saucers and the spoons, the tea-cups and the plates. She put out the sugar basin and the tongs, the milk-jug and the tea-strainer. Each one took a separate, slow trip from the disordered kitchen. She put out the special napkins which went with the mat. At that moment, when it was time to put out the highlight, what she had bought for tea, Alicia suddenly felt that her heart was about to stop pumping. She had not had such an exhausting week for years.
Every day, she had deliberated whether or not she should go ahead and have the girl to tea, and on different days she had come to different conclusions. On Monday and Tuesday, when the dubious event was still sufficiently distant, she had decided that she ought to. On Wednesday, when Pearl came, she had deliberated out loud and with the beginnings of enjoyable anticipation. But because Pearl, with typical fecklessness, had also been in favour, she had decided, merely to contradict her, that she ought not to. On Thursday and Friday, when the tea was nearly on top of her, she had changed her mind several times each day, alternately aghast at the imminent interruption of her routine and full of regret at the prospect of missing it. In the end, she had decided to take the necessary steps anyway and leave her final decision until the final moment. She had begun to prepare for it. She had stood inside her front door and tried to imagine what the house would look like to a visitor. So many preparations turned out to be necessary in the light of this examination that she had had to get to work on them straight away and they had drained her. Naturally, once she was preparing for it, she had begun to look forward to the tea more and more. Indeed, she had got so happily excited as she pottered about that she had once or twice forgotten who it was she was preparing for and imagined another visitor entirely. Yesterday had been the last straw.
She realized with a rush of resentment that all her ordinary everyday preoccupations had been swept aside. She hadnearly forgotten to ask after Pearl’s boy too. Had he enjoyed his biscuits? Pearl had said that with four of his front teeth gone, biscuits were still a bit much to manage. She had added that he was ‘in traction’, but Alicia did not know what that meant. She thought of a cross between ‘fractious’ and ‘intractable’ and, imagining the boy propped-up sulkily on his pillows, pulling a pouting face at his visiting mother bearing the biscuits, she had said briskly, ‘Ah well, he’ll snap out of that soon enough, I expect.’
But her own week, her own considerations, what had become of them? Sitting down heavily on the settee, she realized that her own week was set out on the blue and purple table mat; her own considerations were in the kitchen, wrapped up in Mr Patel’s brown paper bags.
She had dressed warmly, taken her handbag and her shopping-bag, and she had gone at her snail’s pace down to the corner shop. A bitter wind blew in her face all the way to the corner and single huge raindrops splashed demeaningly only on her. She struggled along, stamping her two sticks down one after the other, while the younger and more able-bodied danced provocatively past her. The Council still had not mended the pavement. All along her path there were unbelievably tall piles of dogs’ dirt which, if you had not known they were dogs’ dirt, you might easily have mistaken for the droppings of some gigantic wild beast. Of course, if you had to walk all the way bent nearly double, it did magnify what was on the pavement.
She was in terrible shape by the time she reached Mr Patel’s. Mr Patel had seen her coming – of course, the pace she went, he had had enough time to – and he held the door open for her, beaming. ‘Good morning, good morning, and what can we do for you?’
Oh yes, it’s all very well for you to be cheerful, Alicia snarled to herself. Raking in other people’s money to feather your nest.
She did not return his
Every day, she had deliberated whether or not she should go ahead and have the girl to tea, and on different days she had come to different conclusions. On Monday and Tuesday, when the dubious event was still sufficiently distant, she had decided that she ought to. On Wednesday, when Pearl came, she had deliberated out loud and with the beginnings of enjoyable anticipation. But because Pearl, with typical fecklessness, had also been in favour, she had decided, merely to contradict her, that she ought not to. On Thursday and Friday, when the tea was nearly on top of her, she had changed her mind several times each day, alternately aghast at the imminent interruption of her routine and full of regret at the prospect of missing it. In the end, she had decided to take the necessary steps anyway and leave her final decision until the final moment. She had begun to prepare for it. She had stood inside her front door and tried to imagine what the house would look like to a visitor. So many preparations turned out to be necessary in the light of this examination that she had had to get to work on them straight away and they had drained her. Naturally, once she was preparing for it, she had begun to look forward to the tea more and more. Indeed, she had got so happily excited as she pottered about that she had once or twice forgotten who it was she was preparing for and imagined another visitor entirely. Yesterday had been the last straw.
She realized with a rush of resentment that all her ordinary everyday preoccupations had been swept aside. She hadnearly forgotten to ask after Pearl’s boy too. Had he enjoyed his biscuits? Pearl had said that with four of his front teeth gone, biscuits were still a bit much to manage. She had added that he was ‘in traction’, but Alicia did not know what that meant. She thought of a cross between ‘fractious’ and ‘intractable’ and, imagining the boy propped-up sulkily on his pillows, pulling a pouting face at his visiting mother bearing the biscuits, she had said briskly, ‘Ah well, he’ll snap out of that soon enough, I expect.’
But her own week, her own considerations, what had become of them? Sitting down heavily on the settee, she realized that her own week was set out on the blue and purple table mat; her own considerations were in the kitchen, wrapped up in Mr Patel’s brown paper bags.
She had dressed warmly, taken her handbag and her shopping-bag, and she had gone at her snail’s pace down to the corner shop. A bitter wind blew in her face all the way to the corner and single huge raindrops splashed demeaningly only on her. She struggled along, stamping her two sticks down one after the other, while the younger and more able-bodied danced provocatively past her. The Council still had not mended the pavement. All along her path there were unbelievably tall piles of dogs’ dirt which, if you had not known they were dogs’ dirt, you might easily have mistaken for the droppings of some gigantic wild beast. Of course, if you had to walk all the way bent nearly double, it did magnify what was on the pavement.
She was in terrible shape by the time she reached Mr Patel’s. Mr Patel had seen her coming – of course, the pace she went, he had had enough time to – and he held the door open for her, beaming. ‘Good morning, good morning, and what can we do for you?’
Oh yes, it’s all very well for you to be cheerful, Alicia snarled to herself. Raking in other people’s money to feather your nest.
She did not return his
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