Shifting lights, lights shifting. As they settled, I sensed the source of the brightness. Above me was the harsh strip lighting of the hall onto which my flat opened. The key turned in the lock, and with a satisfying click, the door swung open. I was almost bowled over by a gust that smelled like tobacco. Confused, I ventured forward to investigate. Creeping across the threadbare carpet, cane clutched in my hand like the gun of a soldier, I stumbled. I struggled to regain my breath. It was a man's laced-up shoe I had tripped over, wide at the back and increasingly thinner until it reached a sharp point at the toe. A winklepicker, just like Dad's.

My heart skipped a beat the moment I heard the key in the lock. She was here; she had finally arrived. The statue that was me stood next to the sofa and watched attentively as the girl who meant the most to me stepped back into my world.

She was fiercely independent now, her manner different. She strode confidently across the room, but as she did so, tripped over my shoe. Grabbed by thousands of hands, I was dragged toward her; it took all the strength I had to fight them and stand still. She would not want me to help. She needed to show herself she was strong.

She looked just the same as she had six months ago, before I boarded that plane. Her heart-shaped face was still pale as milk and her skin thin as tissue paper; one touch would have caused unequivocal damage.

The twinkle in her huge ice-blue eyes was still prominent, but there was something different. As I wondered what this was, I scrutinized them, and that was when it hit me: there was wisdom in her once-innocent eyes.

The blood in my veins turned cold, and a shiver pulsed down my spine. How could I ever have left her?


I made my way to the kitchen, hoping to find something to calm my nerves. I ran my hands over the cold marble counter, flinching as I sensed something. My fingers moved over the leathery shapes, and the sharp aroma of citrus filled my nostrils. Orange peel.

I spun around, back on guard. “Don't be stupid,” a voice inside me whispered. “You're imagining all this. You must have forgotten about the peel, and surely the shoe belongs to the building's caretaker.” Somewhat relieved, I decided to occupy myself with housework.

I could hear my clothes tumble around in torrents of warm sudsy water. My work was finished, and I sighed in relief as I sank into my beloved chintz armchair. This chair had been with me through everything. The day my mum died, when the world turned black, and last autumn when Dad boarded that plane, it had supported me. I pressed my nose against the back of the chair and inhaled the rich, musty scent of cigars and dried rose petals, a whiff of both my mum and my dad.

Shaking myself from my reverie, I tried to lose the heady, safe feeling; I was not going to let this happen again. I had to be autonomous now.

Just as I reached for the radio, I could have sworn I heard footsteps.

“Relax – no one's here. Now let's listen to Peter White,” I told myself.

There they were again, but this time the steps had escalated into shallow breaths. I was sure there was someone here. I was not just being paranoid.


Within a few inches, we were within a few inches. So close. She sank into that old decrepit chair.

Good morning, it's time for “You and Yours.”

Her pale, spider-like fingers had flicked the power switch. I gazed over at her body, vigilantly upright, listening over the dulcet tones of the radio, waiting for another outburst. She was so delicate, her frail arms encased in a lilac cardigan, a string of pearls draped precariously around her shoulders. She was so nearly there. Five minutes and she would know. Five minutes.


The orange, the tobacco smoke, the winklepicker: in that moment, I understood. I could be independent, but I didn't need to be. He was back; he had finally returned.


A shriek erupted from her frangible form, and I was by her side within a second. She could cope without me, but she didn't have to any longer. I was here. As I embraced her petite frame, I understood. It was just us now, and I would never let anything come between us again.