The Night Following

I sat on the stairs for a long time today.

Have had to submit to soup from across the road. Mrs. M’s son The Great Tony the paramedic came over with it-bossy bugger, like mother like son. He also had a shopping list. He said Mrs. M had jotted down some basics and would I run my eye over it and add anything else I could think of. He got my debit card number off me and said he’d get the whole thing fixed up online and I wouldn’t even have to sign for it-Mrs. M would take delivery and drop it all over regular as clockwork, I wouldn’t need to stir. BUT it would do me good to get out and he’d take me shopping anytime I cared to go.

I scratched my head over that-can’t recall what I agreed to, list is still here somewhere. Maybe it’s all written down. Could you deal with it?

Later on was rootling around in some of your heaps and found something on mimosa! WAS it necessary however to hang on to so much paper? Here’s the bit:

All I Want (Mimosas)

Maria G. Bracci-Cambini

to Joan

May 20, 1983

From “your Tosca”

A farmhouse

that’s all I want

out of Life.

A farmhouse,

and Sun,

and

Mimosas

In a willow-y tree.

Where, when shadows fall

and seasons pass,

an echo of long ago

will speak to me

And the mimosa sighing

On the willow-y tree.

Who was Maria Bracci-Cambini? And who was Joan? I knew you were fond of mimosa and we both liked a bit of sun now and then, but did you want a farmhouse too, Ruth? You never mentioned it.

All these words everywhere. I keep coming across things you never talked about.

I never knew there was such a word as willow-y-willowy, yes. It looks nice, though-willow- y.

There’s a book out now about punctuation. I expect you’d have bought it.

Arthur

THE COLD AND THE BEAUTY AND THE DARK

1947

Chapter 11: For the Love of Grace

“Grace, come and sit next to your uncle,” Evelyn said. “We’ll tackle t’washing up in a bit.”

Grace was still sitting on her chair at the dining table in the window, scowling. Uncle Les, enjoying his second cigarette after Sunday dinner, downed his glass of port and inspected his fingernails, buffing them absentmindedly against his lapel.

“Aye, come on over here, lass,” he said for the third or fourth time, patting the space next to him. “You know your old uncle doesn’t like you to sulk. Here, I’ve a bag o’ chocolate eclairs somewhere.”

Grace sighed heavily but then obeyed, slipping off her chair silently. Evelyn frowned and carried on knitting. She knew Grace moved quietly on purpose, so that Evelyn wouldn’t know where she was. It was two or three years since she had allowed her mother to hug her. Grace had always been a private, reticent child, but why had she, at fifteen, grown so distant and secretive?

The settee creaked a little as Grace sat down. Uncle Les cleared his throat. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece and Evelyn’s needles clicked. Evelyn heard the whisper of clothing, then a soft squirming sound, followed by a sigh. Grace must be settling herself and relaxing. Maybe her mood would improve. She smiled.

“Anybody fancy having the wireless on?” she asked.

Uncle Les coughed and the settee creaked again. “Nay, never mind for Grace and me,” he said. “Gracie’s got her homework to do, hasn’t she?”

“I needn’t do it now,” Grace said in a low voice. “Later will do.”

Uncle Les tutted. “Now, now, lass,” he said, “if it’s there to be done, it’s best tackled, eh? While I’m here to help.”

Evelyn frowned. Grace was ungrateful. It was kind of Uncle Les to take such an interest in her education. He had bought her a desk and chair for her little bedroom, and every Sunday he would spend at least an hour with her there, going over her homework. He admitted that history and science were not his forte, but anything to do with figures and he was a dab hand.

“I don’t want to,” Grace said petulantly. “I don’t feel well. My stomach hurts. Here.”

“Eh?” Uncle Les said sharply. “What’s up?”

“You’ve had a bit too much dinner, I expect,” Evelyn said brightly. “Best ignore it, it’ll pass.”

“Mother, I’ve hardly ate anything,” Grace said, her voice tightening. “I feel sick an’ all.” She suddenly burst into tears.

“Why, Grace, whatever is the matter, love?” Evelyn cried.

“There’s something bad in my stomach!”

Uncle Les stood up. “Come on, Gracie,” he said with authority. “Give over, now, you’re upsetting your mother. That’s enough excuses. Homework’s got to be done. No, Evelyn, you leave this to me. Gracie, upstairs with you. Now.”

Later, Uncle Les came down alone. He stood in front of the fire as he spoke, a sure sign that he meant to be taken seriously.

“Evelyn, love, I’ve had words with little Gracie. She is a bit under the weather.”

“Under the weather? She’s only a young lass! Maybe she could do with an iron tonic.”

“An iron tonic won’t do owt,” Uncle Les said. “Iron tonic’s not what’s called for.”

“I’ll have to get t’doctor to her, then.”

“Nay, there’s no call for that! There’s nowt wrong with her a rest won’t put right. Now, I know a nice little place just out of Blackpool. Quiet, family run. Folk go there for all sorts, you get a proper pick-me-up-a sea cure plus all your home comforts. Mrs. Hibbert used to swear by it. A week there’ll do Grace a power o’good. And it’s on me, it’ll not set you back a penny.”

Evelyn bit her lip.“But if she’s poorly she needs the doctor. And a whole week off school?”

“Well, she’s leaving anyroad come Whitsun, i’n’t she? A week won’t make a scrap of difference. Fresh air, all mod cons. Do her good.”

Evelyn considered.“Well, it does sound nice. These young girls, they do go at everthing so, these days. They