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She made her way up the lane her case trundling behind, bouncing over the bedrock where it broke through the hardened tracks, a bag of shopping bouncing against her knee. She thought of her Da sitting in front of the hearth forever re-lighting his pipe; the sulphurous smell of matches overpowering the wafts of tobacco. He had looked so ‘temporary’ after her Ma had died.He had always been the sort of man quick to smile, slow to frown. When he knew he was being watched he had seemed no different; it was the times when he didn’t know; those were the times when she felt her heart would tear. Some of the locals had gossiped about her decision to leave directly after he had been laid to rest; that she had been waiting for him to die just so she could get away. In one respect they were right but she had never begrudged him a single second and she had never wanted him gone.As she reached the top of the lane the old cottage was revealed sitting just below the top of the hill. She smiled even though the white-wash was faded along the north gable, the tiles of the roof were heavy with moss and the plant pots on the front window were cracked and only bore the dead skeletons of plants.She looked to the chimney and saw no smoke rising and realised it was the first time she had seen it this way.She remembered as a young girl sitting on the back step watching her mother gathering wood and being told that the fire in the house was hundreds of years old. She had laughed and her mother told her that the fire within had been lit from embers carried across from her Grandmother’s house and the fire was always fully stocked at the end of the night so the next morning it could be lit from the glowing embers. “Even during the summer?” she had asked.“Even during the summer, Maeve, even during the summer,” her mother had replied. Now a quarter of a century later she laughed herself as she remembered the look of puzzlement followed by her mothers’ high pitched laugh while shaking her head after she had asked “Why?” with all the innocence of a five year old.The morning air was heavy with the threat of a storm building with the heat from the summer sun. She looked at the sky to the north and could see large white fluffy clouds slowly rolling over the mountains, “When the mountains the clouds do blight… thunder all through the night… when the mountains so hard and so clear… the sky has nothing to fear… ”she whispered.She unfastened the wire twist that held the gate and walked up the short path to the front door; she smiled as she saw the pile of logs beneath plastic sheeting that her cousin Finbarr must have left within the last few days. She turned and looked at the front garden and the fields beyond and realised that Finbarr had obviously been maintaining the smallholding while she was away. She had told him to rent out the fields but looking at the condition of them she figured Finbarr had been running them himself. No-one renting them would have been so conscientious with them.Reaching for the small brass weather-beaten bell that hung to the side of the door she unhooked the clapper within, turning it over in her palm revealing the hidden key.Finbarr had obviously oiled the lock as it opened easily; she paused for a moment before stepping into the house of her birth. The stale air within made her sneeze, which stirred up dust motes which hung lazily in the air lit by the Ankara bayan escort sun streaming in behind her. She finally stepped fully into the kitchen/main room of the cottage, the open fire looked like a gravestone with no fire within; “well… I’d better get busy…” she said to the room.Half way through the afternoon Maeve felt she had cleaned enough to take a short break. Reaching up to clear the cobwebs and remove the dust from atop the “kings’ trusses” had proved tiring as she could only just reach when standing on the table. A county of small men, she thought; small women as well!All the windows had been opened and the freshening breeze had managed to banish the mustiness, though once or twice she felt that she had sniffed the old familiar smell of sulphur in the kitchen. She unpacked the bedclothes from their shrink-wrap and hung them out on the line to freshen and finally got the kitchen.After a small snack and a bottle of water she tackled her bedroom feeling that she wouldn’t be able to face her parents’ room until at least the next day. After two hours the bedroom was habitable enough for her to spend the night. She looked out of the window and noticed it had grown considerably darker.Stepping out through the front door she saw that the clouds had built up considerably and a complete blanket stretched almost to the horizon. The wind had picked up as well so she walked into the garden and gathered up the blankets and sheets she had hung out.Returning to the kitchen she looked at the cold dark fireplace; she hadn’t realised she had been putting off the lighting the fire realising when it was lit she would be home for good.She knelt in front of the hearth stone realising she had never seen her Ma or her Da light a fire from cold. She tore the pages from a newspaper and crumpled them up into small tight balls arranging them in a rough circle before loosely rolling another page and placing it so the pattern formed a capital ‘Q’. She looked at it for a moment and began to hum a quiet refrain while she unwrapped the kindling and spread it on top of the papers. Two more trips outside and she had a pile of wood that should last well into the night and a few dozen twigs she had gathered from the path to place on top her small unlit pyre.Still humming to herself she reached up to the mantel shelf and lifted down the box of matches from under the clock. Her eyes moistened as she looked at the swan on the box that must have been lying in the same place for the last five years. A touch of mildew stained one corner as she slowly slid the box open and lifted out one of the matches. “Enough tears…” she said to the match as she struck it along the box.She carefully added a couple of the smallest logs once the fire had taken hold and then moved to the sink beneath the back window and filled the kettle. Lifting the shopping bag from the floor she began to empty the contents onto the table; she reached up to the shelf and lifted down two mugs and was washing the second one when she realised she was on her own.She stopped and looked out of the window; the layer of cloud was almost black with a bright strip of blue at the far horizon; a flood of deep red light flowed towards her across the hilly landscape as the bottom edge of the sun seemed to cut through the turbulent ceiling. A tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it Escort bayan Ankara away roughly as the blazing red disc turned the world beneath the clouds into a crimson vista.“This is what I should have shown you Alan…” she slipped her purse from the shopping bag and opened it carefully; extracting a small passport of a dark haired man in his mid-twenties laughing wildly. “… will I ever stop crying Alan? Will I ever stop hurting?”A moment later the sun appeared fully beneath the cloud layer as it dropped towards the horizon; shadows stretching rapidly across the hills, the clouds seeming to boil and froth as they turned a bright red. She watched the landscape darken and the clouds pale from their fiery red through to pink till the sun disappeared beneath the horizon and the colours fled away across the canopy. She carefully replaced the photograph as she remembered the storm barely two months previously and almost half a world away.—————-They had dived beneath the canvas already soaked to the skin, laughing and smiling; they had pulled off their wet clothing in the close confines of the tent; the laughter had turned to kisses that had turned to caresses that had turned to slow sweet love-making. She had screamed loudly as she came; her rapture fighting against the noise of the hammering of the rain on the flimsy material above his head.As they both lay entwined in post-orgasmic bliss he had remembered the satellite phone left outside where they had watched elephants wander across the savannah towards the local drinking hole. She had told him to leave it till the morning or at least till the rain had stopped; it was safe enough in its water-proof holder. He said it might get washed away. She said they could cope without it; they were both reasonably experienced.He said it was only a hundred yards away.She wrapped her hand around his flaccid cock, feeling the slickness of their combined juices upon his flesh slowly drying. He grinned, telling her he would only be a moment. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and sucked them clean. He hesitated before kneeling and reassuring her it would be okay. She frowned at him before sliding her hand back to her still-wet pussy; slipping two fingers deep inside; his eyes fixed upon her slit.“You’d better hurry!” she declared.She watched him pull open the tent, a waterproof coat pulled over his head; his pale bare ass atop his tanned legs as he disappeared into the darkness.She began to twist her fingers inside her pussy as her left hand reached down to roll her clit beneath her first and fore-fingers.She never came.He never came back. —————-Huge black spots began to appear on the concrete path leading up to the front door, first one, then two, then four; she looked down at her silhouette etched on the grey surface by the single bulb hanging in the room behind her. Her shadow moved slightly as the breeze stiffened flowing past her; she heard the fire in the hearth crackle as the burning logs were fed with fresh air. She watched her shape slowly disappear as rain came down harder turning the path black; it felt like she was disappearing along with her shadow. Stepping forwards she turned her face upwards to the flow of water from invisible heavens.Her hair quickly matted to her skull before she shook herself from her reverie and returned to smoky warmth of Bayan escort Ankara the house. Opening her case she lifted out the towel (Alan had always put his towel in last, covering his clothes and tucking it down the sides of the case; she had never asked him why but had always smiled when she saw him packing) and hung it over a chair in front of the fire. Reaching up to the mantel shelf she lifted down the candle that always sat there. Lighting it from the fire she walked across the room, her hand wrapped around the flame; and placed the beacon in front of the window.Returning to the fire and lifting the towel she vigorously rubbed her hair dry. As she dropped the towel back onto the chair she saw the single electric bulb flicker; she bent over and placed another log onto the fire and settled herself into the chair. She had no idea how long she had sat there watching the myriad of shapes created in the ever changing flow of the flame.From her statue-like torpor she suddenly looked across to the window, the flame of the candle seemed to waver as her eyes fixed upon it. The lamp above her flickered twice and held steady for a moment before winking out; within a moment the room came alive to dance of the fire.She imagined her Da sitting where she was, her young self leaning against his legs, arms wrapped around her slim legs gazing into the flames as he told her stories told to him by the Shanachie.Her Ma sitting at the table, slowly turning cards as she played endless games of Patience; often smiling to herself and sometimes correcting him only to be told to tell the story herself if she knew better. She always replied, with a small smile, she could tell the stories better but then she couldn’t listen to his voice. He would lean down and whisper conspiratorially into the young Maeve’s ear “she’s a one!” always followed by a light kiss upon her cheek.On a night like this, when the electricity failed, the tales would turn to ghost stories or the tales of the mythical times. Time and again she would ask for his rendition of the Táin Bó Cuailnge about heroes and battles that had raged all around the province. Each time she heard the tales she would notice embellishments and missing parts. As she sat alone in the old cottage in the middle of a raging storm she thought she could hear her Da once again tell her of the “Hound of Culain” and his glorious deeds.The windows rattled as a particularly ferocious gust of wind and rain assaulted the small cottage, she glanced up at the candle flame wavering on the sill unable to remember when she learnt of the tradition to “light the way home”. If only I’d been able to “light the way home” for Alan she thought.She studied the flickering flame when she heard the faint sound. She focused on the rain lashed glass beyond the candle.Her brow furrowed; maybe it was a fox trying to get to shelter or a broken branch being blown along the garden wall. She got up and made her way to the window. Nothing was discernible through the streaks of water running down the glass. Glancing at the door latch beside her she took a deep breath and cautiously reached for it.The latch clicked and the door slammed open against the jamb with the force of the gale behind it. Her shadow streamed into the night seeming to dance in the flowing curtain of rain; the white-washed garden wall ghosted in out of vision even though it was barely eight yards away as water washed down the path towards the gate.There was a flash from behind the house; the garden wall blazed brightly etching the image into her eyes as the heavy rumble of thunder shook the house. She tried to hold onto the fading image; a strange shape had appeared beyond the wall near to the gate.
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