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I hadn't met her until I'd been in my apartment for ten days - the lady on the second floor, which was strange really.

By the seventh day of my being here I had decided exactly what I was going to do. It had to be sleeping tablets. I was surprised when the doctor gave them to me. With the baby due in two months I thought it might matter. But he assured me I need to sleep; it would help me to get over the shock of Rahul's death.

I'd never get over his death. How could I? I loved him too much. Life without him was nothing. And that's what I was going to do - be with him for ever. The bottle of tablets was on the table, next to a jug full of lemonade I had made to help me wash down the tablets. My hands shook as I picked up the jug.

Would it be enough? Should I drink a little lemonade first? Then take the tablets and drink another glass? I had to be absolutely sure that it will work. Supposing I woke up to find that I still had the world to face without my husband beside me? No, I couldn't let that happen. A faint knock came on the door. Oh no, not now, I thought with a sigh. Perhaps if I kept silent who ever it was would go away. It was probably Mrs. Pinto, my land lady, who occupied the ground floor apartment in the three storied building she owned.

The knock came again. I put down the glass and opened the door. A fragile little old lady stood there; hesitant; smiling.

"Good evening, my dear. I hope you don't mind me calling on you," she began hesitantly. "You looked so sad when you passed me on the stairs. Just thought I'd call on you. I reside on the second floor."

"I - I'm..." I stammered. "Passed you? I didn't notice..."

"No, you wouldn't. No one ever does." She smiled. "May I come in?"

Reluctantly, I widened the door. She was small and slight. Her white, wispy hair curled softly around her sympathetic face and her faded black-gray eyes shone with kindness. She had a gentle, almost ethereal, face.

"It's always lonely at first, moving into a new house," she said, "I've been here so long now, but I still remember that feeling. You feel so lost, with no one to welcome you." She settled herself into a chair and looked round the room.

"You haven't unpacked yet! Need a helping hand dear?" she commented as she saw unopened boxes scattered across the room.

"No, I'll manage on my own, thank you." I didn't know what else to tell her.

"Your husband, he died recently," she said abruptly. Her words sliced through me, painful and sharp.

I didn't want to hear it. Not said aloud. How could she?

"And you loved him very much," she continued gently. I nodded, feeling the tears burning behind my eyes, a tight feeling in my throat, it was sheer agony. Stop now. Please don't go on.

I implored silently. I don't want to talk about him.

"You are lucky," she pronounced.

Did she say lucky? This woman had to be out of her mind. How was it lucky to lose the only man I'd ever loved? Especially when life had been so full - when we had everything to live for... "Your marriage was a good one. You had no regrets, and you both loved each other," she stated simply, "and now you are expecting a baby - a reminder of him." She continued in a matter of fact way, "Not many people can say they've been happy, not in this day and age. There are so many divorces, so many lives torn apart. You have only happiness to remember. In years to come, you don't know what might have happened. Love doesn't always last, you know, but you had happiness." She smiled gently, and then suggested, "A cup of tea would be nice."

"I'm sorry," I apologized quickly "It's so rude of me! It's just that..."

"I know, my dear. Everything is in turmoil, isn't it?" The old lady said sympathetically. "It's always so much worse when it's someone you love. I know. I lost both my son and my husband in the war, the same month. "My son, Jerry, was only 27," she went on wistfully. "He was in the army, proud of his uniform, laid down his life for his country."

I dropped a couple of tea bags into the pot and poured some boiling water over it..

"Roger, my husband, his fighter plane was shot down".

I put the cup on the table next to her. "Time does help, it really does, my dear," she assured me gently.

"At first there's that dreadful feeling of guilt for the things you didn't say or do. But it eventually passes, with time. Then you remember the happy times, the good things. I know it's difficult to believe, when everything seems devastated, but time is a great healer."

My eyes rested on the bottle of tablets, still unopened. Had she noticed? Did she wonder?

"And what about the baby?" she went on. "Whether it's a boy or girl, it'll still be a part of him. You will see it in his eyes, or maybe a fleeting expression on her face that you'll catch ever so often. Your husband will always be with you - in that child. You really are lucky, my dear."

The sun went down, leaving a crimson glow behind. I pulled the curtains and switched on the light. It illuminated the old lady's thinning hair into a halo of silver.

"My son, Jerry, had a son, but he never had the good fortune of seeing him. My grandson, without him, I don't know what I would have done. It was that frail new life that kept me going. Jerry's wife re-married within a year. She was very young and no one expected her to tie herself to a ghost forever. I brought up Derrick. The new husband did not want to be saddled with someone else's child. And I can't blame him for that. In fact, I'm glad he gave me the chance to bring up my grandson. Without Derrick life would have been pointless."

She had such a placid little face; it was difficult to imagine how much pain and sorrow she'd been through. Seeing her, resting there amongst the deep velvet cushions on the settee, so fragile, she barely dented them - she looked tranquil and at peace. The baby kicked hard, full of life. And it was Rahul's flesh and blood.

"A wonderful boy Derrick," the old lady murmured wistfully. Then she roused herself from her thoughts and gazed at me with kindly faded eyes. "You won't need these, will you?" She asked, pointing to the bottle of sleeping tablets on the table.

"No," I said slowly. "I won't need those after all." With Rahul's child within me, how could I? "You'll come again, won't you?" I pleaded as I opened the door. A tiny smile hovered round her lips.

"May be." She replied softly. The cup was still on the table. She hadn't even drunk her tea. Perhaps next time...

I had barely taken a few steps, when there was a knock on the door. Eagerly, I ran to open it, hoping that she had come back, but, this time it was Mrs. Pinto. "Just thought I'd come up to see how you are settling in." And then she noticed, "What's this you haven't unpacked yet?"

Her eyes took in the room with an encircling glance and stopped at the lemonade, before moving on to the cups of tea. "You've got visitors?" she asked warmly. "Oh well, I won't stay." "Only the lady from the second floor," I explained. Mrs. Pinto raised her eyebrows. "There is no lady on the second floor, it's occupied by three students and they won't be back until next week when term starts. Nice boys. You won't find them noisy, I'm sure." "Perhaps she didn't say second floor then," I faltered, feeling rather confused. "It was the old lady with her grandson."

"What old lady?" Mrs. Pinto echoed, her eyebrow raised with surprise. "There used to be an old lady who lived here once, but she died years ago. She did have a grandson, but I can't remember his name. He migrated to Australia, and it broke the old soul's heart. She sort of went downhill after that. She lost interest in living. Devoted to that boy she was. But that was years ago. I remember the doctor's comment when they found her, sleeping tablets it was that did it."

She stopped and then giving me a look of concern she continued, "Are you sure you are feeling alright my dear? Call for me if you need anything." And without waiting for my respond, "Oh well, if you're alright I'll be off."

After she'd gone, I gathered the teacups and with shaking fingers picked up the bottle of sleeping tablets. The bottle was empty...

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