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Readjusting her grip on the suitcase, she followed the road until she reached the end, which didn’t take too long. The concrete path had turned to dirt, and the wheels of her suitcase picked up the loose dust, creating an exaggerated trail behind her. Continuing along, she eventually saw the signpost for Figtree Lane.

Her childhood home was perched at the top of the hill where the lane ended. The jacaranda was still there. It was that time of year when it was in full bloom; gorgeous lilac coloured flowers covered the canopy of the tree. It was a shame they only lasted a few weeks per year.

The house was now an attractive baby blue instead of the faded maroon she remembered. As she got closer, she noticed pink and white flowers in the brand new window boxes. The front door was now white, adorned with shiny gold hardware.

She was surprised that Molly hadn’t painted a mural on the side of the house. She could imagine her mother, the famous artist, creating a tourist spot at the family home.

Reaching the front door, she dropped her bags and rang the doorbell. The door swung open, and her mother appeared, her mouth open as she registered her daughter at the door.

It was the first time Hazel had seen her in years. They’d face-timed a few times, but they mostly just spoke on the phone. Her mother had gotten older, and it was somewhat of a shock to Hazel. She’d let her hair go grey, not totally, but now there were streaks of it, sandwiched in between the chocolate brown. The lines on her face had deepened, and new ones had also appeared. But Molly’s eyes still sparkled with youth.

“Hi Mum,” Hazel said as her mother’s face lit up.

“Hazel! What a surprise!” Molly pulled her daughter into a hug. “Come in, come in.” She reached down and grabbed Hazel’s backpack as she pulled the door open. “What are you doing here?” Molly couldn’t help herself. Again, she pulled Hazel into a tight embrace.

“Well, you know Tim and I broke up. And I, um, lost my job.” Hazel looked down at the floor, not surprised that the timber planks had been re-sanded and polished.

“Oh sweetie, what happened?” Molly’s face fell at her daughter’s news.

“I don’t even know. The economy, apparently. I didn’t get much of a reason other than that. I was still on probation.” Hazel shrugged. “Anyway, the stars must have aligned. I came back to the apartment with a note to be out within the week. I thought it would be okay if I came back here to stay for a while?”

“Stay as long as you need. The door is always open, honey, you know that.” Molly flashed a smile and carried Hazel’s backpack up the steps to her daughter’s old room. The door was already open, and Hazel could see that her mother had had some fun in there too.

“I hope you don’t mind; I thought it was due for an upgrade.”

Hazel examined the room, her old wrought-iron bed had been replaced with an ornately carved four-poster, with softly flowing linen resting atop the bed frame, which cascaded down like a curtain. The walls had been painted a crisp white, replacing the previous bright purple and old posters filling every available space. She turned to see the window seat, covered in pillows, which framed the view of the mountains. The room looked particularly magical as the setting sun shone through the window.

Hazel dropped her suitcase on the floor. “Wow, Mum, it’s beautiful. You’ve done a great job!”

“Thanks, honey. All of your things are packed up in the attic; I haven’t thrown anything away.”

“I’m just glad my room isn’t a home gym.”

“Oh, goodness no. I’d rather vomit!’ Molly exclaimed. “I’ll let you pack your things away.”

Molly drifted out of the room as Hazel opened her bag. She put her clothes in the wardrobe and placed her toiletries on the little duchess table. She kept her suitcase on the floor in the corner of the room. Seeing it every day would remind her this was only temporary. A part of her could not believe that after everything, she had ended up back here, homeless, unemployed and single. Her nostrils flared at the thought. She finished unpacking, then headed downstairs.

Hazel and her mother caught up as they prepared dinner. They discussed Hazel’s trip to the Maldives, and Molly listened as Hazel moaned about Tim’s poor timing of their breakup. Molly filled her daughter in on her weekly book club meetings and debated over whether she should host an artist’s meetup for early next year. They eventually sat down to a dinner of pasta with spring vegetables and a creamy lemon sauce.

“I must get you to help with the garden while you’re here. I’ve decided that I want to grow herbs. I’m sick of buying packets of them all the time. I really should have started a garden years ago,” Molly declared.

“Sure, that will give me something to do.” Hazel speared her fork into a tiny green pea. “Are you going to have a gallery night this year? You haven’t had one yet.”

“I was planning on having one in the next few months. It’s nearly October; I was thinking late November. I’ll have to complete Burst by then. I think that’s doable.” Molly began mumbling to herself.

“Burst - is that the name for your new collection?”

“Yes, I thought of it only yesterday!” Molly paused. “Will you still be here then?”

“November? I wasn’t planning on it, no. But if you really need my help, I guess I could stay until then. I just don’t want to be out of work for too long.”

“Oh darling, it would be great if you could.”

Hazel hesitated for a moment before she spoke, “I’ll be there. I’ve never missed one before, even if the last few have been via video call.” Hazel smiled at her mother. Molly beamed and clasped her daughter’s hand in hers.

The following morning, Molly grabbed her keys from the benchtop and waved to Hazel as she walked out the back door. Pausing, she called, “I’m just going to pop down to the shops to get some things for lunch. I should be back in about an hour. Oh, and Sam, my contractor, is doing some work on the house today, so you may see him around.”

Sitting at the breakfast bar, Hazel waved her hand goodbye. She picked up her phone and realised after about twenty minutes that she was doomscrolling social media. It felt like everyone was in Europe, sipping wine by the Eiffel Tower or dining on seafood pasta along the Italian coastline. She reminded herself she had just been to the Maldives. But it had hardly been a holiday, and her entire world had shifted upside down upon her arrival home. Plus, she had gone overseas with Tim, who was not the most relaxing person, especially given where their relationship was at.