Kitty

Moving Home

Moving Home

Kitty made her way downstairs and into the narrow kitchen, where she flicked the switch on her coffee maker for her second cup of the morning, putting the capsule into the fancy little machine that was now indispensable. She opened the cutlery drawer, now much depleted as she’d already made a start on packing up the kitchen. Two sets of knives, forks and spoons rattled around, the sight of which made her feel a little lonely. She had a flashback to happy evenings hosting dinner parties for up to twenty of their friends squashed around the table, elbows tucked in, plates smeared with gravy, the constantly refilled wine glasses catching the light from the chandelier overhead.

She closed the drawer, picked up the small vanity case that Sophie had brought down from the loft earlier and set it on the kitchen table. As she popped the tarnished brass lock, she gazed at the contents, momentarily frozen with the memories they evoked. She hadn’t expected to cry, but the discovery of what lay on top sent a wave of sad recollection coursing through her. She reached in and gently lifted out her mum’s hairbrush, its back beautifully worked in silver and mother-of-pearl. Turning it over in her palm, she ran her fingertips through the fine boar’s-hair bristles, touching the long, dark hairs that still sat entwined about their base.

Part of her mum.

Kitty couldn’t stop the sob that found its way along her throat and left her mouth as a loud cry. She pictured that morning in her childhood when she’d sat on the staircase in Darraghfield as her mum plaited her hair. The day she met Angus for the first time. She allowed herself to dwell briefly on that fourteen-year-old innocence, that momentous Easter holidays when adulthood had loomed so suddenly and from such different directions it left her almost breathless.

Now, nearly forty years on, Kitty wondered how she might do things differently if she had the chance to rewind time. If only her mum had been well that day, if only she had taken up Kitty’s invitation to come and sit by the pool, had counselled her confused, naive, headstrong daughter to take it slowly, to not to be swept off her feet by the first boy who come along and seemed to show an interest…

Too many ifs. Kitty reminded herself sternly of what she’d said to Sophie earlier about not having regrets. The coffee machine gave off its drone to let her know her coffee was ready. Sniffing up her tears, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and went to grab her little espresso cup.