Marilyn was a friend of my daughter, Kim, who I had also known some years. Keeping the story as short as I can, she was unhappily married and took her life. Some weeks later Kim was getting ready for work, and stepping from the shower saw writing on the mirror. Nobody else was in the house, and she rubbed the mirror clear. This writing said "I love you", and "help". Although photos were taken they have faded over the years and are unsuitable for publication. Feeling very depressed she was sitting in front of the television that night when she heard a loud knock and saw a flower rise from the vase on the TV. Instantly, she knew it was Marilyn and burst into tears. Obviously Marilyn was using her to shed her depression.

Maybe one year or so later, another daughter asked me whether I had felt my mum's presence in our house, not the same one Kim lived in. No, I hadn't I told her but she had felt a presence at the top of the stairs. Later I was awoken from sleep by a strong perfume. I tried all methods to ascertain where it came from - nope, not husband's after shave, not flowers (it was a new house and we didn't yet have a garden). Words entered my head saying "it's French, it's concentrated", then "don't forget to tell Kim". Next day I mentioned it to my husband who said he had smelt it also.

It was Christmas Day and I forgot about it until in the kitchen with Kim when I received a mental jolt and said, "I had a strange experience last night" and proceeded to relate it to her. Her reaction was to say she had gone cold and had goose bumps. As it wasn't a perfume I recognized I was unable to tell her what it was but stated I thought I would know it again. She suddenly went to her handbag and came back with a bottle of perfume asking whether that was the scent I had smelt. It seemed like it then suddenly, as though held closely to my nose, I said "That's it!".

Coincidently, both girls had had their wedding anniversaries on the same date, different years, and their husband's had given them this identical perfume which was Arpege - certainly French and concentrated.

I feel so privileged to have been able to be part of this story, and believe it to be extremely unusual that four people were included in it, and on different times and places.