Gran was a great reader. She loved murder mysteries, especially Agatha Christie’s. I was an only child, and had spent a lot of time with my Grandparents. Dad was an archaeologist. His work took him all over the world and mum sometimes accompanied him when I was older. Being with my Grandparents was home from home. Later I trained as a teacher and worked with inner city kids. Challenging to say the least, but I loved my job. After my Grandparents passed away, I inherited their house. It was a quaint single-storey cottage in a village near the coast.
grandmother
Silent Footsteps
Her soft blond hair had been sleeked back into a long plait that reached to her waist. Her blue taffeta dress rustled as she quietly crept up the wooden stairs, creaking beneath her feet. She held her breath. She didn’t want to be seen tiptoeing into her grandmother’s room.
The blinds were drawn but the morning sunshine escaped through the bottom of the bay window, casting shadows around the room. The big bed was covered with a colourful silk eiderdown.
She crossed the room to the dressing table, and touched the perfume bottle, and the soft yellow attachment. It felt like sponge. She couldn’t resist squeezing it and a soft spray of lavender evaporated into the air. She picked up the gold mirror on the shiny surface to see her reflection and gently lifted the brush to her hair. Opening the top drawer of the dressing table, she was disappointed it was empty, but a familiar smell met her nostrils, like mothballs, but something else. She could smell her grandmother’s embrace again, and feel her tenderness.
josephine nolan 