Timeline

I moved in with Melanie after uni. She needed someone to share the rent with and I worked close. Hendale Mansions. Funny name for a concrete block with dirty vinyl framed windows. Funny that I stayed as long as I did.

I remember I was agitated when I got home that night. And it wasn’t because the café was shut when I desperately needed it to be open, or because I nearly cut my finger fighting with the bloody key in the post slot again. Or because when I finally got it open the only envelope inside had FINAL REMINDER stamped on it in red.

I’d known Piero’s was closing. After decades of grinding coffee beans for an ever-declining clientele I wasn’t surprised. Still, it had hit me anyway, walking past the white and glass door, shut when it should be open. No Gio or Ant there in the window, bending over mugs of steaming coffee, creating art with hot milk.

I’d been fed up after another day of unfulfillment at work. I’d taken my usual route to my desk via the Ladies that morning, because I always arrived at work a mess after catching my hair on that ridiculous dream catcher every day on my way out of the flat. Melanie’s insistence that it’s important to place dream catchers correctly - but then sticking it right beneath the front door – always baffled me. It’s just sodding annoying to catch your head on it all the time. But she’d hate it if I moved it; she’s always said it would filter out the bad stuff before you started your day… or something like that. So I’d stood in front of the mirror, trying to fix my hair, mulling over the day ahead.

The morning had panned out as uninterestingly as expected; I’d taken early lunch, gone back to the flat for a change of scene, taken too long, way over an hour, before getting back; it was just really nice to be there in the middle of the day. Our flat has always sat empty during the daytimes, with us only ever in of an evening, watching TV with dinner. Saturday mornings we were there too, I guess, having breakfast and discussing who was on bin duty.

In the middle of the day, even the horrid brown couch seemed less horrid, more comfortable, sun-kissed and so much less brown. The daylight seemed to creep in below the nets to join me like a friend, less like a spy that sees me sitting eating chocolate on a Friday after work while everyone else is rushing to change in the office toilets before going out and having fun.

Days and weeks had all seemed to merge just lately. But then, for quite some time, hadn’t all the days and weeks been similar, I’d asked myself.

Thinking back now, the answer is no. Yes, they’d all been boring at work, and not one day held anything like happiness for me. But no. The days had all been different. Because of Melanie. I mean, if it isn’t one thing with Melanie it’s another; her vitality has kept me going.

For a while, she was always posting up the fun she was having on Facebook while I was slogging away at my desk; trips to the zoo with friends she’d made in France who were over for a visit; days spent traipsing from café to café, trying new twists on coffees, with Agnieszka and Valda who she’d met in Poland when over for a wedding. So many places, people. She had more fun in Poland than I had there, I thought as I clicked through the string of photos; mugs of flavoured latte or bowls of cappuccino topped with cinnamon hearts or chocolate flakes, a tall glass of caramel honey glazed mocha on an ornate saucer, sitting pretty on quaint checkered cloth.

I always liked everything. Comic, the girl Melanie met in Asia ten years ago doing TEFL, also liked everything. Sue, Comic’s friend, Melanie’s ‘friend of a friend’, did too. And then other randoms, people Melanie had probably never met, they loved or haha’d. Never any reaction from family though. Of course not, Melanie’s mum had a Facebook account she never accessed and her dad, I don’t think, even knew it existed – not really. Funny really, because I couldn’t get Annabel, my sister, to stop liking my stuff, not to mention those ridiculous comments she leaves with tons of exclamation marks. At least with no siblings Melanie didn’t have that problem.

But that night as I sat on the sofa, back to being its usual dull brown, I’d flexed my sore finger, tossed the reminder aside with my bag, and felt the familiar fade. My life before played in my mind, a solitary colour reel; me smiling with new friends at school, laughing with family on picnics, holidays, at home at Christmas; me and Melanie at Graduation followed by dinner, clubbing, champagne flowing. Too bright… I’d closed my eyes against the memories, breathed deep and opened them again, and there I was. Dark, and in darkness, as the evening light faded with me. Just like it had before. But I’d needed it to be bright again.

So, we’d started something new together, Melanie and I. Where Piero’s used to stand, where our memories were, a book shop took it’s place. Old Style. It was perfect, an independent store with a coffee stand at the back. Sanded wood and velvet couches. It wouldn’t last long, but we’d love it while it did. They held a knitting circle once a week. I used to knit with mum years ago. I wasn’t bad. I had three balls of her wool in my wardrobe still.

We had fun again. Melanie posted pictures of our half hats, quarter scarves. Later came whole hats. My favourite update was the pink gloves with four fingers on one hand. Agnieszka haha’d. Valda liked. Comic commented once; I thought you hated to knit!! - that upset me. I hadn’t known that Melanie had tried knitting before, that she hadn’t liked it.

It was Anne who upset me the most though. I remembered her, vaguely, from uni. And from that day. It was then that I knew Melanie would have to leave.

Pam and Greg had come round while I was drinking tea, reading the paper. I hadn’t bothered to dress, wasn’t expecting anyone to turn up in the middle of my Sunday. They hadn’t looked too hot themselves, Greg’s hair all but gone now, Pam’s a lightening grey; we missed Melanie.

I’d made more tea, found some biscuits, set them on a saucer. Pam had asked how I was doing while Greg stared into his cooling cup. She’d asked if I still saw Mandy, mine and Melanie’s friend from the art club we’d joined a few years back. No, I’d answered, not lately.

It got wet out; rain started tapping at the windows and I’d stood to pull them fully shut. Pam had left the washing on the line, she said, they had to get back.

So it was Mandy too, then. Melanie’s de-friending hadn’t been enough to keep her away. But Anne, she’d got in touch first, gone to find Greg at the allotment Melanie had organized for him when he first retired. I should have known. That day, at the funeral; I should have known.

Anne had been new to Facebook. How could anybody be new to Facebook in this day and age, I’d wondered. She’d found Melanie’s page. Obviously Melanie didn’t accept her friend request, but still, she wasn’t as careful as she should have been. Cover picture changes, they show up. We hadn’t realised that.

***

I’m just about done packing now, the van will be here in a bit. It’s time for a change, Annabel said to me the other day, her voice softer than before. Living with Annabel had worked fine the last time, after the accident, after mum and dad. She’d told me I needed a change then, too.

The phone has been ringing intermittently all morning. I give in, pick up the worn plastic receiver and speak into it for the last time. My hello is shaky; I don’t sound like me.

‘Melanie?’ It’s Valda… something about Anne…

‘No, Melanie’s gone’ I hear myself respond, my voice grey as the phone I have just unplugged from the wall.

The van is here. Annabel is calling my name. I force myself toward the door, open it, walk through. I smile sadly as I catch my hair, wonder if, just maybe, it caught any of the bad stuff this time. Annabel smiles back at me; she doesn’t realise my smile was not for her. I look up at the frail, feathered, willow hoop a moment as I steady its swing, before turning back to my sister, smiling, for her this time.