The fragrance of jasmine

I hold up the string of jasmine flowers that I buy everyday to keep on my bedside table and teach the Bean – ‘Mallipoo…say baby, mallipoo…’

She repeats after me, mallipoo, and I breathe the fragrance in with a sigh. The scent transporting me back to my childhood and hot summer nights, midnight feasts on the terrace and skinned knees from climbing trees.

The Bean copies me, breathing the scent in deeply, her eyes lighting up with pleasure at the lovely frangrace.

‘It smells nice, doesn’t it?’ I ask her..

Yes, she nods. And I hope that years later the smell of jasmine flowers will take her back to this momet, to her home and mama and the big, cosy bed.

A little later she is still walking around the house, smiling. I smile back at her and ask her why she’s smiling…

‘It smells nice, mama,’ she says. I nod, surprised at how the pleasure has stayed on so long in her senses.

Until I notice a little white tip peeking out of her nostril.

Yes, she’d shoved a little bud into her nose in a simple bid to keep the fragrance around. I groan and hold my head in my hands while the OA attempts to take it out. His hands shaking with supressed laughter, his eyes shining with mirth.