by Krystle

Created on: December 18, 2008

Walking up the front steps of my mother's house in Prestwich Hills, I took in the surroundings. It was a sunny day, and the air was crisp and clear; not an ominous cloud in sight. The garden I had just walked by grew the typical summer flowers, and thick green bushes separated my mother's house from her neighbours'. My mother, of course, had vouched for that, and poor old Mrs Parker and Mrs Griffin had to give in.

I lifted my arm to ring the doorbell, but paused momentarily. It had been a while since I had come around here. I was never close to Mum, but it seemed that yesterday's events required some clearing up. Mum had found out about me; what I did for a living, who I worked for. It was unintentional, of course. Whatever it was, this was something big; massive even, and it had to be dealt with. If I hadn't come by, my mobile phone will, undoubtedly, be filled with messages from Mum; something she liked to do when something came up.

There were two things I had to be worried about now that Mum knew I was an agent who worked for a secret organisation that dealt with criminal activity. It was either she'd be extremely scared and worried for my safety, or she'd think that I'd be able to get her out of just about any trouble. As one can imagine, I was desperately hoping for the second option.

I rang the doorbell, and when Mum didn't answer, I let myself in. The strong smell of spices and herbs came from the kitchen, and that's where Mum obviously was. She didn't have a maid, and she lived alone.

The house hadn't changed. I had lived here until I turned 17, when I started working for the people I work for now. It had been exactly six years since I moved to London, and Mum kept everything just the way it was back then. The photographs of me were the exact same ones, as well as the colour of the walls, the furniture, and the liquor cabinet. The only thing that was different was the absence of Dad's things. After Mum and Dad divorced three years ago, I only saw my mother once. As for Dad, I never saw him again.

"Oh, honey," Mum said happily when I entered the kitchen. She came around the table, and we hugged. She looked very healthy, which was due to her practice of yoga. She placed her hands on my cheeks and squeezed them gently. "Oh, you keep getting prettier and prettier."

I tried not to blush. "You wanted to talk?" I said, thinking it best to get right on it.

"Hold on," she said, going back to stirring something in a pot. "I'm cooking."

Indeed. The kitchen table

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