July 1994

July 1994

She stirred the sugar in the tea, and plopped the spoon into the sink.
Swirling clouds of steam rose off the beverage, and she cupped it in
her hands. She turned to look out the window, and spotted her youngest
daughter frolicking about in the sun. Her long blonde hair flapped in
the afternoon breeze, and her contagious giggle rang through the
house.
It was July, and in the late afternoon, the sun was still high. The
air was nimble and sweet, and the birds still tweeted from their nests.
The sky, which was dotted with white, fluffy cotton clouds, was a mild
blue. Along with the large overgrown garden, and small country cottage,
it looked as though it had been plucked from a painting and placed in
the very heart of Devon.
The young girl spotted her mother watching from the window, and she
waved. Grabbing her sandals, the small child skipped into the kitchen
and ran to her mother, grabbing hold of her cotton skirt and inhaling
the sweet aroma of the perfume.
"Were you having fun?" the woman asked, stroking her child's
hair.
"I was chasing the butterflies, but they flew away."
The woman laughed.
"Hop onto a chair, dinners almost ready."
The youngster clambered up onto a stool and sat at the breakfast bar,
swinging her legs and clasping her hands.
The woman sipped her tea as she swirled a wooden spoon around in a
large copper saucepan, the scent of tomato soup tickling her
nose.
"Nicola, do you want some bread with it or just by itself?" she asked,
pouring the soup into a bowl.
"Bread," came the answer.
"There you go," she said, placing the bowl in front of her daughter.
She watched her sip at the hot liquid. Such an innocent, fearless,
worriless child. Nothing in the whole world would harm her.
"Mummy? I think Toby wants to come in," Nicola prompted, nodding her
head to the back door where her mother could hear scratching and
whining. She strode across the room and swung open the door, greeted by
an enthusiastic Labrador. She laughed, and stroked him behind the ears.
Outside, the church bell tolled.

July 2002

"I don't care what you say, you are not having one!" she
shouted.
"You are so unfair! Everyone else is having one!"
"Nicola, you are far too young to be having a tattoo," her mother
stated.
"I'm 14! Almost 15! And my name isn't Nicola! It's Nicky."
"Your name is Nicola because that's what me and your father christened
you. I don't care if you think you are old enough for one, because you
are not having one. End of discussion."
Nicola turned and stormed out of the kitchen. Her mother sighed, and
rubbed her temple. Taking her mug in her hands, she sat down on the
sofa in the corner, curling up her legs underneath her. Upstairs, she
could hear Nicola giggling to one of her school friends on the
phone.
It seemed such a long time ago when Nicola was six. How quickly she
had grown up! Now she wasn't sweet, or charming or innocent. She was
rude, arrogant, selfish and annoying. And her mother loved her for it.
She smiled, and sipped her tea.