June

June klæbede skodderne fast med bredt, grønt tape. De skulle ikke vække hende igen i nat. Den grønne tape dannede en smuk kontrast til de cremefarvede gardiner og de nymalede hvide vinduer og skodder. Bagefter stod hun lidt i den månebelyste have og betragtede sit lille hus, der lå mellem skoven og stranden. Haven så mystisk ud i måneskinnet, og de lave hække indrammede den perfekt. Lågerne var lukkede, men lette at åbne, selv for en person af spinkel statur som hun selv, ja, endog for et barn.
Det var hendes drømmehus. Men en lille stemme i hendes hoved hviskede, at den drøm ikke havde haft hende helt alene i huset, uden venner, uden bekendte, uden familie, og kun med et spinkelt håb om at finde nogen.
    Den salte brise fra havet blandede sig med hendes tårer.

 * * *

Næste morgen vågnede June. For første gang i måneder havde hun sovet hele natten. Efter at hun havde tapet skodderne fast, havde natten været mørk og stille. Det var en helt ny fornemmelse. Hun følte sig udhvilet og fuld af energi. Efter en langsom morgenmad bestående af friskplukkede brombær drysset over den yoghurt med mysli, der var hendes normale morgenmad, og en dejlig kop dampende varm te, var hun klar til hvad som helst.
    Først på listen stod tagrenderne. Ejendomsmægleren havde advaret hende om, at huset, selvom det var i fin stand, var stærkt forsømt, da det ikke var blevet vedligeholdt i næsten tre år.
    At pudse vindueren, smide de døde planter ud og skrubbe køkkenet og badeværelset havde fyldt hele den første dag i hendes nye hus, og rengøring og omrokering af soveværelset hele den anden. Men i dag skinnede solen fra en skyfri himmel, og det var på tide at udføre noget arbejde udendørs, inden efteråret for alvor satte ind.
    Hun fandt stigen hængende på sine kroge bag skuret. Hun havde overtaget stort set alt fra den tidligere ejer, en pensioneret revisor uden slægtninge. Hun havde smidt sengetøj, madrasser, personlige ejendele og det meste af tøjet ud, men beholdt næsten alt andet. Manden havde været en pertenntlig  person, men det var åbenbart var gået hurtigt ned ad bakke med ham inden han døde. Alle de tunge ting lå, hvor de skulle, men lettere genstande som tallerkener, gryder og pander, køkkengrej og værktøj lå ofte rundt omkring på underlige steder.
    Hun stillede stigen op ad væggen og klatrede op. Tagrenderne trængte bestemt til en omgang. Hun smed store flager af jordagtigt snavs ned på jorden. Hun var ved at skrabe de sidste rester op fra den solbeskinnede tagrendemed en haveskovl, da hun hørte lågen ud mod vejen gå op … den kunne godt trænge til lidt olie. Klædt som hun var i en af den tidligere ejers slidte skjorter og med håret sat op under en gammel stråhat, lignede hun ham åbenbart ham nok til at postbudet kunne tage fejl. Han gav et sæt og kaldte hende ved den tidligere beboers navn: »Hej Charles, jeg kan se, at rygterne om din død var stærkt overdrevne.«
    Hun vendte sig om, og postbudet opdagede sin fejl: »Undskyld, frue. Er De den nye ejer?«
    »Ja,« sagde hun. »Jeg hedder June Cullen. Goddag.«
    »Goddag, fru Cullen. Jeg har et brev til Dem og nogle til Charles … hvad skal jeg nu gøre med dem?«
    »Jeg har adressen på hans advokat, hvis De vil tage Dem af det. Eller De kan lægge dem i den store konvolut på kommoden i entreen. Så skal jeg nok give dem til ham, næste gang jeg er i byen.«
    »Du må hellere tage dem, og måske endda kigge på nogle af dem. Der er også regninger, og måske bør du gøre noget ved dem. Jeg lægger dem i den store konvolut for dig.«
    »Ja tak,« sagde June, »jeg er ikke egnet til hverken besøg eller breve i dag, men jeg lover, at det bliver bedre næste gang.«
    Postbudet så på hende og sendte hende et skævt smil: »Det kunne nok have været bedre. Vi ses om en uge.«
    June gjorde sit arbejde færdigt og hældte en spand vand ned i tagrenderne. Det skyllede det sidste snavs væk og løb hurtigt ned i nedløbsrøret. Tilfreds klatrede hun ned.
    Da hun kom ind i huset, fik hun et glimt af sig selv i et spejl og måtte smile ad sig selv. Postbudet havde ret. Hun kunne have set bedre ud. Hendes ansigt var stribet og plettet med sort snavs fra tagrenderne, ligesom hendes skjorte og hænder. Stråhatten sad skævt, og hendes bukser var våde og forrevne.
    »Jeg spurgte ham ikke engang, hvad han hed,« tænkte June ved sig selv. »Næste onsdag må jeg have en kop kaffe og et stykke kage klar til ham. Jeg var virkelig uhøflig i dag. Jeg har meget at lære.«

 * * *

De næste par dage gik June på opdagelse i sit nye hus og dets omgivelser. Den største del af haven strakte sig fra huset over mod skoven, og hver dag opdagede hun nye planter, buske eller bær. Haven havde været velplejet engang, men var nu nærmest en jungle. Nogen havde slået de små græsplæner på begge sider af huset og klippet hækkerne, men alt andet voksede, som det ville og hvor det ville. June tænkte, at hun ville iagttage haven et helt år for at se den i alle årstider, før hun for alvor gik i gang med noget, men brombærrene var ved at overtage stien til skoven, så de måtte klippes ned. I skuret fandt hun et par dejlige handsker af gedeskind, hvide og bløde af brug. De var en smule for store til hendes små hænder. »Charles må have været en meget lille mand,« tænkte hun. »Mine hænder er ikke store – jeg er ikke stor – og det meste af det, jeg finder i dette hus, passer mig.« Mens hun tænkte, faldt hendes blik på beskæresaksen. Præcis den, hun selv ville have købt, og de justerbare håndtag var indstillet, så de passede til hendes hænder.
    Hun gik løs på brombærrankerne, og efter en lang formiddag var stien ind i skoven rydet igen. Om eftermiddagen klippede hun rankerne i små stykker og lavede en lille kompostbunke i et afsides hjørne af haven. Så vidt hun kunne se, voksede der intet der. Hun smed også alle de døde stueplanter og snavset fra tagrenderne på sin nye kompostbunke. Før solnedgang nåede hun at gå en lille tur i skoven, der fandt hun svampe og vilde brombær samt et gammelt træ, hvor der boede bier. Hun plukkede et par svampe, smagte på brombærrene og lod bierne være i fred. Middagen med svampe og urter fra haven var lækker.
    Næste dag regnede det, og June tændte lamperne, reparerede den, der ikke virkede, og tog fat på at gøre stuen ovenpå beboelig. Alle papirerne fra det store skab blev bredt ud på bordet, og hun satte sig til at sortere dem. Hun besluttede at gemme et par af de fotos og papirer, der havde tilhørt Charles O’Connor. Hun havde en tåget idé om at lave et mindealbum eller noget i den retning. Når alt kom til alt kunne hun takke ham – og hans kone, som June kunne se på billederne – for dette vidunderlige hus. Ingen af dem havde været store. Det måtte være forklaringen på, at handskerne passede hende, ligesom saksen og Charles' gamle skjorter. Hun fandt ingen billeder af børn eller andre slægtninge, og kun enkelte billeder fra udflugter med gamle klassekammerater og kolleger – Charles’ kone havde været sygeplejerske, så hun. Og her, for fire år siden, fandt hun billeder af Charles ved hendes begravelse. Så, var det mysterium da løst. En lille kasse med billeder, breve og dokumenter kom op på den øverste hylde i det nyrensede skab, resten proppede hun brutalt ned i en plastikpose og bar ud i skuret. Derefter fjernede hun tæpperne, støvsugede og vaskede gulvet, de små borde, lamper, blomsterborde og vindueskarme.
    Den følgende dag vaskede hun stuegulvene to gange til. Endelig var det rent. Det store skab kunne hun ikke flytte, men alle de andre møbler blev flyttet rundt, til hun var tilfresd med rummet. Det store bord blev sat under et vindue, og nogle polstrede stole og marokkopuder blev placeret i en hyggelig gruppe næsten lige overfor døren.

Nedenunder var det nemmere. Hun havde allerede ordnet badeværelset og skrubbet køkkenet.

* * *

Næste dag var det mandag, og June tog bussen til byen. Hun ordnede regningerne hos banken, vandselskabet og elselskabet. Hun foretrak at gøre det personligt; tingene gik som regel glattere på den måde, og det gjorde de da også denne gang. Hun besøgte advokatkontoret, afleverede konvolutten med breve til sekretæren og fik en ny. Derefter gik hun på indkøb. Hendes indkøbsliste var kort, men hun nåede at besøge en boghandel, en isenkræmmer, et bageri og til sidst byens tre supermarkeder. Hun tog hjem belæsset med pakker og poser.

Den nat drømte June – næsten et mareridt. Hun glemte det, så snart hun vågnede, men for at forhindre, det i at fortsætte, når hun faldt i søvn igen, gik hun hen til vinduet og så ud over havet. Månen var gået ned, og stjernerne lyste, nogle af dem meget klart. Nogle af dem syntes at være meget tæt på horisonten. Så begyndte en af stjernerne tæt ved horisonten at bevæge sig. June undrede sig, men irettesatte sig selv. »Det er et skib, min pige. Muligvis langt ude på havet, så du kun kan se toplanternen.« Som for at bevise, at hun havde ret, steg »stjernen« lidt op, og et lille grønt lys blev synligt. »Se nu der, det er et skib, sandsynligvis på vej hjem til havnen lidt længere oppe ad kysten.« Men så pludselig kom der en lang række små blink fra skibet. »Hvad nu? Er der problemer?“ June var helt vågen. Hun kiggede på sit ur: kvart i tre, midt om natten. De små blink holdt op, som om de ventede på et svar, og begyndte så igen. June gættede på, at det var en slags kode. Blinkene stoppede igen, og June gik ud på badeværelset, hvor vinduet vendte ud mod skoven. Inde fra skoven kom en række blink. Tydeligvis svar på dem fra skibet.
    De var tæt på men inde i skoven, og meget tydeligt. Hun bandede lavmælt. Hun havde endnu ikke lagt sin sædvanlige notesbog og blyant frem, selvom hun havde købt begge dele i boghandlen. Hun stillede to gamle lysestager op, så lysglimtene blev indrammet af dem. Så gik hun tilbage til soveværelset.
    Skibet var nu længere borte, tydeligvis på vej mod havnen, og snart forsvandt dets toplanterne igen. Hun blev stående lidt endnu ved vinduet. Flere lanterner dukkede op og forsvandt på vej mod havnen. Ikke underligt. Det var et travlt sted, og mange fiskere sejlede stadig ud og fiskede om natten. June krøb tilbage i sengen. Lige inde søvnen igen overmandede hende, gik det op for hende, at koden sandsynligvis havde været morse. Hun havde kunnet morse for længe siden. Det var måske på tide at genopfriske det.

 * * *

June havde aldrig følt sig mere klodset. Uanset hvor meget hun prøvede, kunne hun ikke få styr på morsekoden. Pludselig huskede hun de vers, hun havde lært som spejder:
A er en gul appelsin og et fad  ·-
B er en bjørn med tre unger på rad  -···
C to citroner, hver på sin kvist  -·-·
D er en dolk med tobloddråber vist  -··
... og så videre helt til Å. Versene var ikke lige gode alle sammen, men hun reciterede dem for sig selv alt imens hun gjorde rent, plukkede, bagte, pudsede, polerede og alt det andet, hun gjorde den dag.     Postbudet kom med flere regninger, og hun bød ham på hjemmelavet æble- og brombærtærte serveret med en vanilje-flødeostsauce. Han foretrak te frem for kaffe, og June var ikke ked af det, for det havde også været hendes valg. De talte om de tidligere ejere, ikke særligt dybtgående, men postbudet bekræftede, at hustruen, Anne, havde været lille og spinkel og at de aldrig havde fået nogen børn. Han fortalte, at Charles havde mistet lysten til at leve efter hendes død og hurtigt var blevet senil.
    Efter at postbudet var gået, sad June i haven mens det blide septembertusmørke sænkede sig. Hun kom pludselig i tanke om, at hendes bedstemor havde kaldt det skumring. Som barn havde hun syntes at  det var et trist ord, der mindede hende om 'skummelt', mens tusmørke havde en mystisk og eventyrlig klang. Bedstemor var død for mange år siden. June savnede hende stadig. Hun var den eneste, der forstod hendes interesse for sprog og kunst i en familie af teknikere og revisorer.
    Da hun blev voksen havde hun giftet sig med en mand, som end ikke bedstemoren brød sig om, og det havde sat hele familien i oprør. Han havde været filmstjerne i sin ungdom og medvirket i "voksne film". Da June mødte ham, var han holdt op med at indspille film og var i stedet forsanger i et heavy metal-band. De havde haft uendelige problemer med hans ry og hans mange tatoveringer. Udlejeren ville ikke engang leje den mindste lejlighed ud til dem, det var som om hans penge på en eller anden måde var mindre værd end andres. Til sidst havde de fundet en lurvet lejlighed, og der havde de boet lykkeligt med deres to børn, indtil den forfærdelige dag, hvor hele hendes liv blev væltet omkuld som dominobrikker.

 * * *

June rejste sig fra stolen, før minderne overvældede hende. Hun gik hurtigt ud i entreen for at hente sin vinterfrakke og gå en beroligende tur langs kysten. Vinterfrakken var en af de ekstravagante ting, som Dennis, hendes filmstjerne-mand, havde givet hende, og en af de få ting, hun havde beholdt fra sit tidligere liv. Den lurvede lejlighed havde været billig, og Dennis tjente gode penge, så de havde råd til en stor bil, fint tøj, dyre ting og god mad. Livet havde været godt, bortset fra hendes forældres åbenlyse foragt for Dennis.
    Hun stak hænderne dybt ned i lommerne, og hendes venstre hånd rørte ved noget blødt. Hun trak det frem, og med tårer i øjnene sank hun ned på den lille bænk i gangen. Det var Brians plyskoala. Den havde først tilhørt Carla, men hun havde aldrig elske den på samme måde som Brian.
    Den sidste dag havde han forestillet sig, at den fløj et fly tilbage til sit hjemland i junglen, og han havde gentagne gange banket Koala hårdet mod Carlas hoved og bilsæderne. Til sidst havde hun sagt til ham, at Koala måtte ligge i hendes lomme, indtil den havde lært at flyve et fly. Koala havde ligget i hendes lomme, da hun steg ud bilen hos farmor og farfar. Hun var gået ud i haven sammen med Dennis’ mor, der havde brug for en hånd til at grave kartofler op til aftensmaden. Dennis og hans far var gået ned ad indkørslen for at hente en stor pakke, som postbudet havde efterladt der, mens Carla og Brian havde fået til opgave at bære deres ting ind fra bilen. Ingen fandt nogensinde ud af, hvordan det skete, eller hvem af børnene der havde pillet ved håndbremsen, men pludselig begyndte bilen at rulle ned ad den stejle indkørsel med begge børnene i. Både Dennis og hans far blev ramt af bilen, der fortsatte ud på den trafikerede gade, hvor den blev årsag til et alvorligt uheld.
    Dennis’ far, Brian og Carla var døde på stedet, mens Dennis i flere dage svævede mellem liv og død, før han forlod denne verden mens June holdt hans hånd og hviskede kærlige ord i hans øre. Dennis’ mor blev ramt af et slagtilfælde dagen efter den fælles begravelse og kom sig aldrig igen, før hun blev ramt af endnu et slagtilfælde, denne gang større og dødeligt, et par måneder senere.
    Junes forældre skrev eller ringede ikke til hende en eneste gang i al den tid. Hun blev altså alene og flyttede nordpå for at komme væk fra det hele.

 * * *



In English

June taped the shutters in place with broad, green tape. They would not wake her up again tonight. The green tape made a nice contrast to the cream-coloured curtains and the newly painted white window frames and shutters. Then she stood in the moonlit garden, looking at her small house situated between the woods and the sandy beach. The garden looked mysterious in the moonlight and the low hedges framed it perfectly. The gates were shut, but easy to open even for a person of slight stature like herself, even for a child.
 It was the house of her dreams. But, a soft voice whispered in her head, that dream did not entail her living all alone in it, with no allies, no friends, not even any family, and with only a slight hope of finding any.
 The salty breeze from the sea mixed with her streaming tears.

 * * *

Next morning June woke. For the first time in years, she had slept through the night. After she had taped the shutters fast with the green tape, the night had been dark and silent. It was a whole new feeling. She felt rested and energetic. After a leisurely breakfast of freshly picked blackberries sprinkled upon the yoghurt-and-granola that was her staple, and a nice cup of steaming hot tea she was ready for anything.
First on the list were the gutters. The real estate agent had warned her that the house while totally healthy, was sorely neglected as it had not been tended to for almost three years.
Cleaning the windows, discarding dead plants, and scrubbing kitchen and bathroom had taken up the first day in her new house, and cleaning and rearranging the bedroom all of the second. But today the sun was out in splendour, it was time to do some outdoor works before autumn came.
She found the ladder on its hooks behind the shed. She had taken over practically everything from the former owner, a retired accountant with no known relatives. She had thrown out beddings, mattresses, personal items, and most of the clothes, but kept almost anything else. The retiree had obviously been a tidy person but gone quickly downhill before his demise. All the heavy stuff was where it was supposed to be, but lighter items like plates, pots and pans, kitchen and work utensils from the house were often misplaced.
She leaned the ladder against the wall and climbed up. The gutters sure needed a cleaning. She threw big flakes of blackish muck to the ground, and using a garden trowel she was scraping out the last of the debris from the sunwards sprout when she heard the gate to the road open ... it could do with an oiling. Dressed as she was in one of the former inhabitant's worn shirts and with her hair tied back under an old straw hat, she obviously looked enough like him to deceive the mailman. He started and hailed her with the former occupant's name: "Hey Charles, I see that the rumours of your death were greatly exaggerated."
She turned around, and the mailman realised his blunder: "Sorry, Ma'am. Are you the new owner?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm June Cullen, How do you do?"
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Cullen. I have a letter for you and some for Charles ... what'll I do with them, now?"
"I have the address of his lawyer if you want to take care of it. Or you can leave them in the big envelope on the dresser in the hall. Then I'll deliver them to him when I next go to town."
"You'd better take them and better take a look at some of them. There's bills too, and maybe you should do something about them. I'll put them into the big envelope for you."
"Thanks," June said, "I'm neither fit for company, nor letters today, I promise better next time."
The mailman looked at her and sent her a lopsided smile: "You could have done better. See you in a week's time."
June finished her job by pouring a pail of water into the gutters. It cleaned away the last of the muck and drained nicely down the spout. Satisfied she climbed down.
Entering the house, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and had to laugh. The mailman was right. She could hardly have done worse. Her face was striped and splotched with black muck from the gutters, same as her shirt and hands. The straw hat sat askew, and her trousers were wet and torn. She could do with a bath.
"I did not even ask him his name," June thought to herself. "Next Wednesday I'll have a cup of coffee and a cake ready for him. I really was impolite today. I have much to learn."

 * * *

The next few days June was an explorer in her new house and its surroundings. The largest part of the gardens stretched away from the house towards the woods, and every day she discovered new plants, shrubs or berries. It had been well kept but was now a half jungle. Somebody had mowed the tiny lawns here and on the beach side of the house, and cut the hedges, but everything else was growing how and where it liked. June thought she would like to see the garden during all seasons before she really began doing anything, but the blackberries were taking over the path to the woods, they had to be kept at bay. In the shed she found a delicious pair of goatskin gauntlets, white and supple from wear. They were a tad too big for her tiny hands. "Charles must have been a very small man," she thought to herself. "My hands are not big, heck I'm not big, and I mostly fit what I find in this house." Thinking this, her eyes fell on the pruning shears. Just the ones she would have bought for herself, and the adjustable handles were set to fit her grip.
    She attacked the brambles, and after a long morning the way into the woods was once more clear. The afternoon saw her cutting up the vines and making a small compost heap in a remote corner. As far as she could see, nothing grew there. She added all the dead houseplants and the muck from the gutters. Before sunset she had time for a small walk in the woods, and there she found mushrooms and wild blackberries and an old tree with bees living in it. She picked a few of the mushrooms, tasted the blackberries and let the bees alone. Dinner with mushrooms and herbs from the garden was delicious.
    Next day it rained, and June lit the lights, repaired the one lamp that did not work, and cleaned the upstairs living room. All the papers in the big cupboard were spread on the table, and she sat to work sorting them. She decided to save a few of the photos and papers belonging to Charles O'Connor. She had a vague idea of making a memorial scrap book or something. After all she could thank him -- and his wife too, June learned from the photos -- for this wonderful house. None of them had been big, the wife even positively tiny. This had to be the explanation for the gloves fitting her, and the shears and several other things. She found no photos of children or any other relatives. A few photos from outings with old classmates and co-workers, Charles's wife had been a nurse, she saw. And here, four years ago, she found photos of Charles at her burial. Well, one mystery solved. A small box of photos, letters, and documents went on the top shelf of the newly cleaned cupboard, the rest she brutally stuffed into a plastic bag and carried out into the shed. Then she removed the carpets, vacuumed and washed the floor, the small tables, the small lamps, the plantstands and windowsills.
    She washed the living room floors twice more the following day. Finally they were clean. The big cupboard was too big for her to move, but all other furniture was moved out of the way and back again. In the afternoon she rearranged the things to her satisfaction. The big table was placed under a window, and stuffed chairs and Moroccan poufs were placed in a cozy group almost opposite the door.

Downstairs was easier. She had already tackled the bathroom and scrubbed the kitchen surfaces.

* * *

Next day was Monday and June took a bus to the bigger town. She arranged bills with the bank, the water company, and the electricity company. She liked to do so in person, things usually went smoother that way, also this time. She visited the lawyer's office, handing over the envelope to the secretary, and had a new one. Then she went shopping. Her shopping list was short, but had her visiting a bookstore, a hardware store, a bakery, and finally the supermarkets. She went home laden with parcels and bags.

That night June dreamt, almost a nightmare. She forgot it as soon as she woke up, but to prevent it from resuming, she went to the window and looked out over the sea. The moon had set, but the stars still shone, some of them very brightly. And some of them seemed very close to the horizon. Then one of the stars near the horizon began moving. June wondered, then chided herself. "It's a ship, girl. Possibly far at sea, so that you can see only the top lantern." As to prove her right the "star" rose a bit and a small green light became visible. "Now look, it is a ship, probably on its way to the harbour just up the coast." But then a long series of tiny flashes could be seen from the ship. "What now. Trouble?" June was wide awake now. She looked at her watch, Quarter to three, in the middle of the night. The tiny flashes paused, as if waiting for an answer, then resumed. June guessed at some sort of code. The flashes stopped again, and June padded to the bathroom, where the window looked out over the woods. And she saw the answering flashes. Close by, in the woods, and clear. She swore softly. She had not yet installed her usual bathroom paper and pencil, even though she had bought the pencils and a notebook at the bookstore. She placed two old candlesticks so that the flashes were framed by them. Then she went back to the bedroom.
But the ship was now heading for the harbour, and soon its top light was once again invisible. She stayed for a bit at the window. More lanterns became visible and disappeared on their way to the harbour. No wonder. It was a busy place, and many fishers still sailed the seas, fishing in the night. June crept back into bed. As sleep once again claimed her, she realised that the code had probably been Morse, plain and simple. She had known Morse long ago. Time for a brush up.

 * * *

June had never felt more like a klutz. No matter how much she studied, she could not get the hang of the morse code. Suddenly she remembered the verses she had been taught as a girl scout:
A is for apple, brown is the bough ·-
B is a bear with three cubs in tow -···
C is two pins that fell where they stood -·-·
D is a dagger with two drops of blood -··
... and so on all the way to Z. The verses were not all good, but she memorised them while cleaning, picking, baking, shining, polishing and whatever else she did that day. The mailman came, bringing more bills for the house, and she treated him to a homemade apple-and-blackberry pie served with a vanilla cream cheese sauce. He preferred tea to coffee, and June was happy to comply, as this would have been her choice as well. They talked of the former owners, nothing very deep, but the mailman confirmed that the wife, Anne, had indeed been tiny and fragile and never born them any children, and that Charles had lost the will to live after her death, and quickly descended into senility.
After the mailman had left, June sat for a while in the garden, and soon the soft late September twilight descended. She suddenly recalled that her granny had called it gloaming. She had found it a depressing word as a child, akin to gloomy, whereas twilight had an elfin sound to it. Granny had died many years ago. June still missed her. She was the only one understanding her liking for languages and the arts in a family of technicians and accountants. She had married a man Granny did not like, and set the while family buzzing with outrage. He had been a movie star in his teens, starring in X-rated movies. When June met him, he had already stopped acting and was the lead singer in a heavy metal band. They had had endless trouble with his reputation and tattoos. Landlords did not want to rent them even the tiniest flat. As if his money was somehow worth less than other peoples'. In the end they had found a shabby flat and there they had lived happily with their two kids until that dreadful day when her whole life fell over like dominoes in a row.

 * * *

June got up from the chair before the memories overwhelmed her. She walked quickly to the hallway to get her winter-coat in preparation for a calming walk down to the beach and along the coastline. This winter coat was one of the extravagant things Dennis, her movie star husband had given her, and one of the few things left over from her former life. The lousy flat has been cheap, and Dennis was kind of wealthy, they could afford a big car, luxurious clothes, nice things and good food. Life had been good, apart from her parents' unrelenting and undisguised disdain for Dennis.
    She put her hands deep into the pockets, and her left hand touched something soft. She pulled it out, and blinded by tears she sank down on the small bench in the hallway. It was Brian's stuffed Koala toy. It had belonged to Carla first, but she never loved it like Brian did. On that last day he had imagined that it was riding a plane back to its jungle-homeland, and repeatedly rammed Koala into Carla's head and the car seats. In the end she had told him that Koala had to hide away in her pocket until it had learned how to fly a plane. With Koala forgotten in her pocket she had left the car at grandma's and granddad's place. She had walked into the garden with Dennis' mom who wanted a hand digging up potatoes for dinner. Dennis and his dad had walked down the driveway to get a big parcel left there by the mail-man, while Carla and Brian were charged with collecting their stuff from the car. Nobody ever found out how it happened, which of the kids released the hand brake, but suddenly the car began rolling down the steep driveway with both kids inside. Dennis and his dad both were run over by the car, which continued out into the busy street, being hit from both directions, and causing a big accident. Dennis' father, Brian and Carla were killed on the spot, Dennis lay for days between life and dead before he left this world. Dennis' mother had a stroke the day after the joint burial, and never really recovered before succumbing to the next one a few months later.
    June's parents never even once wrote or 'phoned her during this period. She was left practically alone and moved north to get away from it all