"Who am I anyway? How would I know?"

Mrs Tamarind wonders about herself.

‘Not myself’?  How does that woman know? How do I know?  How would I find out?  I wonder.

"She thinks I should be docile and grateful.  Why? That's not me. or perhaps... ?

Maybe now is the time to have a look."

Mrs Tamarind looks back into the story of her life. A stream of pictures flows past in her mind's eye, some bright, some faded.

She scratches in the dust of her memories, looking for something true and bright in herself. A moment on a swing, flying off at the top and landing in the grass laughing. An early morning with birds singing, creeping out of an open window to see the sunrise. Her first sight of Billy, wrinkled and red and beautiful.  Turning the crisp pages of the first book she bought for herself.

A taste of something fresh flows through her.

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