Dearest Deborah, Greetings Shamwari, Well what can I say- it’s been three years since that day, that traumatic last day, three years but still the flashbacks and sounds sear my mind. It was one day in your life of 19,654 days, one horrific day. I try and push that day aside, let it fade into the background and let the other days come into focus; colourful and vibrant. We shared 18,587 days on earth together, thousands of days, millions of memories which conjure up happy images of us dancing by candlelight, riding bikes along dirt tracks, colouring in the sofa, swimming at Keppel, sounds of thunder and rain and uncontrollable laughter, smells of mimosa, Beef Wellington at Wendy’s and my burnt socks, the touch of ribbons and stolen tree tomatoes, the taste of ‘beat and bake’ and ‘cakes for weirdos’. Discos, dances, airports, concerts, tennis, churches, camps, sleepovers, courses, beauty courses, fashion shows, holidays, youth club, National Trusts, gyms, dog racing, safaris, shows, Manor House, restaurants - as children and adults we packed in soooo much man! Everywhere I go, everything I do - I am reminded of you because we went everywhere and did everything during the 18,587 days we shared together. On the 24th February, a week before you passed away, I sent you a photo of our neighbour’s mimosa tree as we grew up with them in Zimbabwe, you replied, ‘ I love mimosa...’. I have a funny story to tell you, it was your love of mimosa that influenced me, led me astray and got me in trouble just like when we were kids. I am blaming you man! Anyways, I have used it as part of an article I wrote on ‘Neighbours’, you loved my stories, so I have included an extract of the article below. Deborah, I feel you are with me in everything I do, and everywhere I go. Mazvita Shamwari. Lots of love and hugs, your No 1 sister, Anita (fast one).XXXXX Missing Among the Mimosas A figure appeared on the brow of the hill, a tall figure - running - fast - running fast towards me; white, slim, t-shirt, jeans, trainers, tearing towards me, arms flailing, legs pumping, chest back, chin forward. The frantic figure looked familiar, very familiar - it was my husband. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he gasped. ‘You’ve been missing for over an hour,’ he wheezed. I rang you, I messaged you, I thought you had been hit by a bus!’ I hadn’t gotten hit by the number 64, I had bumped into a neighbour... I had wandered along Stanhope Road happy as a cloud, when I came across a host of golden... daffodils? No, not daffodils - mimosa - three trees of magnificent mimosa smothered in tiny tufts of heaven scent blossom, their pom poms of yellow fluttering and dancing in the breeze, their golden wisps of candy floss tip toeing in the sunshine. I stood before the splendour and breathed in the wondrous fragrance. ‘Would you like a look round my garden?’ asked the mimosa - that is when my neighbour emerged from behind its branches. I did say I would be home for lunch. My husband was actually cooking lunch, but a tour of my neighbour’s garden would be like stepping into a candy shop; full of wonder and delight - the baked beans and scrambled egg would keep. ‘I would love to,’ I said. ‘I’ll just WhatsApp my husband and let him know.’ It was over an hour later when I resumed my journey - homeward bound. I made my way along Stanhope Road, my mind mingled with heavenly scents of Acacia dealbata mimosa. I felt I had just come back from the Chelsea Flower Show. That is where I met my frantic husband, frantic because unfortunately he had not received my WhatsApp message...