Forgetting the Present

         Dust motes glittered in the solid golden bars of sunlight, weaving soft waltzes in the air. Francesca was rather confused by the shrieks of laughter and gentle murmur of voices she could hear floating in through an open window at the far end of the room. There were flimsy streamers strewn across a stately fireplace and used napkins dotted about this unfamiliar lounge, some peeping from beneath crushed cushions and others scrunched, sitting by silver frames on the mantelpiece.
         She glanced down at her lap and frowned. A present? When had she gotten this?
         She tugged at the delicate bow. Tearing away the paper, Francesca uncovered a jewellery box, its oak lid decorated with an intricate inlay. Her curiosity swelled as she picked up a small cream card and read the tidy scrawled message:
 

Wishing you a wonderful day, Melissa! With love, your sister, Dee.

 
         Melissa? Dee? Evidently, this gift was not meant for Francesca.
         Francesca cautiously turned around, inspecting the room, and then placed the ravaged present aside with a small twinge of guilt. She had a strange sensation that she had been here before – in a dream, perhaps, or in early childhood. The sound of music mingled with the smell of warm cakes. Where was she exactly? Why was there laughter?
         She could hear more laughter coming from the corridor; a little boy shaking a lurid pink gift box vigorously in hand shot past the open doorway, closely followed by a harangued-looking lad, no more than thirteen. Before passing by, the young boy lifted his eyes, catching Francesca’s gaze.
          “Auntie Dee says she’ll only be two more minutes in the bathroom,” he nodded towards her. “Oh, and here’s your gift from Sammy and me.”
         He dug deep into his pockets, pulling out a small, heavily creased velvet bag.
          “Sorry ‘bout it being all messed up.”
          Francesca felt anxious, couldn’t think why exactly. Was ‘Auntie Dee’ the same woman who’s present Francesca had unwittingly unwrapped? The boy’s tentative smile gave way to a disconcerted look, when she continued to stare at his outstretched hand.
          “Um, thank you…” she took the bag and he grinned: he hadn’t detected the small rise at the end of her sentence, questioning, confused. And his eyes – brown yet piercing eyes – stirred in her the ghost of some long-lost memory.
          “I'll just go get your other pressie – if I can catch that lil twerp first.” He jerked his head towards a flight of stairs at the end of the corridor. The little boy was nowhere to be seen.
         Timidly, Fran turned her attention back to the box and clutched at the small bag tightly. She strode across the room towards the mantelpiece. Maybe there were clues here. Francesca began to peer at the photographs, whose frames glinted in the summer sun. 
         Her narrow curious eyes began to widen with surprise. She didn’t recognise one single person in the assorted family photos with cheesy smiles all round – except for herself. From picture to picture, her gaze slid across and in almost every one, she found herself either alone or sharing the frame with complete strangers. In some there were children and others young adults and even the elderly. Despite the brightly lit room, uneasiness crept up her spine.
         Something was wrong. Really, really wrong and she had to get out of here before she found out why.  She turned nervously towards the door, trying to ignore the jewellery box she could see out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t particularly like the idea of navigating her way through this house alone. This deceptive house, with its false sense of charm and security. How could there be anything wrong in a place where children were evidently having fun, sweet scents drifted in the air, cheerful music played and the comforting murmur of adults mingled with a jolly party atmosphere?
         Francesca couldn’t shake that forbidding tension. She stepped out into the corridor and walked purposefully toward the long, winding stairs and then tip-toed downwards. Reaching the bottom, she could see the front door. She could leave this party or gathering or whatever it was and go… go where?
         Home? Maybe her sister’s place?
         Francesca was paralysed. Suddenly, she could feel tears well up in her eyes. Her face screwed into a painful grimace as she was consumed by an overwhelming tide of fear, confusion and a deep loneliness. Who were all these people? Why was she here? That she couldn’t remember being invited, much less by who, shook her deeply.
          “There you are!”
         Francesca swivelled round to face the woman at the top of the stairs. Blonde, slightly tanned and piercing brown eyes. The woman’s smile transformed into a worried frown, when she saw Francesca’s empty stare. Her voice became sharp with concern, as she descended the steps.
          “Honey, are you okay?”
         Francesca’s face morphed into a mask of disbelief. Who was this lady pretending to care, Francesca thought.
         I need to get to my sister’s. She’ll know what to do. She’ll know what’s going on, who brought me here. She can explain it all.
         The woman came closer and attempted to embrace her. Francesca pulled away, angrily.
          “Who are you?”
         The woman looked taken aback.
          “Melissa, come on –”
          “What did you just call me?”
          “Mel, please. It’s me – Dee.”
         Francesca’s eyes narrowed with contempt: “My name isn’t Melissa.”
         Dee blinked, face going abruptly blank. An awkward pause ensued.
          “No, of course it isn’t.” Dee gave a small laugh. “My mistake – it’s just… you look so much like her.”
         Francesca pursed her lips and turned to leave.
          “You should really stay, though. ”
         Francesca paused.
          “I mean, your sister and Melissa are really good friends and this is Mel’s 30th, after all. I don’t think your sister would be too happy with you walking out on her. Besides – ”
         Dee let her arms fall to her side as she watched her sister grapple with young onset dementia.
          “– the cake’s delicious.”

 
 

Word count: 998