Grief swept over her and she braced her hands on the sink, head bowed.Aunt Maggie had died too soon.She’d been so fit and healthy it had never occurred to Chelsea that she would have to deal with losing her.Chelsea had been planning to visit her next holiday, but she’d been a month too late.
Tears dripped onto the metal sink and she sniffed and straightened, pressing her hands against her eyes.She poured a glass of water and sipped.There would be time to cry later.Right now she needed to figure out her next steps.
She scanned the kitchen.Too many memories of baking with her aunt or sneaking in to pinch a biscuit.
She hadn’t been prepared for this—for the memories this place would raise.
In the three days since she’d been fired, she’d been so busy packing her entire apartment and searching for work that she hadn’t considered what it would be like being back here.
It was far too quiet.
Aunt Maggie had liked to play classical music on her record player.She’d always said it soothed the plants and encouraged them to grow.
Chelsea wandered into the living room where the roll-top desk was open and the two sofas were covered in a layer of dust.She lifted the perspex lid covering the record player.The Best of Tchaikovsky was already in there.Perhaps Aunt Maggie had been listening to it on the day she’d fallen from the ladder.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, she placed the needle into position and music soon filled the room.She closed her eyes as Swan Lake played.
First step was to review the house, catalogue Maggie’s things, and estimate how long it would take to pack.Next would be to call her mother and get a straight answer from her about the property.Then she’d get groceries and track down Darren, who hadn’t been home when she’d dropped around earlier.
She opened the note-taking app on her phone and moved her way through the house, making a list.
Chelsea left Aunt Maggie’s bedroom to last.It felt like such a breach of privacy to go through everything she had held so dear.
The photo of her fiancé still sat on top of the dresser in pride of place.Aunt Maggie used to brush her fingers over the frame every morning before leaving the room.
The rocking chair she’d found on a verge pickup and had reupholstered in a floral fabric.It was where she’d sit and read on a winter’s day.A small table next to it to rest a cup of tea, also upcycled from an op shop.
A bunch of photos and paintings on the walls of different gardens and of Chelsea and her mother with Aunt Maggie.
Her mother hadn’t been kidding when she’d said Aunt Maggie was a hoarder.There was so much stuff, but Chelsea had little use for any of it, and she would guarantee Ezra wouldn’t want her mother bringing much of it into his house.
She went into the kitchen and filled the kettle.No, that wouldn’t work.She had no milk.They’d cleared out the pantry and fridge of perishables after the funeral, knowing they wouldn’t be back soon.She plugged in the fridge and then sat at the kitchen table to call her mother.
“Did you get hold of Darren?”Sabine asked.
“He wasn’t home.I’ll go back after five.”She checked the time.Still an hour.“I ran into Johann Mueller though.”
“The property developer?”
“Yeah.He’d driven into the back garden and was taking photographs.”Annoyance replaced the sadness.
“That’s cheeky of him.”
“He said Ezra had implied the sale was imminent, so he was preparing.”Chelsea bit her lip, waiting for her mother’s response.
“I’d be surprised if Ezra had spoken to him, but I’ll ask.He knows I won’t sell Lilydale without your permission.It was our second home.”Her mother’s voice broke and the turmoil that had plagued Chelsea for the past hour dissipated.
She let out a shaky breath.“Thanks Mum.I was a little worried.Could you send me a copy of the proposal?”She wanted to know exactly what Johann wanted.
“Of course.I should have sent it earlier.How are you doing, being there again?”
She sighed, scanning the room.“It’s tough.There are so many wonderful memories here.”
“The best,” Sabine agreed.“Aunt Maggie was a hoot.”
Chelsea smiled.“All her colourful overalls are hanging in her wardrobe still.”
“Because you can never have too many pockets,” Sabine said.
