Rita was standing in the kitchen, watching the blackbirds in the garden. The sunlight made her squint, a thin, yellow light, with flecks of gold as the morning crept into afternoon.

Apricot light, her mother used to call it. Peach light. Autumn time light that made a person forget grey skies and city life. The air was sweeter here, standing in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. Late white roses bloomed by the kitchen window, she could smell them now as she inhaled, and when the blackbirds called, it was possible to feel the vibration of their song. She didn't want to go home, to her empty flat. It was as though the world had stopped turning, as though she might, for a little while at least, be safe here.

She made her cup of tea and held it against her chest. It was warm against her fingers and she felt the heat of the steam rise up into her face as she moved from the kitchen to the sitting room. She pushed open the door.

The room was wide and painted a pale grey, the colour of a dove feathers. It faced the back of the house, and the air in here was so cool that she shivered and wrapped her arms about herself, holding the mug closer to her as she moved about the room, sipping her tea.

She ignored the long sofa, instead she made her way about the room slowly, taking it in. Somehow she felt as though she should make the most of this. Never again would she have reason to be in Connie Beauchamp's home, alone, a place where the true Connie was left every morning, and returned to every evening.

She looked at the photos on the mantle piece, all framed in white and set out carefully against the painted wood, the dim sunlight failing to pick out even the tiniest fleck of dust on them.

They were all pictures of Grace. One of her sitting on a sledge in the snow, her coat and scarf pulled so tightly about her head that only her eyes and the very tip of her nose were visible, but still Rita could see how brilliantly her eyes smiled at whomever had taken the picture.

There were others, school photos with every hair in place, plaited tightly over her shoulder. A photo of Grace unwrapping presents on Christmas morning, and a photo of her standing on a beach, her feet disappearing into the sand and she was holding out a large white shell as though she were handing it to Connie...Rita felt her cheeks begin to burn as she looked at Connie in the photo. Her hair was loosely tied at the back of her neck, curling down her back. The brilliant light from the sun caught the strands of gold and auburn in her hair and the pin pricks of green within her eyes. She was smiling at her daughter, and Rita could almost hear the laughter that must have laced her voice in that moment. Sunglasses perched on her head, brown tortoiseshell ones. And she was leaning back, sitting in the sand, resting back on her hands, wearing a pink bikini.

Rita leant closer. This woman had the ability to burn her up alive; she could do it in a minute flat, and the thought of it wasn't easy to forget. Her heart beat erratically in her throat and a flutter of unexplainable excitement made her stomach wince. She allowed herself this moment of guilty pleasure and she looked at Connie's body in the photo. Her legs outstretched before her, tanned and smooth and crossed at the ankles, only the thin band of pink at her hip breaking up the line of her body as Rita took in flat skin of her stomach, and the gentle curve of her breasts, held within the pink bikini top. And she couldn't help but notice that the fabric was the same exact shade as the palest of climbing roses. The tint of seashells on a deserted beach, or the mouth of someone you might want to kiss...

Before she realised Connie was beside her, she had placed her hand on Rita's shoulder, the very tip of her littlest finger just touching the bare skin at the side of her neck making her shudder as she turned, looking up at her, so startled that she might as well have been shot.

"I just wanted to wake you up."

Connie smiled as she spoke, her eyes held that look of tell tale amusement and her lips turned downwards at the corners. Waking her up was exactly what she had achieved. One look at her and Rita's blood was pounding in her ears. One look, and whatever mean, hateful thoughts she had had about Connie in the past were shattered. Gone. Replaced by the beating of her own heart.

Mini Peacelet: Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you think that I've managed to capture their personalities...such a relief :) xx

LittleBooLost: I always look forward to your lovely reviews, and hearing what you think xx

Danielle888: Thank you! Xx

Saz85: Connie and Rita will most definitely be getting together :) feel free to tell me if I'm going to slowly with the story, I tend to get a bit caught up in the detail! Xx

VictoriaEsmay, J-Mirth and everybody else... thank you so so much for the lovely reviews! They make me smile throughout the day :)

xxx