William sat hunched over, his hands wrapped round the cup of tea he was drinking, peering through the gloom of the kitchen to where his mother sat. In the pale, dancing light of the fire, she seemed old. Her cheeks were sunken and her once bright, warm brown eyes had paled and gazed mournfully at her outspread fingers. He lifted the cup to his mouth and threw his head back to drain it. As he passed his mother on the way to the stairs, she took hold of his sleeve.
“And don’t forget to blow the candles out”.
In the silent warmth of the kitchen Mary sat and waited, listening for the familiar sound of heavy boots outside the window. As the glowing embers fell, the edges turning to grey ash, all that could be heard was the steady tick of the wooden cased clock on the mantle. The mesmeric pendulum swinging back and forth sending her thoughts back to happier times. Times when she didn’t sit alone bitter and resentful. Times when hardship was outweighed by happiness and hope had come from nowhere only to be cast back by a selfish act. The hollow chimes striking the hour echoed softly reminding her of her aching body that longed for the comfort of her bed. She winced as the infant shuffled irritably within her sending a driving pain up her spine. Lifting her head she swallowed back a tear and rubbed the thin gold ring on her finger with her thumb and waited.