Wallflower Girl (Chapter 6, page 1 of 4)

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Her next conscious thought was about cooking her husband breakfast. She opened her eyes to a shaft of golden sunlight touching her face and the sound of birds scuffling on the roof. She could smell aftershave lotion. There was whistling coming from the bathroom across the hall. Her belly tingled with contentment, and she had this very firm idea in mind that she needed to cook steak; that her husband liked steak and gravy for breakfast.

She got up and straightened the bed. There was a letter on the dresser that she noticed was addressed to Nick and Patricia Harper. She found the panties she had worn the night before, and pulled them on. She poked her head in the open bathroom door. "Morning, Nick."

He eyed her in the mirror. His smile flashed. "Morning, sweet thing."

Anne giggled with glee, and she remained clinging to the door frame and watching the muscles in his back as he stood there shirtless, combing his hair. He suddenly lunged for her, making her jump, squeal and run. It was so awesome to be able simply to jump and run. She practiced ballet while cooking up a steak and heating the gravy she had in a jug in the fridge. She must have made it in batches or something. She kind of knew it would be there. She just knew stuff like that; like the fact that her shopping money for the week would be handed out that morning. It was for Nick to manage their finances, and she would be allocated a household budget, which she guarded jealously, though they were not particularly poor. Economy was in her nature. Things were coming back to her, as if she had simply lost her memory and the haze was gradually clearing.

Her husband ate his steak, kissed her, and went to work in the hay fields. Anne found heels in her wardrobe. She never wore heels. It was hard enough keeping balance as it was. No such issues existed for a ballet girl though. She found a pretty floral sundress and modelled it in the full length mirror on a stand in the corner of her bedroom. She marvelled at her legs; the way the heels shaped them. There was absolutely no need for stockings.

Their car was a truck. It was a big bouncy thing with a wooden tray and a gear lever that came up from the floor and crunched every time she had to move it into a new gear. She rolled on over the timber bridge where there were children swimming in the waterhole. It was already hot at nine in the morning. As she passed the truck-stop, she saw a ladder against the building and two men on the roof fixing the model truck into place. That made her smile; the knowledge that déjà vu was pretty damned real after all.

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