This for Helen.

Helen squinted through the rain that lashed at her face, she leaned into the cold wind unrelenting in its ferocity, and each gust caught the raincoat and whipped it across her legs, making her wince with pain. She breathed in that curious way people do in a storm, her top lip exaggeratedly pushed further out than her bottom lip, in an attempt to stop the wind from stealing her breath. Rainwater filled her mouth; it ran down her neck onto her back soaking her clothes. She felt exhausted and decided to take shelter in the doorway of a derelict shop, but it held little cover and though desperate for a cigarette, knew she had no chance of lighting one even if they were dry.

She regretted taking this rout out of the city. It was badly lit and dangerous for a woman alone late at night, scary too because most of the buildings that had lined this old road had been pulled down to make way for redevelopment. The houses and shops that hadn't yet fallen under the demolition ball though derelict and unsafe, seemed to have a life of their own, made fluid by the rain and given motion by the wind.

Though the small doorway gave her little protection, it was infinitely better than fighting the storm. She squeezed further into the corner pulling her coat tightly around herself. As she reached into her pocket for the cigarettes, she felt something give way. She heard herself saying sorry as the door to what had once been a chemist's shop swung open and she fell forward her hands grabbing at thin air. Hitting the ground hard she rolled over onto her back and grabbed her legs protectively. She had hurt both her knees and the pain made her cry the tears she had been holding back all night. Her sobbing echoed in the empty shop and more with anger at her clumsiness than anything else began swearing loudly. Unsteadily she got to her feet and looked around, there wasn't much to see, it was quite dark, but she could make out shelves, a shop counter and in the corner near the window an old leather couch.

Out of the rain she could at least rest for a while, she closed the door and instantly the shop became quieter. She moved the old closed sign to one side and looked out at the rain as it was blown first one way then another by the wind. The thin spears hurled themselves at the ground glittering against a street lamp that shed a pale yellow light. She took her coat off and draped it over the counter to dry, it was soaked and heavy, water dripped from the hem forming puddles on the dry wooden floor, in the semi-darkness, they looked like pools of blood, she shuddered, hugging herself and sat down.

The couch was cold but surprisingly comfortable, she took out her pack of cigarettes and lit one inhaling deeply. The lighter illuminated the small shop, and she let it burn for a while taking stock of her surroundings, most of the fittings had long gone, but enough of them were left to indicate that it had been run down, even when trading. What remained was old fashioned and dilapidated. Behind the counter the wall was shelved from floor to ceiling in old dark wood and each shelf was further divided into small boxes that at one time must have been where drugs and medicine was stored. Some of the boxes still had little brass labels attached to them; even the adverts were pre war. She laughed at one that proclaimed Ivory soap was the choice of society ladies and debutantes around the world. It showed a young woman in a long ball gown beaming and looking very sophisticated. She wondered how she looked, a mess probably, still there was nothing that could be done about it, she pulled her legs up onto the couch and lay back to enjoy her cigarette. She tried vainly to blow a smoke ring, she had never quite mastered the trick, despite the tutoring she had received from her Father who was an expert at it, and could blow perfectly round rings very quickly one after the other. Hers just fell out of her mouth in a rush and formed a big white cloud. This latest attempt was no exception and for a brief time the rising plume of smoke was illuminated and turned yellow by the small amount of light from the street lamp that had managed to fight its way through the grimy shop window.

She knew this part of the city well, and could remember how most of the road she had just walked down looked before the bulldozers moved in, but couldn't remember the chemists shop despite passing it every time she travelled on the tram into town to shop. These were her freedom days, one of the few legitimate reasons she had to get away from her husband and spend a few hours alone doing as she pleased. She had known Robert from her school days and always liked him, from the beginning their friendship had been just that, friendship, she hadn't had any aspirations of romance and the idea of marrying him had never entered her head. Everybody just assumed they would marry, especially her Mother who often reminded Helen that time was marching on and admonished her for "keeping the lad waiting". And so it just crept up on her and even as arrangements for the wedding were taking place, she pushed them to the back of her mind and ignored the inevitable. Robert was kind, trustworthy, dependable, hardworking and although totally predictable, he would occasionally surprise her with a small gift or a bunch of flowers. He was also boring, he lacked imagination and seemed to be spending the first years of his life preparing for the last years. We need to be safe he would say, who knows what's around the corner.

The town centre was always teaming with people, window-shopping was her escape, and she enjoyed it all the more at this time of year when shopkeepers hung tinsel and Christmas decorations in their windows to entice people inside. Soon they would erect a huge Christmas tree in the Town Square and deck it out with coloured lights; it was a symbol of hope to her for the New Year. In that tree she saw the future, a blank canvas on which she could paint any picture she wished.
Always her trip would finish with a coffee or two at the Three Cooks Cafe, there she could sit quietly and people watch until it was time to go home. This trip had been different; she had stayed in town far longer than she usually did and had missed the last tram. She decided to take the train home and walked the half mile to the station, there she could sit in the waiting room and shelter from the rain that was getting heavier with every footstep.

The railway station was from another era, it hadn't yet been modernised and was still lit by gas lamps, the waiting room was dingy and its green and chocolate livery was well past its best although it was hard to imagine it looking smart even when new. Dingy or not the fire roaring in the old cast iron grate was more than welcome.

"There are no more trains tonight Miss, last one was at eight thirty". Helen awoke with a start and looked up to see the stationmaster standing over her. "Next train is in the morning and I'm closing the station soon, you can't stay here love". "Oh, ok" she said still half asleep. "Are you all right love you shouldn't be here this time of night, can I call you a cab"? Helen rubbed her eyes and smoothed her skirt down, "just give me a minute, I must have fallen asleep, what time is it? "It's a quarter to twelve Miss, station gates will be locked in fifteen minutes". Helen felt stupid, she had missed her last tram and now lulled to sleep by the comfort and warmth of the station waiting room she had missed the train. There was nothing left but to walk home, she couldn't afford a cab. The stationmaster began to damp down the fire for the night and turn off the gas lamps in the waiting room as Helen put her coat on and stepped out into the now raging wind and rain.

As she lay on the couch in the darkness of the shop and took a last long drag on her cigarette, she wondered what Robert would be thinking. She knew he would be worried and probably would be very angry at her silliness, yet she felt remote from him and unconcerned at what would happen when she returned home. Whatever the reception might be, she wasn't about to leave until the storm had died down and it didn't show any signs of doing that just now. She swung her legs of the couch, sat up and put the cigarette out; as she did so the graze on her knee stung and reminded her sharply of the fall earlier.
The fact that the shop hadn't been completely emptied prior to demolition made her think that there could be something lying around she could clean her wound with, after all it had been a chemists. There was nothing in the shelves or drawers behind the counter of any use, so she extended her search towards the back of the shop. What little light there was came from the old street lamp outside, so she felt her way along the counter slowly until her hands touched the till, it felt cold, there the counter ended in total darkness. She reached for her cigarette lighter, after a couple of tries it burst into flame and for a second or two she was blinded. Soon she became accustomed to the dancing flame which didn't penetrate into the darkness very far, but at least it would enable her to avoid any obstacles, she didn't want to fall again.

A few feet from the end of the counter was a doorway covered by a heavily embroidered curtain and beyond that another counter, this one was circular in shape and it enclosed the back corner of the room. It looked rather like a pub bar and even had what looked like brass beer pumps, as she got closer she could see that they were dispensing spigots. Each of them had a brass plate, which proclaimed the kind of beverage it contained. Sasperilla, dandelion and burdock, ginger liquorice. Tall stools fixed to the floor surrounded the bar and she allowed herself to imagine how years ago people would have sat there sampling the cordials from this quaint chemist's shop, although she couldn't imagine why anyone would want to drink liquorice.

On top of the bar and against the wall was an old wireless set. It looked exactly like the one her Grandfather used to listen to in his parlour, as a child she loved to twiddle the knobs and read the exotic names on the dial. The old man explained to her that each name was a place somewhere in the world. She would turned the dial slowly and people speaking strange languages would struggle to make themselves heard above the crackling static, and music that seemed so different to the kind she knew, would echo from the speaker, snake charming music she like to call it.
Helen ran her fingertips across the well-polished wood of the radio cabinet down to the Bakelite tuning knobs, suddenly she felt sad, she missed her Grandfather and the carefree days of childhood, everything seemed so complicated now. Without thinking she turned the on switch, there was a satisfying click and a dull thud came from the speaker, the radio dial lit up a murky yellow and a warm orange light came from behind the radio and illuminated the wall. She jumped back startled; the power must still be on.
Just as she remembered, the old radio hummed and crackled into life, slowly out of the static a voice cultured and warm spoke her name.