The entrance to the flat was off the main hall, near the front door, and there was an inner hall leading to the living-room and kitchen. The bedroom was at the front, accessed from the living-room which had a tired but comfortable three-piece suite and a casement door out into the walled garden. It was more of a yard, really, with a gravelled area and a few beds and some pots and tubs, the contents of which looked a little the worse for wear. Still, it was a little oasis and with a bit of effort would be lovely. Much better than her little room at the hospital.
The kitchen had a door out to the garden too, and there was a bench seat with a late honeysuckle tangling over the wall above it and scenting the night air with a sweet perfume that spoke of love and stolen moments. She made a cup of coffee and took it outside, sitting on the bench and resting her head back against the wall and thinking about Ryan.
He had gone back to his children, back to his duties and responsibilities and the world that he belonged to and from which she would always be excluded.
‘I love you,’ she whispered to the night air, and a cat came out of nowhere and helped itself to her lap, and she stroked it and rubbed its ears and was grateful for the company. Perhaps she should get a cat—or perhaps she just had.
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