Everlast

CHAPTER SEVEN

Monica gasped as the rail rattled, the dark curtains pulled apart. The instant morning light struck the room and she drew the covers over her head, groaning.

Suddenly a simple line was chanted. "Feliz cumpleaños Señorita Everlast."

She pulled the covers down and noted Dot, Cortina and two other maids standing by the foot of her bed. She sat up, feeding her silk robe through her arms. "It can't be."

"We can never forget your birthday, Señorita," Cortina smiled, giving her mistress a kiss on her head, like a mother would.

"The workers have decorated the farm, just for you," Dot began. "Apart from Christmas Day, you gave us a rest day on your birthday, which everyone is grateful."

"It was a tradition started by Uncle Lionel," Monica recalled, smiling at the past thought, but soon remembered that the man she wanted on her special day would not come. "I'm not in a celebrating mood."

"But Señorita," Cortina exclaimed. "You turn twenty-five today."

"Exactly," Monica mumbled. "A quarter of my life just gone by, assuming I'll live to be a hundred." She pulled the covers, away, her feet finding her slippers. "I need to attend to one thing so please carry on."

Obediently the maids left and Monica yawned loudly. Twenty-five she had said aloud but the number refused to register her mind. She knew the presents would come in by the hour and the drawing room would be covered in all manner of presents in boxes wrapped in elegant paper. Just like the year before, only this time she was one year older, or one year closer to death, she morbidly thought.

A grand willow tree, with the braches hanging low, like jungle vines stood behind the Obsidian Estate. A tree so magnificent, yet easy to forget a grave lay beside it. Monica bent down, brushing the twigs away, tracing his name with her fingers.

"Oh uncle," she said quietly. "I miss you."

Monica placed a bunch of his favourite wild flowers on his grave and knelt beside the stone slab. She remembered his peppermint and tobacco scent after his embrace, a scent she could smell around the house when she was alone. She remembered the way his eyes crinkled when she told a joke and the way he would sing with such delight at Christmas, she thought her heart would explode with happiness. Her childhood did not amount to the time and joy she found with Uncle Lionel.

She heard a shuffle, turned and saw John lurking behind a few branches, a poor attempt to hide.

"Sorry Miss Everlast, I personally wanted to say Happy Birthday."

Monica stood, brushing the earth away from her salmon pink dress. John approached unsure where to place himself and handed her a small card decorated with a humming bird flying, with the words 'Many Happy Returns of the Day'.

A long lost smile soon spread across her face when she opened the card.

"Did you write this?"

John nodded, looking down. "I'm an ardent reader but my handwriting isn't good."

"Sweet memories, may they linger," she began reading, "and pleasant times recall. Hope bids us wish the future and will prove the best of all." She gazed at him. "Thank you, Mr Clare, for writing this and uplifting my mood."

"Do you miss him?" he asked, his head pointing at the grave.

She turned, looking at it. "They say time heals all wounds, but I don't feel healed. All the special occasions he will miss, and he doesn't know how far his beloved company has flourished." She paused turning her head towards the branches. "I hate this day. He and I were born on this day. He died on this day to. I don't know how to even behave on such a day."