The rain was falling desperately. It wasn't merely noisy and copious, but it was falling very fast. I suppose it was being frantic in its apology, as anyone would be if they had carelessly neglected someone (or something). In this case it was the meadows and forests that had been left suddenly.

She set the pen and notebook on the folding table beside her, and readjusted her reading glasses. This table also held a bowl of candy; there were only four pieces left. Is that enough to show you had tried to save some for someone else? The note she was writing in reads as follows:

"Roadworks at the roundabout on the main road means that the 379 bus has to bypass the Grean Forest area and so for the past week my walk home from the bus stop was a further twenty minutes of being surrounded by the big houses. However, I quite enjoyed yesterday's walk as I saw a new cat on my way home: one I hadn't seen before, and thought it very funny to be sat under a tree. It seemed to me as if it had just woken up from an afternoon nap or arrived from far away and wasn't sure which direction to take. This cat was coloured like a frisian cow, although where a cow would have black patches this cat had grey, and so I named it Daisy: a name I associate with cows more than anything else. Apart from the flower of course.

(This kept me distracted until I reached the garden gate; the neighbour's twins were were at war with the gnomes again.)"

On the mantelpiece stood three framed photographs. There was a photograph of a boy and a girl facing each other, holding their hands up to form an arch and wearing matching ties. This one had been turned so that it wasn't facing outwards but to the side. Another was of a group of people at a picnic; they were all laughing with their eyes closed and probably didn't realise that they were having their picture taken. A coat of furry dust laid over the the glass obscuring the name written on the cake. The last photograph was of a man with a cat on his head. This had gotten dusty also and the name on the cat's collar could not be read.

Every Tuesday evening she would tune in to her favourite program, but this week's murder mystery play was cancelled to make room for a special three-hour episode of a comedic game show. She used to listen to this program whilst eating dinner, but her current job requires her to have dinner two hours later than she used to, and the adjustment in her routine allowed her to forget old habits. That last of the witty jokes made her laugh so thoroughly that she cried. When the show was over she took her plate into the kitchen and washed up. The pocket on the front of her apron was peeling away along one side, though I suppose since she has only a few people left to bake for it doesn't disturb her very much.

"I suppose Linda's going to insist that I host the next club party when I see her tomorrow. Perhaps I ought to give the shelves and blinds a once over."

The sky roared and the rain hissed. People that live alone aren't expected to put as much effort in keeping their home tidy than if they had children running about, but, as it reads on the tag of her feather duster, "A tidy home leaves room for a happy home".

The phone rang feebly in the living room. It squats on a bookshelf between photo albums. She let it ring three times before hanging up the apron and making her way over. The lights flickered as she reached out

"Hello?"
"Dorothy, are you alright?"
"Thomas, I'm fine. Don't worry about me; it's just a bit of rain. About time too!"
"I know what you mean, Dorothy. I was getting worried about my raspberries. Can't have a summer without wild raspberries, can we?"
"Oh no, of course not. But I will see you at the club tomorrow night, won't I?"
"I've been practising my steps since I got home."
"That's wonderful. I think I'll try a bit of that too."
"Right, see you tomorrow night then, old girl."
"And you, Thomas. Good night."
"Good night."

The phone was rarely used, but whenever it was she would feel inclined to bring a photo album back to the armchair with her. She turned the pages slowly, as if peering into something strange for the first time. The photographs were mostly of a happy, young pair; though a few had other people appearing in them also. Everyone seemed cheerful wherever they had been captured, until the last page. There was only one photograph on this page; it was of a woman watering the flowers in the window box. She stood leaning out of the window with her back to the camera. There was a note on the page to accompany the lady and it read:

"Dorothy, please do all the things that make you happy. I'll be right behind you."