave and I long for more. I don’t listen to what he is saying because I am so busy thinking about how good it feels to be this close.

            In front of me one of his fans is giving me a withering glance. I’m sure she is wondering what an old hag like me is doing so close to Ashley Wright. Then she decides I am a mother figure and turns her adoring gaze back to the artist.

            He keeps me close all night as his original artworks go under the hammer for ridiculous prices. Somewhere in the fog of my brain I realise that Ashley has just made me a millionaire. But my mind is still filled with the scent of his cologne.

            As the gallery empty’s I suddenly find myself nervous to be alone with him. Soon though, we are the only people left in the building. I congratulate him on his success and motion towards the office with the intention of gently asking him why there have been no new works.

            When the door closes behind me Ashley takes my hand and pulls me close. My legs go weak and I’m unable to protest.

            “I’ve wanted to do this all night,” he says softly and kisses me deeply. I can’t help but respond. It is what I have wanted from the day I met him.

            My hand finds it’s way into his hair. I am almost as tall as him and our chests press together as he urgently covers my mouth with his sweet, full lips. Our breath comes hot and heavy. Soft moans escape his mouth and he runs his hand up my arm towards my full breast. I want him to touch me, but not here.

            “Let’s go to my flat,” I suggest.

 

Ashley

 

            Lying in her bed I am so relieved Rachel wanted to go to her apartment and not to mine. In her modern furnished rooms I can feel only Rachel. My own residence reeks of the witch and I have spent as little time there as possible lately. Finally I can resist no longer and I take a little piece of Rachel for myself. I am surprised at how much of the hole she is able to fill in just one passionate embrace.

            Rachel has drifted off to sleep and I can feel myself following her. For the first time in years I slip into slumber without fearing the monster.

            Her sunny smile greets me in the morning. It is as if no time has passed through the night and I feel nothing surging at my soul needing to be pushed out. There is only Rachel and her smooth earthly body seeking another journey into delight. I am eager to give it to her and she fills yet another large measure of the emptiness.

            It would have been perfect if she had not asked me the one thing that I wanted to bury.

            “If you can show me such passion, why haven’t you painted in so long?” she ventures.

            I knew she would ask and I dreaded my response. But I had decided weeks ago to tell her nothing but the truth.

            “I’ve turned my back on my muse,” I whisper and look into her sweet face for the compassion I need.

            “But without her there is no art,” she says. She is gentle but I know she wants more.

            “You don’t understand! She completely consumes me. I can’t sleep or eat until her visions spill out onto the paper. Every little bit of that energy takes a piece of me with it,” I plead.

            She thinks a while and I can see the conflict in her eyes.

            “Don’t you miss it, just a little?” she says.

            “Not when I am with you and I won’t give this up,”  comes my firm reply.

            Again she thinks and I am once again grateful for my smart earthy Rachel.

            “You need to contain her then. Give her one place that she can rule you and let her energy excite you there, and only there. Stay with me here at night and you can use your flat to work in when you need to.

            I leap on her and kiss her face, her eyes, and her mouth. It is the perfect solution if she can share me with the demanding, driving muse.

            “I have a lot to thank your muse for,” she laughs between my kisses. “Without her driving you to create there would be a lot less money. And it was she who drove you to my door.”

 A very innocent romantic story about two dolls.

In Death Do We Part Again

 

The light was dim and fat rain dripped from the palms and banana trees. John dared not close his eyes even at night, though sleep eventually over came him. On the Kokoda trail John fought for his country, fought for his life and thought of his sweetheart. Matilda waited faithfully for him in Australia. So many of his friends died before his eyes; those eyes that  blurred with tears of relief  when they saw Matildas sweet face looking up anxiously at the diminished ranks of men who had returned to their native soil. He married her soon after, lost in the comforting embrace of her sweet arms.

In this time of rationing their gifts were simple. Matilda was delighted when she opened the pink tissue paper lovingly wrapping the two dolls made by her younger sister, dressed in wedding clothes. She had named them after the bride and groom; John and Matilda. There was no money for a honeymoon. John bought Matilda a handsome two bedroom house. Right after the ceremony and dinner, John drove their worn Holden into the driveway and carried his new wife over the threshold.

Contended, Matilda went about setting up their residence with what they had. The side board handed down from her aunty dominated the sitting room. John watched smiling as Matilda lovingly placed the dolls side by side on its large shelves. She smoothed down the white satin dress, arranged the delicate lace veil and patted beads back into place.

Even the quiet, comfortable house could not erase John’s memories and he often woke dripping in sweat.

“Matilda, I can’t see you in the jungle!” he moaned through sleepy lips.

“Shhh John, I’m here, it’s alright,” soothed his young wife.

He looked at her with glazed eyes, struggling to surface from the dream.

“I lost you. It was so dark and wet and you were so far away,” he frowned.

“You’re home John. I’m right here with you,” she whispered stroking his black hair in the dark.

 His black hair turned grey, and her eye sight failed. Their children had grown up and flown the nest.  For more than sixty years John doll and Matilda doll watched from the side board as John’s back bent and Matilda chased grandchildren about the house. John doll’s suit faded and Matilda doll lost the sparkle of her beads with every granddaughter that held her tightly. Like all good things it came to an end, John dying first, and Matilda soon after aged eighty one.

They left behind many children, grandchildren and even one or two great grandchildren. Their meagre possessions were divided between them. Matilda doll went to one family while John doll was sent to another.

 

Unusual objects lined the shelves of Josephine’s shop. Bric-a-brac, dolls and fine china rubbed shoulders with new craft items and unique art works. While customers browsed, Josephine picked her way through a box of items brought in for sale. She had often dealt with this prospector who always managed to find her something interesting at the garage sales she frequented. Today was no exception. There were jugs, interesting plates, a red glass vase and a charming bridal doll. Josephine took her time examining the last item. The once white veil and satin shoes were marked in places and the beads on her dress were coming lose, but she was obviously very old and had plenty of character. One of the antique dealer’s hobbies was to restore old dolls, and this one seemed a perfect candidate. The prospector was paid well and left the shop. It was still fairly busy this warm Sunday afternoon, so Josephine laid the doll to one side and went to help her customers.

Before leaving the shop that evening, Josephine placed the aged doll carefully in a brown paper bag for the journey home. Monday was her day off. It would be a perfect time to start work on her newest project.

While she was carefully washing the years of dust from the cloth doll, Josephine found a name embroidered on the inside hem of the bridal dress; Matilda.

“I wonder if you are the Waltzing Matilda?” laughed Jo addressing the dripping doll.

Wednesday saw her back at work and the lovingly restored doll on the shelf. The satin shimmered, the beads were firm and the holes in the veil had been patched with more lace. Matilda was so beautiful Josephine was tempted to keep her for herself. She forced her fingers to dial the number of her most reliable doll collector.

“Hi David, its Jo, I just thought you might like to know a lovely new bridal doll came in today,” she recorded on his answering machine. He always returned her calls within the day.

David arrived later that day, much swifter than Josephine had expected. He was thrilled with the doll and paid the asking price without hesitation. Sadly Jo wrapped her up in white tissue paper and handed her over. David was a good friend, and a great customer, but letting this doll go was the hardest ever. Sensing her regret, David tried to reassure her;

“I have the perfect mate waiting for her at home. Why don’t you drop by after work and see that she settles in?” He had been trying to work up the courage to ask her that for months. Pleased, she accepted.

Time seemed to drag the rest of the day for Josephine. There were few customers and no prospectors. Apart from dusting displays there was little to do. David had promised dinner and her stomach was growling loudly by the time she drove up to his red brick terrace.

The interior of David’s house looked something like Josephine’s shop, and she felt right at home among the objects and antiques he delighted in collecting. David met her at the front door bursting with enthusiasm.

“You will never guess what,” he gushed. “The doll you sold me once belonged to my grandmother.”

“Really?” she laughed.

“I had my suspicions when I saw her, then I dug out this old photo as soon as I got home,” he said leading her into the living room. There against one wall was a massive side board he had inherited from his Grandmother. On its large shelf John Doll leaned against Matilda doll. David passed Jo the aging photo in which the same sideboard featured and the dolls sat side by side.

Caught up in the emotion of the moment, David put his arm around Josephine and squeezed her tight. She responded with a giggle.

Matilda doll sat next to John doll and smiled her immortal smile. She had found her way back to John Doll. If all went well, there would be a new family to watch grow old.