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As Peter entered the room, he smelt the faint, lingering aroma of cigarettes.  These days most people would not consider cigarettes as having an aroma, but if you were old enough to come from an era when smoking cigarettes was the norm and even considered sophisticated; tobacco was not an unpleasant smell at all.  To Peter the aroma brought back memories of parties, happy social occasions from a carefree and less restrictive time.  He glanced around the room, empty now but for the few remaining pieces of furniture, but still full of memories.  The worn and yellow wallpaper, covered in intricate patterns spoke of a by gone era. A dull nicotine glaze now covered it, and replaced the golden hues the wall paper once had.  The highly polished floor he remembered was looking old and worn.  Peter sighed.  He made his way towards the huge bay window and looked across the garden.

Aunt Matilda had been a quirky, funny old girl, she was stern, proper but oh, so interesting and such a lady.  She had never married, never had any children, and always loved entertaining her family and friends.  She believed children should be seen and not heard (unless spoken to), and that everyday was a blessing.  She had a zest for life, and she always made time for Peter.  She had some crazy habits, like sprinkling talcum powder on the floors before sweeping up to help pick up the bits and make the room smell nice and sprinkling salt on her fruit (probably from her by-gone days spent living in India), and she only ever ate overripe bananas.  Aunt Matilda would take Peter for walks around the garden and she would point out the various plants and trees.  Afterwards they would take afternoon tea, eat cucumber sandwiches and cake, and Aunt Matilda would tell Peter stories about the good old days, the races, dinner parties, card games and all the interesting people she knew.

The garden was mostly overgrown now, although Peter could still see the old apple tree he used to sit under to eat his cucumber sandwiches.  Peter closed his eyes and remembered the garden from his childhood.  He felt the warm breeze and heard the hum of the bees as they made their way from the lavender to the roses.  Happy days…

Peter opened his eyes and scanned the room.  Aunt Matilda had left the majority of her estate to a cat sanctuary, but had bequeathed a small portion to Peter and her surviving relatives.  Peter walked over to his Aunt’s writing desk, and sat for a moment.  He missed the old lady more than he cared to admit.  They had had a special bond after all.  He missed her stories and her enthusiasm for life.  He hadn’t seen her much in her later years, and he regretted not making time to visit her.  His heart sank as he thought about how he had neglected the old girl in her dotage.  ‘Shame on you, Peter’, he thought to himself.   As he made to get up from the chair Peter felt a draft, and carried on the air was a faint aroma, not cigarettes this time but of overripe, smelly bananas.  Peter smiled to himself and thought ‘the old girl’s still here after all’.  He moved towards the chaise longue and ran his fingers along the dusty upholstery, ‘goodbye, old girl’ he said as he walked towards the door.  As he pulled the door shut he fancied he heard the faint sound of music and Aunt Matilda’s infectious laughter.

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