See me.

The cobbled streets glisten, dewy with the ever-present nostalgia of last nights rain. My hands are tucked into the snug pockets of my coat, which hangs oversized above my hoodie. It's September now and the cold days are turning into colder nights; speckled raindrops hang, like moments frozen in time from sticky cobwebs on your window cill. I knock, once, twice, thrice. Always three times, and rush to put my hand, knuckles a fresh pink from the hard wooden door, back into its nest of warmth. You open the door with a click-clack of the lock and as ever, a huge smile on your face. "Marie" you beam, you always sound surprised to see me, even when you've known for days I'm coming over. "Mum" I smile, and I'm wrapped in your embrace, your arms squeezing around my shoulders, my hands still in the pockets, unwilling to risk the cold.

Moments later we are sat in the kitchen, my coat hangs limp across the back of the wooden chair, pulled slightly agar from the table where I sit, red mug in hand, steam rising from the tea and fogging up my glasses. My hoodie covers half of my palms as I clasp the mug with both hands softly blowing at the steam, willing it to be cool enough to taste, but hot enough to warm me up. "I hope you don't mind Marie" my mother starts "But I have a few errands to run on the high street, I was hoping you could come with me? there's a problem with my phone you see, you know how bad I am with these things and I fear the young gents in the phone shop won't have the foggiest what I'm talking about" I give her a smile which confirms, yes I will help her but also no, I'm not happy about it and take a sip from my tea. "Sugar mum?" I wince, "oh of course" she laughs, grabbing the container from the kitchen side "I always forget you like it sweet."

-

My mother swirls the sponge around the mugs and sets them on the draining board to dry, she quickly drys her damp hands on the tea towel and then clasps them together "Right Marie" she starts "Let us get these jobs done, then we can start prepping for tea." She rushes to the airing cupboard to grab her yellow coat and red hat, scarf, gloves. Before long she's on the bottom step, gloves hanging from her teeth as she ties the laces of her boots. I slide my feet back into my black Chelsea boots, and button up my coat, the cold still clings to it and I can feel it faintly through my hoodie. My mother grabs her 'trusty umbrella' with a quick chorus of "In case it rains" and before I know it we're 15 minutes down the road and into the centre.

I've never really liked Lavenham, although it's picturesque, a fact I can't deny, to me it just signifies the year my dad died and my mum uprooted everything to here, leaving me and our memories behind. Every black and white building, every Shakespeare-esque cottage, every seemingly stuck up individual makes me miss home. My real home, which I live in alone. We walk together in silence, me thinking all of the above and my mum trying to press buttons on her broken phone through thick fluffy glove until we reach the phone repair shop.

My mother pushes open the door to the store, with a creak and a beep that lets them know we're here. She stands, behind the old woman currently being served and removes her hat, scarf and gloves, placing them in her huge leather handbag. I take off my glasses, cloudy with steam yet again, and try, unsuccessfully to clear them with my coat, which leaves them smudged and useless. I drop them into her bag too. I shift uncomfortably, from one leg to the other, aware of how red my face must be becoming from the heat of this place. It was practically summer in there. The woman in front of us slowly (painfully) pays for her service and leaves, with a thank you and a smile. The guy behind the counter waves us over and my mum begins to bore him with the many problems she has with her phone, he tells me I can go sit through there if I like, pointing to the door on the left, presumably he thinks we're going to be here a while. I nod and step through the door. That's when I first see him.