She strode across Westminster as Big Ben struck ten, his sonorous voice sounding each strike evenly. The evening had started with trepidation and some dread. Endings were never easy and this was a particularly difficult ending to bear.
It had been a gin rather than a wine evening and mothers ruin had not quite been the ruin of her or the evening. Not all the key players were there, the ghosts, the great ones or gremlins from the past. It had been a good evening and now she had time to reflect and chuckle at anecdotes and memories that made it a good time.
It is always a pleasure when kind people line up the drinks. Four gins waiting in a row is a good number. Requests for water to balance the gin were always treated (thankfully) with a nod, a knowing smile and producing a pitcher of water and glasses was a stroke of genius.
Circulating is always difficult and the balance tonight was not quite right. She had done her best and silently acknowledged those in the room she had not attended to.
There had been opportunities to tease and she had taken all the moments she could. None of it malicious and all good-natured (at least she hoped).
Plenty of “gold” had been on offer and thankfully she had managed to contain herself and Spandau Ballet “Gold” had not burst forth. In the early days maybe, but not now, no amount of gin would induce her to sing.
There had been lots of smiles, tête-à-têtes and despite another round of uncertainty those assembled had been on very good form.
As she travels across the river, the Tower, the House of Commons and the Wheel are all lit up and she realises that she is truly going to miss this part of London and the people that she knows here.