There are no more strained question and answers as we sit around the bench with our drinks. We both just talk about stuff, everyday things that are going on. Even though we talk on the phone every week or so, there is so much more conversation when we are face to face. For a prim and proper man my dad is one hell of a gossip. I guess it comes from years in the lunch room at the police station. When they weren't talking about minor infractions and training days, it was whose parent is doing what behind whose back, who got caught drinking, and who did a dodgy deal with whom. I feel genuine laughter ripple through my body as dad tells me about Conrad, the local handy man who is really not that handy. It surprises me that he still has a licence, or any customers left for that matter. Apparently some new residents in town hired him to fix their roof and somehow Conrad managed to knock down a major support wall in their house, but didn't touch the roof! Then he tried to fix the wall and broke through a water main and flooded their kitchen! Then he brought is brother in on the clean up job and he is just are reliable as Conrad. By the time dads gets through the story there are tears rolling down my face and my stomach hurts from laughing.

"OK kid," dad says after another hour or so, "I think it's time for bed. Let's go get you some clothes."

I follow dad down the other end of the house to his bedroom. I freeze in the doorway as he turns on the light. Nothing has changed; absolutely nothing. Mum's shoes are still sitting on the shoe rack next to dads at the far end of the room. Her necklaces and bangles are hanging on little hooks on the dressing table next to her jewellery box. The bright scarfs she always wore hang over the ends of the mirror. Even her lipsticks are still lined up on her bedside table. Everything is clean, not a speck of dust as if they had been used yesterday rather than twenty years ago. Dad opens the wardrobe and I can see it is the same there. All her clothes hang just as she left them, nothing moved, nothing thrown away, nothing changed. I feel a kind of shocked stupor flow over me as dad takes a step to the side, inviting me to pick out some clothes, some of mums clothes.

As I reach out and touch the coloured fabrics in front of me a wave of peach scent hits my nose. Images of mum flash before my eyes wearing the clothing now between my fingers. The visions are so much more vivid with her bouquet attached to them. I take a staggered breath and look at dad feeling the tears start to well in my eyes.

"I know Bella." he says putting his hand on my shoulder. I can see by the look in his eyes that he truly understands me right now. "I'll leave you alone for a bit shall I?" he suggests, squeezing my shoulder gently before leaving the room. The good thing about dad, he doesn't hover

It is so hard for me to be in here with mums things like this. It really feels as though she isn't gone. Maybe that is why dad keeps things this way. But I don't think that is the only reason. Without the worry of Mike hanging around I think I am truly seeing dad for the first time in years. I know he likes to believe she is coming back, but now I see how much conviction he seems to have in the fact that she will. I can see it now, stronger than I realised this afternoon, but I just don't understand it. I used to think it was just wishful thinking on his part, but its not. He genuinely believes it and I want to know why.

I feel like I'm a little girl again. Do you remember what it felt like as a child when you were doing something that you knew was wrong but you kept doing it anyway? I don't feel right going through her things in case she walks in and catches me.

The tears continue to flow softly down my face as I look at each piece hanging in the wardrobe. Every garment holds a memory for me and although they are all beautiful visions of my mother, there is genuine sadness attached to each recollection. I don't think I have really felt this before. I don't feel as though I truly mourned mum. Maybe that is because of dads faith in her return, maybe it is because I suddenly became a homemaker at ten with no time to think about what was going on. I now understand why dad never grieved like he was expected to. She was coming back and there was no need to mourn when he knew that. So many of his friends and colleagues were genuinely worried about him. When he went back to work after three days they thought he wasn't accepting the truth and were concerned for his mental state and my safety. They all thought he would snap one day when it all sunk in, but it never happened. He continued to work right up until his retirement a few years ago without the slightest sign of mental instability. A few years after her disappearance people stopped asking about mum and a short time later they stopped worrying about dad. After a while I think everyone just forgot. I can't stay in here any longer. I pull some random things out of the wardrobe and leave without looking back at the time capsule which is dads' life.

I take a breath to steady myself before going back to dad at the other end of the house. I give him a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek before slipping away to my old bedroom. Not much has changed in here in twenty years but at least there have been changes. My small pink wooden bed has been replaced with a wrought iron queen size bed. The posters of boy bands have been replaced with pictures of my friends and my old cassette player is now a CD player with MP3 compatibility. But these are all changes I made when I was here.

I now feel truly emotionally exhausted. I drop mums cloths on the chair near the window and sit on the edge of my bed, kicking my shoes and socks off one by one and removing my shirt. I notice one of mum's silk night dresses is lying across the bed next to me. I reach out and gently stroke the fabric. I'm not sure if I can handle wearing it tonight. I hold it in my hands, bringing it up to my face, pressing it against my cheek and breathing in the scent I pray is still there. And this is how I sleep, dressed in my jeans and singlet with mums' night dress cradled in my arms.


It's dark but I can feel my mystery man close by. What is he doing here and have I forgiven him yet? A small light moves through the darkness in the distance towards me becoming larger the closer it gets. I squint trying to make out something, but there is just the light. Suddenly I feel his breath on my ear as he murmurs my name pulling my hair back over my shoulder. I feel his body adding a chill to the air behind me. His cool hand slides down the nape of my neck, gently sliding my strap off my shoulder. Goose bumps cover me as his lips follow his hand across my body, barley touching my skin. I feel overcome with heat, my heart races and my head begins to spin.

"I have to go," he says sounding so distant already.

I cry out, "No!" but he is already gone.

This space is brighter now and I realise that the light coming towards me is actually a person. I can see their backlit shape clearer, they must only be ten meters away. I stare at the form, trying to make out some discernable features. An orange and yellow scarf flicks out to the side of them, blown by a wind I can't feel.

"Hello my Bella, my Sunshine," my mothers' musical tone fills this strange space.

"Mum?" I stutter. She is standing in front of me surrounded by a halo of white light. She dresses as I remember in a long flowing orange skirt and a loose fitting orange and yellow tie dyed shirt. The scarf I saw before is tied to the side of her neck with the ends hanging either side of her shoulder. Her flowing brown hair is longer than I remembered and it is now filled with flecks of grey. She looks at me now with her kind and tender eyes from a face which has not changed.

"I think you need my help," she says reaching out to take my hand. I hear the familiar light clinking sound as the multitude of bangles on her wrist brush against each other.

"I don't know what is happening to me mum," I feel my voice cracking, filled with emotion.

"I will tell you what I can, but I don't have much time." I can hear the urgency in her voice.

"I don't understand," I say as I feel the tears welling.

"I'm not supposed to be here," she replies looking over her shoulder. "I've broken a lot of rules to get this far."

"But where have you been?" I plead as my tears begin to flow over.

"I'm so sorry Sunshine. I would have come back if I could have. You must believe me," she begs calling me by her nickname for me.

"But you left," I whisper. "You left dad and me all alone."

"I had no choice. I couldn't put you in danger."

"Danger…" I begin but Mum places her hand over my mouth and we both freeze and listen.

"I have to go," she hisses quietly at me. "I am sorry my beautiful Sunshine," and then she is gone and it is dark again.

I find myself gasping for air as I sit up in bed. I flick on my bedside lamp, looking around the room. There is nothing here out of the ordinary, except for me of course. Was that a dream? I'm not really sure of anything right now and I have been thinking of mum all day. She is the only one who calls me by that name and the only one who ever did, so it's only natural that I would dream about her that way. But all the talk of danger, not being able to come back to us and breaking rules, do I really have that much imagination? Why is it I can never get any answer only more and more questions. I lay my head back down on the pillow and attempt to salvage some sleep tonight.


A/N

Please excuse my Australian spelling, as I am after all Australian.

Reviews are like Edwards night time touches.

Thanks