Delirium (London Psychic)
“She'd just missed Blake's call and he hadn't answered when she called back. Her finger hovered over redial, and then she shook her head, smiling a little. He was probably out somewhere in a noisy bar and couldn't hear the ring. With a stab of loneliness, she turned to the bookshelf where the terracotta urn sat in pride of place. She gently cupped it with her hand, the coolness on her palm reminding her that this was just a dead object. It might contain the physical remains of her daughter, but ...in itself, it was nothing. So why couldn't she just scatter the ashes in the bluebell woods that Polly had loved so much? Or throw them to the wind over the ocean? Why keep them here, grey dust and ashes that in no way represented the girl she had lost. Jamie bent her forehead to the urn and knew she was still tethered to the memories. If she scattered these final grains of what had once been life, then she was utterly alone in the world. She thought of the bottle of sleeping pills in the bathroom, the oblivion that would take her away from this constant ache in her chest.MoreLess
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