“I told you to ask for a street number! Now we’re lost,” Mom grumbled, fumbling for her cellphone. She hated driving; if she could, she would cycle everywhere.

“She said her house stood out from all the rest. That’s why she didn’t give me a number,” I told her, and continued to stare at the ocean which lay at the bottom of the hillside.

“Honey, look outside. Every single house is the same; a concrete block with a million dollar view.”

“Maybe her house has a garden.” Mom snorted, and threw me her mobile.

“Then maybe its older. I remember her telling me it was Victorian or something.”

“I doubt that, Lise. At the most these houses are five years old. The sea view is the only thing beautiful about this street.”

“Mom, look! That must be her house!” I yelled excitedly, and stopped dialling.

A great periwinkle manor loomed over our car, drowning us in its shadow. Bluebells and Forget-Me-Nots grew neatly throughout the garden, while little blue Wrens chirped in a bird bath.

The last Donacis manor intact.