The door opened. Florence was standing there, already in her pyjamas, tentatively awaiting the arrival of her two guests. Florence was the sixteen-y...ar-old child of two proud owners of the large city mansion that Ellie was stepping into for the hundredth time. She had long brown hair, a cute, pale face, with a button-like nose, and a sense of elegance in her stride. They had been best friends since primary school and tended to meet up on a regular basis these days.Ellie dropped her heavy. I got up and answered, and it was ournext door neighbour, Mrs Harris, carrying a couple of bags of clothes."Hi Michael," she said with a cheery smile, "I've brought some thingsfor your mom to take to the church swap meet, I told her I'd drop themround." Ah, Ok, thanks," I said, taking the bags from her and walking throughthe kitchen to leave them in the store room."Thats a strange looking book you have there Michael," said MrsHarris, looking at the book I'd found on the bus. "What's it about?". T worked all the time. But Jimmy and I never used that as an excuse to do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted. She always seemed to know what we were up to. Even if we didn’t tell her directly, she’d find out.Over time, I started to take a notice to her a little more often. And as Jimmy and I got older. She dressed and acted a little differently around us. She would come down stairs once in a while, wearing just a loose fitting robe. Barely covering her bra and panties. Jimmy would yell “Ma!. Ned remembered seeing them together at sports day the previous summer, the only way you could tell them apart was a large brown birthmark on the games mistresses upper arm. They're awfully lovey dovey, he thought, married couples aren't like that ... still. Mr Simpson spread out a travel rug that he had been carrying, and as they settled down onto it the woman turned, and Ned could see her arm. There was a large brown birthmark on it.My god, he thought, that's Miss Hiscock, Clare Jones was.