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Authors: Kathy Webb
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had been known by everyone in the family as âthe patioâ. Although it hadnât been much bigger than an average bathroom, it had been the place where her grandmother had âtakenâ tea twice a day.
For as long as Alice could remember, no matter what she was doing, her grandmother would stop at ten oâclock and half past three to sit amongst the flowers and drink tea out of her fine bone china. There had been no view to speak of, unless you counted the neighbourâs dogâs kennel. Yet Alice couldnât remember ever having been in a more wonderful place.
Maybe that was the answer to everyoneâs problems â they should pass a law requiring everyone to stop for tea twice a day. And make tiny pink cupcakes with sprinkles compulsory.
Except it didnât work like that. Tea was her grandmotherâs thing. Just because it had given her pleasure didnât mean it would help anyone else. Even with cupcakes and sprinkles.
There was something in it though, she was sure. Little things. Every day. Maybe in their desperate rush to get to all the big things, everyone had lost track of the little things that made it worth the effort.
She suddenly wondered what it would be like to watch a group of people try to find their âlittle thingsâ. The things that made them happy every day. Maybe she should write to Channel Ten and pitch the idea. They were clearly struggling for material. Just last night sheâd seen an ad for a new reality show with a host claiming to be a supernanny for dogs.
She warmed to her idea. They could call the show Cupcakes or Candlesticks . Or better still, Your Favourite Things . She could see it now. Someone like Julie Andrews could host it. Theyâd followa group of people who each day had to make one small change and then live with it until it became a habit.
Kind of like Big Brother but without the sex and nudity. Actually, nothing like Big Brother .
Actually, it would make a terrible TV show.
But maybe a wonderful book.
Alice became aware that the singer was halfway through a song she hadnât even heard him start. She brought her eyes back from the middle distance, a faint feeling of excitement coursing through her blood.
Standing at the sink, her hands still soaking in the water, Alice grabbed on to that thread of excitement sheâd felt at the concert and started to wash the dishes.
E ven as Rebecca threw herself off the edge of the ferry and felt the downward pull of water, she knew the dream wouldnât last.
The water disappeared and her world solidified on white sheets. She tried desperately to picture herself back in the water. There was no doubt in her mind that drowning was preferable to being awake. But the dream slipped from her grasp.
It was early.
There was no sign of daylight, but something in the stillness told Rebecca that dawn wasnât too far off.
Superstitiously she always avoided looking at the clock radio when she first woke. As if somehow not seeing the digital evidence would send the hours spinning backwards and give her more precious sleep.
She rolled onto her stomach, forcing herself to think of something calming. But thoughts of her confrontation with Jeremy last night squirrelled their way past the image of an open white beach. Her shoulders tensed and she felt a queasiness in her stomach.
Rebecca opened her eyes in a squint: 05:10 . As always, she tallied the number of hours sheâd been asleep. It was never enough. She reached for the earplug on the bedside table and screwed it into her ear. There was no way she could face this day yet.
She turned onto her back, searching for a way to slip back into the thoughtless abyss of sleep. Beside her Jeremy stirred.
âAre you all right?â he muttered.
Rebecca never knew how he expected her to answer that question. She was awake after only five hours of interrupted sleep and knew she wouldnât be able to sleep again. Did that count as all
For as long as Alice could remember, no matter what she was doing, her grandmother would stop at ten oâclock and half past three to sit amongst the flowers and drink tea out of her fine bone china. There had been no view to speak of, unless you counted the neighbourâs dogâs kennel. Yet Alice couldnât remember ever having been in a more wonderful place.
Maybe that was the answer to everyoneâs problems â they should pass a law requiring everyone to stop for tea twice a day. And make tiny pink cupcakes with sprinkles compulsory.
Except it didnât work like that. Tea was her grandmotherâs thing. Just because it had given her pleasure didnât mean it would help anyone else. Even with cupcakes and sprinkles.
There was something in it though, she was sure. Little things. Every day. Maybe in their desperate rush to get to all the big things, everyone had lost track of the little things that made it worth the effort.
She suddenly wondered what it would be like to watch a group of people try to find their âlittle thingsâ. The things that made them happy every day. Maybe she should write to Channel Ten and pitch the idea. They were clearly struggling for material. Just last night sheâd seen an ad for a new reality show with a host claiming to be a supernanny for dogs.
She warmed to her idea. They could call the show Cupcakes or Candlesticks . Or better still, Your Favourite Things . She could see it now. Someone like Julie Andrews could host it. Theyâd followa group of people who each day had to make one small change and then live with it until it became a habit.
Kind of like Big Brother but without the sex and nudity. Actually, nothing like Big Brother .
Actually, it would make a terrible TV show.
But maybe a wonderful book.
Alice became aware that the singer was halfway through a song she hadnât even heard him start. She brought her eyes back from the middle distance, a faint feeling of excitement coursing through her blood.
Standing at the sink, her hands still soaking in the water, Alice grabbed on to that thread of excitement sheâd felt at the concert and started to wash the dishes.
E ven as Rebecca threw herself off the edge of the ferry and felt the downward pull of water, she knew the dream wouldnât last.
The water disappeared and her world solidified on white sheets. She tried desperately to picture herself back in the water. There was no doubt in her mind that drowning was preferable to being awake. But the dream slipped from her grasp.
It was early.
There was no sign of daylight, but something in the stillness told Rebecca that dawn wasnât too far off.
Superstitiously she always avoided looking at the clock radio when she first woke. As if somehow not seeing the digital evidence would send the hours spinning backwards and give her more precious sleep.
She rolled onto her stomach, forcing herself to think of something calming. But thoughts of her confrontation with Jeremy last night squirrelled their way past the image of an open white beach. Her shoulders tensed and she felt a queasiness in her stomach.
Rebecca opened her eyes in a squint: 05:10 . As always, she tallied the number of hours sheâd been asleep. It was never enough. She reached for the earplug on the bedside table and screwed it into her ear. There was no way she could face this day yet.
She turned onto her back, searching for a way to slip back into the thoughtless abyss of sleep. Beside her Jeremy stirred.
âAre you all right?â he muttered.
Rebecca never knew how he expected her to answer that question. She was awake after only five hours of interrupted sleep and knew she wouldnât be able to sleep again. Did that count as all
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