Necklace of five colours

There she sits, on the corner of her king-size bed, elegantly decorated by a hand-embroidered Indian throw, with tears dripping from her beautifully made-up face. She sits surrounded by all the sumptuous things she has bought over the years, and all the lavish gifts she has been given. Fine, delicate jewellery in every resplendent colour and gemstone available hangs in the mahogany jewellery cabinet. The white, ceramic, emerald adorned trinket box on the shelf is overflowing with broaches, corners of silk fabric, a pearl necklace too large to fit in, solid gold and diamond earrings, and treasures long forgotten. The lampshades, from an exclusive little shop in London, are also hand-embroidered with oriental-looking flowers.

But the necklace worth the most money is kept in its original box, wrapped in brown paper, wrapped in 20 years of dust, away from sight. The most important treasure is hidden from view. Her favourite item, yet her most saddening memorial item, is the one thing not on display for all to see.

The necklace came from somewhere wonderfully unknown in France. The heart of garnets around the size of the palm of her frail hand contain five gemstones – two emeralds, two amethysts, and one garnet in the centre. The opulent combination of colours exploded from the box when light was allowed to reach each finely-cut gem. That was not very often.

It was too painful. She remembered receiving it for her 18th birthday, and was absolutely breathless to see it in her hands, around her neck. Breathless, and speechless, momentarily her mind suffered a paralysis of thoughts or emotions. Then, a tsunami let loose on her heart, bringing tears to her eyes to be given such a ridiculously expensive and immensely emotionally-charged gift.

“He must really think something of you!” Father had said.

Just two months later, he was gone. Everything fell apart; their capacity of patience ran out; the words penetrated much deeper than their hearts, staining their souls and their every emotion. And so, he left her. Sitting there.

All the expensive gifts in the world could not drown out that necklace. So it was left in its box never to be opened again. Just the sight of the crumpled beige box was too much.

She clutched the newest edition to her expansive wardrobe – a black skirt, wide-pleated and complete with flattering sash to the waist. When she had bought it earlier that day, it had filled her with a happiness as bright as the winter sunshine on the snow, a happiness that was fluid as water, which coursed through her aged body and replaced everything once lost. But that had all faded, leaving her with just another black cotton skirt and another sum to add to her secret mounting debt.

She had thought it was enough. Every new purchase gave her that thrill, that bliss, that glittering, blinding sunshine. But now the room felt crowded, oppressive, and dark. Nothing could ever replace his necklace. Nothing. Just as no-one could ever replace him.