Moved On

Moved On part two

Sean...Sean O’Maolagain, Annie O’Maolagain? Annie mused as she meandered her way home.

No. Anneka O’Maolagain. Mmm...Better than Anneka Bottom.

Neither sounded as good as Anneka Johansen.

Annie Johansen was her favourite because it was hers, she hadn't appreciated how good it was until she could no longer use it. It didn't occur to her till this moment that getting married would have done the same thing.

Annie Chambers she had told Sean, marvelling that only six months of using the name it had skipped off her tongue with surprising ease.

She stopped at the corner of her road, pulling an iron bar from her oversized handbag. In an area marked for redevelopment, Harry's diner was a bit off the beaten track. Back in the UK the diner would be classed as a greasy spoon, full of working men wanting a cheap and cheerful meal, tourists generally didn't come. It was funny to see yet another Brit, that would make three of them now. Sean, Danny and herself. Odd?

Annie shrugged off the thought.

Rucking up her skirt to the tops of her thighs, she ducked her head and peered through the hole in the fence, before climbing into the garden of a derelict mansion.

Her pocket torch cast an arc of light onto the ground. Carefully, she picked her way slowly across the rubbish strewn garden, skirting the yawning swimming pool, dark and ghoulishly threatening at night.

One time she'd been caught unawares by a homeless man climbing from beneath the sagging tarpaulin, like some apocalyptic spectre.

She hated the swimming pool because of it, gave her the willies.

The house where she lived was structurally sound, bullet proof windows unbroken, good quality windows those, It just looked sad, someone’s surrendered dreams. Stepping over the thick electricity cable, Annie tapped out a gentle beat with the base of her torch on the back door to the house. Nobody came to open it so Annie shoved the iron bar in the broken lock, opening the door gingerly.

"It's only Annie." She called before stepping through the door.

The kitchen was littered with detritus, sweet smelling smoke hazed the air, stinging her eyes and catching in her throat.

"Annie!" Came a chorus of voices, when she entered the once glorious sitting room. "Did you bring us any pie?"

Turning off the torch, she pushed it into her pocket, replaced the iron bar in her bag, and pulled out the box of left over pastries from the diner. Harry always let her take them home. Harry was a good man.

The box was taken from her hands with groans of appreciation. Her grateful, ravenous housemates devoured the pies as Annie allowed a quiet, controlled exhale of relief.

For the most part her fellow housemates respected her privacy. Ascending the grand, ornate staircase to her bedroom, she slipped the very modern key into the equally modern lock. Sometimes they did go a little crazy though.

Six months ago the abandoned mansion had been different. Like an ageing beauty she had retained a gilded dignity from her heydays. Now she had the appearance of a diseased harlot; abused by destructive hands. Only Annie's bedroom was relatively unscathed. It was a beautiful room, had been cutting edge when first designed, no expense spared. Painted gold leaf ceiling, marble columns, walls a beige and gold flock.  Shag pile carpet, thick and luxurious, the colour old gold. Sofas, cushions, even the wardrobe doors all soft padded velvet, in a creamy caramel, studded with gold buttons. Once Annie's door was shut she could block out the rest of the house. Pretend she was completely alone in her mini plush palace, ignoring any unsavoury truths.

Just like her old man, she thought with a wisrful smile, sliding her trusty metal bar beneath her pillow. Annie’s mum always said that her dad's greatest trait was the ability to ignore what he didn't like. That might have been true for many things, but he hadn't been able to ignore his wife's sudden death in a swimming pool in Tenerife. He'd remembered her heart attack every day with a litre bottle of whiskey, till he'd followed her just two years later. Her parents had loved each other to distraction, worked hard, owned their own house. Annie had wanted for nothing, either materially or emotionally. Was it too much for Annie to expect a similar life would come to her? Her eyes glossed over the wedding dress hanging haphazardly over the armchair.

Yes. Yes, it would seem it was.