Maggie

She'd always lived next door. Margaret, or Maggie as she said we could call her. Her house was small, but it looked so grand in comparison to the rest of the houses in our estate, and when Christmas came around every year she'd go all out with the decorations, transforming her house from a simple brick building into a winter wonderland, complete with fake snow on the front lawn. The transformation always happened overnight like magic; it was fitting as she was the most magical person I knew.  

She was lovely, the sweetest lady on the street, everybody agreed, there was something different about her, she was majestic, regal even, but so kind and caring.  

At the age of 8, I remember her getting sick so we'd often pop round and look after her as she'd done for my parents whenever one of us was ill but they couldn't get the time off work. We brought her soup, newspapers, blankets, and tea; watering her garden so that the flowers wouldn't die in her absence.  

When I was 14 and had my first breakup I spotted her on the porch on my way home, she called me over, a knowing look in her eyes. "It's alright" her soft voice whispered out, a gentle hand stroking my back as I sat sobbing next to her.  

Then, when my parents went away on holiday, when I was 17, she would always check up on me; phoning the house, talking to me over the garden fence as she watered her lawn, making sure I had enough food. 

In fact, she was the first person I came out too. I know it should have been my family but she was family, at least in my eyes. And telling her helped me feel stronger, she was always so accepting and knew the right thing to say. 

After she was sick, she got a carer. A man in his forties who moved in help maintain the grounds and take care of her now that she wasn't as well as she used to be. But, for a 70 year old women, she still moved around a lot; I always waved whenever I saw her on the front porch, gently swinging to and fro on the creaky rocking chair, or I would catch glimpses of her wandering the upstairs landing late at night, fetching glasses of water no doubt. Then, there was the time when we awoke to a batch of fresh cookies delivered on our doorsteps. a few weeks after she recovered from her illness, a simple "Thank You" note accompanied them, we all knew who it was from.  

So, before I go off to university, I need to let her know just how amazing she is and how much she has impacted my life. I bake a Victoria Sponge, her favorite, and buy her a bouquet of lilies to say thank you, I know it isn't enough but it's the best I can do.  

With the cake in one hand and the flowers in the other, I head round, only a few hours before I'm due to head to the other side of the country. My parents are still busy packing the car up so I know I have plenty of time to tell her everything I need too.  

Walking up her lawn for the last time in a while my eyes grow teary, a small smile tugging at my lips, I sure was going to miss her. As I reach the front door, I carefully balance the tin between my chest and arm and knock. It took a while but that was to be expected, she was getting older everyday so it was understandable. Just as I start to wonder whether she's out the back her carer opens the door. 

"Uhh, hi?"  

"Hi, I was wondering if I could talk to Maggie?" 

"What?" he questions, clearly confused. He's probably just woken up; it was still relatively early on a Saturday. 

"I said could I talk to Maggie please? Is she up?" 

"Maggie?"  

"Yes, Maggie". Ok this was beginning to get annoying now, I know it's early but come on dude, you're her carer for fucks sake. 

"I don't know what you mean?" his voice picks up, shifting from one foot to another, that's when I notice how he's dressed; complete in a 3-piece suit. "Look kid, I think you have the wrong house, I'm already running late for work so I'm sorry but I need to go". 

"Work? But you work here?" What did he mean? He looks after Maggie, that's his job, and that sure as hell doesn't require a fancy, pin-striped suit. 

"No" he retaliates "no, I work for a law firm, Sandy & Harvard, I've worked there for years. Look you have the wrong house so please leave ‘cause I need to go". 

"But you look after Maggie?"  

"Again" he emphasizes "there is no Magg...oh" his face suddenly changes from one of annoyance to one of sympathy. "You live next door, right? I think you should go and talk to your parents". 

"No, I want to talk to Maggie! I know she's here; I saw her last night sitting on the porch swing". 

"I don't think you did kid". 

"I know what I saw and stop calling my kid!" my voice starts to rise in tone, he's taking the piss now. All I want is to talk to Maggie and thank her for everything she's done for me and now this asshole is putting up a fight, and for what? 

"No, you didn't. Look" he starts, resting a hand on my shoulder "you can't have seen her last night because she's been dead for 10 years. I'm sorry to break it to you but I think you should go back home and talk about this with your parents, I'm really not the best person to talk to about this". 

"W...what? No, she...she can't be". 

Pity graces his face, his eyes pleading for me to believe him but I just can't, she can't be dead, she can't be. 

"I'm so sorry. I need to go but I'll walk you back home and let your parents know what's going on". 

"But..." my voice trails off. 

Just then, as he reaches behind him for his coat and starts to bring the door too, I see her one last time. Her wrinkled hand waves out at me, her beautiful green eyes lock onto mine and her lips pull up into a smile. She looks content. 

And as the door closes with a sudden bang the tears begin to fall.