The black spot

Yesterday a valued ex-colleague was found cold in her bed at 51 years of age. Apart from mild hypertension, she'd been in good health, fit and slim, and looked 15 years younger than her chronological age. She'd had indigestion that night and slept in the spare room to save disturbing her partner. She leaves behind her a devoted and devastated latter-day, true-love husband and two daughters in their early 20s, who relied and depended on her as the nucleus of a close blended family. I worked alongside her for 15 years, and we were smoke-break chums for 10 of these until she had to give up for her blood pressure. She never again smoked in the daytime, but would put away a packet of 10 Silk Cut casually in an evening over a few glasses of white wine when circumstance permitted.

On the way to work I was thinking over the news of her death, and decided it must've been a false alarm. She was just sleeping heavily or had a brief faint, and had come to with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes a few minutes later. But no- she's really, unbelievably gone. Goodbye.