giggling, he followed her all the way home and looked surprised when she came to a stop outside number ten.
He stared at the front door. ‘You going in there?’
‘Yes. This is where I live.’
She had been unfastening the straps holding Annie in the pushchair.
On looking up, she saw him stare at the house then wave. She looked to see who he was waving to. The window panes upstairs reflected the sky. Light to the downstairs windows was blanked out by the privet hedge. They reflected nothing; in fact they looked as though they weren’t glass at all – more like black bitumen squares.
She turned her attention back to Garth. A trickle of saliva oozed from the corner of his mouth. Her pity was like a lump in her throat.
‘Would you like to see the chickens, Garth?’
She didn’t really want to see the chickens herself. They were stupid creatures fit only to be eaten.
Garth’s slack jaw firmed up. He clapped and gasped like an excited child. ‘See the chickens! Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck!’
‘Come on then.’
He followed her as she manoeuvred the pushchair up the garden path. She ordered him to stay there while she got the pushchair through the door.
Once inside she got Annie out of the pram.
‘Keep hold of the bread, Annie,’ she said.
Annie obeyed, her gummy mouth returning to suck at the corner of the loaf.
She heard raised voices. Gran was giving Marcie’s stepmother a piece of her mind. Cupping her ear againstthe door, she tried to hear what was being said. There was something about Babs being underhand, something about her being devious behind her mother-in-law’s back. Babs sounded as though she might be on the verge of tears. This I have to see, Marcie decided. She grabbed the door knob and pushed the door open.
‘Here we are,’ she said.
Her grandmother was sitting at the kitchen table. Silver-framed photographs, a duster and a can of silver polish were spread out in front of her. The family photographs usually sat on the high mantelpiece above the stove. Marcie’s grandfather dressed in his naval uniform smiled out from one. Another was of both grandparents on their wedding day; another still of Marcie’s father as a toddler. Regular as clockwork, Saturday morning was when her grandmother took them all down and polished the frames.
At the sight of her mother, Annie began to howl. Her little arms reached out for her grandmother.
Marcie smirked. ‘Annie loves her granny. Isn’t that sweet?’
She couldn’t help throwing a look of triumph at Babs who scowled back, picked up a duster and began polishing a photo frame.
Annie was cooing and chuckling in her grandmother’s arms.
Marcie placed the bread on the table plus the change from half a crown.
‘It’s chewed,’ said Babs on glimpsing the corner of the crusty loaf. ‘What did you let her do that for?’
‘She was hungry,’ said Marcie. ‘You need to feed her more often and not go out to the pub so much.’
Babs began to ease her wide backside out of her chair. ‘Less of your cheek …’
‘Barbara! Make your child some porridge!’
Rosa Brooks fixed her with a hard stare.
Marcie smirked. She loved hearing Babs being told what to do, but her grandmother’s eyes were everywhere. Her smirk was noticed.
‘And you, young lady. We will have some respect in this house.’
Marcie turned to leave.
‘Where do you think you’re off to?’
Small she might be, but Rosa Brooks could fill a room with her voice.
‘I’m taking Daft Garth to see the chickens.’
She’d presumed her act of compassion would save her from a telling off. She was wrong.
‘Do not call him that. Garth is a human being and one of God’s creatures, as are we all.’ She made the sign of the cross on her thin chest, her voice softer now. ‘Go on. Show the poor boy the chickens.’
Babs did as her mother-in-law directed, fed her child and made her a bottle. Soon the little brat was asleep and Babs was free to sit down with a magazine and
He stared at the front door. ‘You going in there?’
‘Yes. This is where I live.’
She had been unfastening the straps holding Annie in the pushchair.
On looking up, she saw him stare at the house then wave. She looked to see who he was waving to. The window panes upstairs reflected the sky. Light to the downstairs windows was blanked out by the privet hedge. They reflected nothing; in fact they looked as though they weren’t glass at all – more like black bitumen squares.
She turned her attention back to Garth. A trickle of saliva oozed from the corner of his mouth. Her pity was like a lump in her throat.
‘Would you like to see the chickens, Garth?’
She didn’t really want to see the chickens herself. They were stupid creatures fit only to be eaten.
Garth’s slack jaw firmed up. He clapped and gasped like an excited child. ‘See the chickens! Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck!’
‘Come on then.’
He followed her as she manoeuvred the pushchair up the garden path. She ordered him to stay there while she got the pushchair through the door.
Once inside she got Annie out of the pram.
‘Keep hold of the bread, Annie,’ she said.
Annie obeyed, her gummy mouth returning to suck at the corner of the loaf.
She heard raised voices. Gran was giving Marcie’s stepmother a piece of her mind. Cupping her ear againstthe door, she tried to hear what was being said. There was something about Babs being underhand, something about her being devious behind her mother-in-law’s back. Babs sounded as though she might be on the verge of tears. This I have to see, Marcie decided. She grabbed the door knob and pushed the door open.
‘Here we are,’ she said.
Her grandmother was sitting at the kitchen table. Silver-framed photographs, a duster and a can of silver polish were spread out in front of her. The family photographs usually sat on the high mantelpiece above the stove. Marcie’s grandfather dressed in his naval uniform smiled out from one. Another was of both grandparents on their wedding day; another still of Marcie’s father as a toddler. Regular as clockwork, Saturday morning was when her grandmother took them all down and polished the frames.
At the sight of her mother, Annie began to howl. Her little arms reached out for her grandmother.
Marcie smirked. ‘Annie loves her granny. Isn’t that sweet?’
She couldn’t help throwing a look of triumph at Babs who scowled back, picked up a duster and began polishing a photo frame.
Annie was cooing and chuckling in her grandmother’s arms.
Marcie placed the bread on the table plus the change from half a crown.
‘It’s chewed,’ said Babs on glimpsing the corner of the crusty loaf. ‘What did you let her do that for?’
‘She was hungry,’ said Marcie. ‘You need to feed her more often and not go out to the pub so much.’
Babs began to ease her wide backside out of her chair. ‘Less of your cheek …’
‘Barbara! Make your child some porridge!’
Rosa Brooks fixed her with a hard stare.
Marcie smirked. She loved hearing Babs being told what to do, but her grandmother’s eyes were everywhere. Her smirk was noticed.
‘And you, young lady. We will have some respect in this house.’
Marcie turned to leave.
‘Where do you think you’re off to?’
Small she might be, but Rosa Brooks could fill a room with her voice.
‘I’m taking Daft Garth to see the chickens.’
She’d presumed her act of compassion would save her from a telling off. She was wrong.
‘Do not call him that. Garth is a human being and one of God’s creatures, as are we all.’ She made the sign of the cross on her thin chest, her voice softer now. ‘Go on. Show the poor boy the chickens.’
Babs did as her mother-in-law directed, fed her child and made her a bottle. Soon the little brat was asleep and Babs was free to sit down with a magazine and
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