In her flat in southeast London, Mrs. Havenson put the kettle on for tea and started cleaning.

She was very particular about the tea; the stove was dialed to just the right heat, the bottle-green kettle was carefully selected and filled just full enough. She hummed to herself as she worked; the sun shone through her windows, illuminating a few old papers resting upon the kitchen table, which she scooped into a bin to dispose of later. Her shoes, wide-toed and comfortable for a woman of her age, padded softly along the hardwood floor. Turning to the sitting room, she passed by the hook where her wide-brimmed sunhat was hanging and absently placed the bin down below it.

The room was simple and uncluttered. A small floral-print sofa sat across from a table and television which carried a layer of dust; atop a short bookshelf sat a radio which had seen far more use. Still humming to herself, she went to turn it on and frowned upon discovering it was out of juice. She'd have to have Jenny fix that. A gentle breeze passed through a window on the far side of the room, ruffling the curtains on either side of it. Her old Bible lay atop the table; she made a mental note to put it away somewhere out of sight. Jenny hated it when they talked religion. From a vase in the corner of the room, she plucked a gray feather duster and busied herself, taking extra care with a gold-framed photo on the bookshelf; Jim's face smiled out at her from it, unburdened by the pain it had worn in his final years.

In the kitchen, the phone rang. She tutted to herself, grabbing the Bible as she went. Placing it upon the table where the telephone lay, she picked up the receiver. “Yes, hello?”

“Mom?”

She smiled. “Well, hello, my dear! Why call your mother when you'll be here so soon? Not that I mind.”

“Mum, are you all right? Oh, God, I've been trying to get through for days, but it's impossible to drive anywhere and the trains are all stopped and – oh, God, Mum, why didn't you pick up the phone?”

Mrs. Havenson frowned. “Now, Jenny, you know about using the Lord's name in vain.”

“Mum, this isn't the time – Mum, what do you mean I'm going to be there soon?”

She tutted once more. “Thursday afternoon, 2 o'clock. I may be getting old, young lady, but I can remember when my daughter stops by every week.”

On the other end of the line, there was a choking sound. “Mum, that's -”

Silence for a moment. Mrs. Havenson frowned once more. “Jenny, is something the matter? Are you going to be late today?”

A strangled, half-laugh came through the line. “That's... yeah, Mum, that's it. I'm going to be a little late.”

“Well, why didn't you just say so? I don't see what all the fuss is about.”

“Nothing, Mum, it's nothing.” On the other end, someone shouted. “Listen, Mum. I have to go, but I love you so, so much, all right?”

The kettle whistled. “Well, I love you too, dear, but the kettle's boiling. I'll see you later this afternoon, then.”

The line went dead. Still tutting to herself, Mrs. Havenson pulled out the drawer of the table and put the Bible in, rattling the still-full bottle of pills near the back.

Then she picked up the kettle and poured herself a cup of hot water.

Though I wound up being way busier than I expected during this contest, I did manage to get at least this COT entry in.

I might make a topic for the three Bionicle fics, but this'll probably just stay in the blog, so comments are appreciated.