Always a one for keeping up appearances, Mrs Maureen Langford stayed outside her bungalow, preening the golden autumn flower bed, which had become quite overgrown and thorny of late. Still, it was one thing to keep her mind on, to her, the house always felt so huge, too big for her at least. It didn't seem like such a while ago that it was full to the rafters. Her two destructive daughters, arguing over who had borrowed the others clothes without asking, or her sons, getting up to unholy mischief, with coloured crayons and her fine cream walls. As trouble as they all were, it was at times like this she missed them the most. Too quiet; too peaceful. She longed to hear their constant yells to her, however sick to death she got of it in the past.

But that was over twenty years ago, and now all of them had left the house and had their own families. Though, they saw her as much as they could, it was never quite the same. Nothing ever felt quite the same after she lost her Ted.

Their wedding photo stood proudly upon the mantle piece, next to the fragile glass ornaments, and photographs of their grandchildren. She would often sit down at night, with a hot mug of tea and glance over to the smiling faces, staring back at her. The old times were often a comfort to her, but they also left a cold, empty feeling inside too. Being able to bring the past back, even for a day was something that Maureen longed to do. The open fire crackled and roared on the opposite side of the strangely spacious living room, and the bright, almost electric colours were a constant distraction from the latest Coronation Street episode.

Soon, the large maroon armchair would feel all the more comfortable, and a drowsy haze would descend over her eyes, and Ken Barlow, could morph into Hayley Cropper at the bat of an eyelid.

- - Taking her car keys from the side, pulling her khaki coloured coat over her shoulders, and putting her beige, leather driving gloves on, Maureen closed her front door, and as she turned, and walked steadily down her cobbled driveway, to her miniscule, red, if not ever so slightly rusty Ford Fiesta, opened the driver's side door and sat inside. She smiled as she slammed the door. She had always loved the smell of this car, probably the reason why she'd never had the heart to get rid of it. However old it was, or however much rust and dust it accumulated. It reminded her of the drives, her and Ted used to take in the summer, with all her grandchildren sitting in the back, singing nursery rhymes and telling them all about school, and how they didn't want to go back. She could visualise her husband's face, smiling and joining in. He was just as much of a child as they were, she'd always thought. Her mind wandered back slowly and she turned the key of the engine, though quite c hoppy sounding, she reversed off the driveway and drove off.

- - The long, almost claustrophobic corridor seemed to go on forever. The heels on her shoes, though relatively flat, rang out and echoed ominously. The walls were painted solely in white, which gave them an unorthodox cleanliness. She hated everything about this place, the medicinal, almost chemical - like stench, felt like it stayed with her even after she left. She continued the never ending walk, straight ahead, scouring both sides of the corridor, but she knew what she was looking for. Room 2a. Placing her hand on the door handle, she breathed, painted a smile on her face, and turned it. The bed on the opposite side of the room gave a small jerk, as she came closer, a face looked back at her. Skeletal and wrinkly, and with glazed over eyes, it took a few seconds before the head turned, grinned, and a slight glimmer of someone she once knew said, in a small, yet raised voice: 'MAUREEN! It's good to see you!' She reached out and held his soft, thin and frail hand and replied, that is was 'good to see him too', like she did on every visit.

She sat down on the blue plastic chair next to the bed, listening as the man ceaselessly rambled on about his Aunt Betsy who had died a considerable time before, as if she were still alive. Though, by the time she'd finish explaining this, he'd probably forget and ask again. This confused, frail old man, was her husband. Ted Langford, who was very much alive, but was lost, lost in dazes and frequent memory loss, frustration and even the outbursts of spontaneous anger, both at the nurses and at her. She knew he couldn't help it, but she couldn't help but reflect upon the person he once was: strong, handsome and dignified. How life had a habit of changing someone so rapidly. Once the Alzheimer's had taken over, almost two years ago, she knew she'd never see Ted as she knew him again. However much she longed to have him at home, with her, so she could take care of him, she too, was getting older, and weaker and being his full time carer would run her into the ground. As guilty as this made her feel, she turned to the man who had captured her heart, over fifty years ago. His eyes, one of the things that hadn't changed in him, looked directly back at her, that piercing shade of blue, slowly began to fill with tears:

'I want to come home, Maureen. I want to come home!'

She replied, taking his hand once more:

'I know you do my love, but you have to stay here to get better. But we'll get by, you'll see, just one day at a time.'

Zoe
Age 16

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