Going Back

A storm threatened in a dark, oppressive February sky, and a strengthening southerly swirled around, flipping the hem of Stacey's skirt high in the air as she climbed out of the taxi.
Fighting hard to keep it down, she waited while Martyn and the driver unloaded their bags from the boot.
Her eyes darted to a passing cab - old habits die hard, or expectations?
Somewhat nervously, Stacey followed Martyn down the footpath to the house, then glancing back over her shoulder, she swallowed.
Nothing seemed to have changed. In the five years she had been away, nothing seemed to have changed.
'Please,' she silently prayed. 'Please let things be different now.'