Eastleigh by Joe

A leathery hand fell down upon my young head: my gentle hair ruffled. My head just reached over the wine stained oak table, whilst my eyes scanned the laughing room. My Mother, with her unusually frizzy hair smiled sympathetically at me and my stained ‘Thomas the Tank Engine’ shirt. Directly across from me, my Nana silently took in all. She has a special eye for me, whenever we catch each others glance, we grin. All the time.

            I sat down in the old green armchair opposite her. She hadn’t changed one bit. Her wrinkled face was outshone by a younger, inner self, with a golden smile that lit the room. Not one of her white hairs was out of place. The scent of Roses still clung to her, 10 years on.

            She was clever, Nana. Her flat was on the top floor, mainly for two reasons. Firstly, she loved the view of Eastleigh. The River Itchen was a rambling chalk stream that was perfectly visible from her flat. Secondly, and I must say, this impressed me greatly, was the fact that she didn’t turn on the heating. She relied on the people below her with their heat, rising through the floor to heat her. This saved a great deal of money for her, which she was awfully proud of.

            Everyone had changed. Mum’s frizzy hair had transformed into a smart short bob; I had grown an extra two feet; yet my Nana remained the same. Perfect, white hair; wrinkled skin; leathery hands- and still the perfect smile shone through.

            I looked up from the armchair and met her glance.