Read Online Our Picnics in the Sun by Morag Joss - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Morag Joss
Tags: Mystery
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xxx
To: deborahstoneyridge@yahoo.com
Sent on wed 17 aug 2011 at 06.48 EST
Out of office reply: Hi I’m out of the office right now and checking
emails infrequently. If your inquiry is urgent please contact my colleague
[email protected].
To: deborahstoneyridge@yahoo.com
Sent on sat 20 aug 2011 at 06.48 EST
On all day site meeting, am checking with office asap
Sorry, dealing with major issues here, our new demand signal model’s
throwing out forecasts by over 30% and that means major knockon effect on entire process
integration. Will call. A xxx
From: deborahstoneyridge@yahoo.com
To:
Sent on wed 24 aug 2011 at 11.41 GMT
Lovely to talk for a minute on Sunday, shame the signal went, I tried a few more
times but you’d switched off or something. Landline still plays up here sometimes, maybe
it’s the council digging up the roads or something – anyway maybe when you get back to
the office they’ll let you know about the leave. Haven’t you told them you’re
booked and everything?
It sounds terrible, all the problems – hope you’re sorting
everything out ok. hope you’re getting my emails!?! As we haven’t heard we’re
assuming you’re still booked and arriving 27th in time for 28th?! If you CAN give rough time
of arrival it helps! See you soon!!
Lots of love Mum xxx
W e got through the day somehow, with no idea of when Adam was going to arrive. By four o’clock Howard shuffled away to lie on his bed, shaved and combed and quite cowed by all the expectation and preparedness. In the kitchen the large joint of pork was waiting, its hide slashed and salted, leaching watery pink blood into its dish. At half-past four I put it in the oven, as if doing so would somehow draw Adam here in time for dinner at around eight. I’d picked the vegetables in the morning and they were sitting in a bucket in the yard, and although it was really far too early, I brought them in and washed and peeled them and put them in cold water. I had managed to get potatoes, carrots, some leaves of chard, all a bit stunted and nibbled, so I cut everything up small. By then I was too restless to remain where everything was ready for Adam but where there was yet no Adam present. The rest of the house was so tidy I couldn’t set about doing anything else without spoiling the order and polish I’d achieved. I walked from room to room, seeing the place through Adam’s eyes, disparagingly.
It had always been a musty house, too cool in summer and with that soft grip of damp and a sodden, mineral smell about which I had first felt when I lived here slight consternation, but finally helplessness. Howard and I didn’t use any of the other downstairs rooms now, and the Bed and Breakfast trade was too sparse to dispel the unlived-in stillness that waited behind their doors. I hadn’t cleaned the ashes from the stoves in the dining room and front sitting room since they were last lit over two years ago, so those rooms smelled sooty as well. A grainy mesh of cobwebs and wood ash and barkcrumbs lay at the side of each fireplace where the logs used to be. Every year at the end of May I used to sweep everything out and stack the logs up neatly and place bowls of fir cones on the hearthstones, but nowadays I never found the time or saw the point. Whatever I did, it was a house that seemed always to be waiting for the next winter.
The day before, I’d stacked the small Bed and Breakfast tables up at one end of the dining room and laid the large table in the middle for three. I straightened the cutlery again and polished the glasses against my sleeve. Once Adam was settled in we would probably eat in the kitchen as usual, but for his first evening, even though the formality of it wouldn’t be very comfortable, I wanted us to
To: deborahstoneyridge@yahoo.com
Sent on wed 17 aug 2011 at 06.48 EST
Out of office reply: Hi I’m out of the office right now and checking
emails infrequently. If your inquiry is urgent please contact my colleague
[email protected].
To: deborahstoneyridge@yahoo.com
Sent on sat 20 aug 2011 at 06.48 EST
On all day site meeting, am checking with office asap
Sorry, dealing with major issues here, our new demand signal model’s
throwing out forecasts by over 30% and that means major knockon effect on entire process
integration. Will call. A xxx
From: deborahstoneyridge@yahoo.com
To:
Sent on wed 24 aug 2011 at 11.41 GMT
Lovely to talk for a minute on Sunday, shame the signal went, I tried a few more
times but you’d switched off or something. Landline still plays up here sometimes, maybe
it’s the council digging up the roads or something – anyway maybe when you get back to
the office they’ll let you know about the leave. Haven’t you told them you’re
booked and everything?
It sounds terrible, all the problems – hope you’re sorting
everything out ok. hope you’re getting my emails!?! As we haven’t heard we’re
assuming you’re still booked and arriving 27th in time for 28th?! If you CAN give rough time
of arrival it helps! See you soon!!
Lots of love Mum xxx
W e got through the day somehow, with no idea of when Adam was going to arrive. By four o’clock Howard shuffled away to lie on his bed, shaved and combed and quite cowed by all the expectation and preparedness. In the kitchen the large joint of pork was waiting, its hide slashed and salted, leaching watery pink blood into its dish. At half-past four I put it in the oven, as if doing so would somehow draw Adam here in time for dinner at around eight. I’d picked the vegetables in the morning and they were sitting in a bucket in the yard, and although it was really far too early, I brought them in and washed and peeled them and put them in cold water. I had managed to get potatoes, carrots, some leaves of chard, all a bit stunted and nibbled, so I cut everything up small. By then I was too restless to remain where everything was ready for Adam but where there was yet no Adam present. The rest of the house was so tidy I couldn’t set about doing anything else without spoiling the order and polish I’d achieved. I walked from room to room, seeing the place through Adam’s eyes, disparagingly.
It had always been a musty house, too cool in summer and with that soft grip of damp and a sodden, mineral smell about which I had first felt when I lived here slight consternation, but finally helplessness. Howard and I didn’t use any of the other downstairs rooms now, and the Bed and Breakfast trade was too sparse to dispel the unlived-in stillness that waited behind their doors. I hadn’t cleaned the ashes from the stoves in the dining room and front sitting room since they were last lit over two years ago, so those rooms smelled sooty as well. A grainy mesh of cobwebs and wood ash and barkcrumbs lay at the side of each fireplace where the logs used to be. Every year at the end of May I used to sweep everything out and stack the logs up neatly and place bowls of fir cones on the hearthstones, but nowadays I never found the time or saw the point. Whatever I did, it was a house that seemed always to be waiting for the next winter.
The day before, I’d stacked the small Bed and Breakfast tables up at one end of the dining room and laid the large table in the middle for three. I straightened the cutlery again and polished the glasses against my sleeve. Once Adam was settled in we would probably eat in the kitchen as usual, but for his first evening, even though the formality of it wouldn’t be very comfortable, I wanted us to
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