As the willow droops

The Wind In the willow

Two weeks later

Willow was sitting on a hard leather chair. She was in a small, tacky office that had the smell of old cheese and had stained, grey carpets. It was the lawyer's office, the lawyer's office where if you weren't well off, you were told to wait for an age before some nervous skeezeer came in to talk to you.

 Willow had been staying in a neighbours house for a whole two weeks after her parents death. They were very eager, giving her hot chocolates and encouraging her to engage in conversation. Willow had only cried once, and that was when she had first found out. Her mothers face came to her every so often, and she would feel her throat tighten, but she did not cry. She would clench her fists, bite her lip and breath heavily. She always believed that crying was weak, and she did not want to be weak. She wanted to be strong, to be an inspiration, to soar.

 So, to preoccupy herself, she set about spinning her pottery. Her hands would cup the clay as it spun and spun, and the smooth surface of the clay would sooth her, she would be seeing her mothers young hands cupping hers, and she looked up and smiled at her mother, who gestured down at the spinning clay with her warm blue eyes . Willow looked down, shaping it into a lovely little pot. She looked back up, seeking her mothers approval, but only saw an emptiness before her, felt no warm hands cupping hers, saw no reassuring smile.

A door opened into the tacky office, and a stout man in a grey suit entered. He cleared his throat, and placed his case on the table in front of Willow. "Good afternoon, miss Stevens. We are just going to discuss a few topics in relation to your next legal guardian, wills, etcetera. I'm Manus Williams, your legal advisor for today." Manus smiled warmly at Willow, extended a chubby hand over the table to her, which she shook, ignoring the sweat and smiling weakly back. "Hi." She said simply. "Well, there are a few possibilities for you.." Manus shuffled his papers, putting on a pair of square glasses to his round face. His grey eyes, scanned the papers. "Firstly, you inherit a small amount from your mother and step father's savings. That totals to about-" before Manus could finish his sentence, a petite woman burst through the door, which caused a cold draught to enter the room. She frantically stepped towards Manus, whispering something into his ear. She pulled back, his mouth was opening and closing, then they both looked at Willow, concern was clearly playing across their features. Manus stood up, quickly putting away his files and nodded at Willow, his double chins flopping about. "Terribly sorry Willow, but something's come up- can't help now!" He whispered, before retreating through the doorway, followed by the small woman, who glanced back at Willow, and Willow felt her stomach churn. She dug her nails into her palms, and held back the tears that she had kept bottled up, her throat was tightening, her lips were chapped from being bitten, and a single tear rollled out of her cheek. She wiped at it quickly, though her eyes betrayed her, beginning to pool. She whimpered in frustration. "Stop it, god dammit!"she whispered to herself, patting at her wet cheeks with a sleeve. She breathed deeply, in an attempt to calm herself.

 The door opened again though, and an old, grumpy looking man entered the room. His face was screwed up, like he was sucking a lemon, his watery, blank eyes scanning the tacky office. His eyes took everything in, before resting on Willow. He approached the desk, taking a seat where Manus had been only minutes before, In front of Willow. He took her in for a moment, her round, flushed face, green eyes and tied back brown hair. Willow stared back at him, defiantly. She took in his gaunt face, his hollow green-blue eyes, his nearly bald head, and his formal attire. Finally, he cleared his throat. "You will be coming with me, Miss Stevens. I am Johansson, and your questions will be answered soon, do not fret. Follow me." He finished this coldly, standing up and retreating. Willow quickly took her jacket and followed him out the door.

Willow was brought back to her housing estate in a sleek black car, where she had sat in silence with Johansson, who did not glance at her once in the rear view mirror while driving. They parked outside her home, where Johansson actually sighed. "You will be required to retrieve your valuables, and I mean personal belongings of yours you hold most dear. There are suitcases in the boot." His voice, Willow had only just realised, reminded her of chalk scraping against a chalkboard, which made her shiver inwardly. She quietly left the black car, and in the corner of her eye, she noticed Johansson lighting himself a cigarette. Shaking her head, she entered her cold, desolate home.

It had only taken her an hour to pick all the things she wanted to take with her in the car. She took her whole pottery set, her clothes, her mothers small trinket box where she kept all her little valuables, and a small few things she knew she couldn't have the heart to leave behind. Her mother didn't have many possessions and neither did she, so there wasn't much that was left behind except for the usual things you would find in a house, furniture, cutlery, plates, beds and her mother's and stepfathers' old clothes nobody had the heart to remove from their place in the dusty wardrobe. Willow took a look around the house, inhaling the smell she had grown up smelling, and the walls which held memories, painful and joyful alike. She had decided to take a few of her mother's coats, which if she buried her face into enough, she could smell her mother's mellow perfume. It made her feel safer, as she finally left the house.

 She placed all the bags and bits in the boot of the black car, shut the boot and turned to look at her home. It was dark now, cold and lonely. It would never be the same. She pulled her eyes away, opening the door and sliding back into the black car. Johansson looked up at her in the rearview mirror. Green eyes met glassy green-blue eyes, as Johansson turned the key in the ignition, revving the engine, putting his eyes back to focus on driving, as Willow clicked her seatbelt closed. She decided to break the awkward silence. "Where are we going?" She asked Johansson. He was turning out of the street now, the clicking of the indicator drumming in the car. "I'm sorry Willow, I cannot tell you now." he croaked in reply, as the indicator stopped clicking and silence descended onto them again.