‘What’s in the tin, Sarah?’
‘Have a look.’ She prised the lid off the tin and tipped it so that Evelyn could see the contents.
‘Homemade wheaten bread!’ she exclaimed breathlessly, trying to lift her head off the pillow. ‘My favourite.’
Sarah picked out a piece and held the moist, buttered bread to Evelyn’s lips so that she could take a bite. Her head sank back into the pillow, her gums working slowly, and Sarah said, ‘I know.’
Sarah held out the tin to Ian. ‘Want some?’ He shook his head.
Evelyn chewed and swallowed. ‘That was delicious. The wheatgerm’ll play havoc with my dentures. But what the heck. You only live once.’
Ian smiled, slightly envious of the easiness between Sarah and his mother. Sarah got up, lifted the glass of water from the bedside table and held it to Evelyn’s lips. They’d always been like this together, easy in each other’s company. Even when Sarah was a girl she’d gotten on well with his mum, and their relationship had always operated independently of his marriage.
‘Want some more?’
‘No thanks, love.’
‘You gave me the recipe. Took me ages to get it right.’ Sarah stared doubtfully into the tin. ‘It’s still not as good as yours.’
‘The secret’s in the flour. Got to be Morton’s. And a light touch.’
The first day he’d brought her home as his girlfriend, Sarah and Evelyn had ended up in the kitchen together, where Evelyn revealed the secret of her famous wheaten bread. He’d known then how much his mother approved. He’d always known that he wanted her to be his wife, but that day simply confirmed it. When she’d said yes, he was thrilled, though if truth be told, he’d not expected her to accept.
He cleared his throat and looked about the room. ‘Raquel said she sent you some flowers a few days ago.’
His mother broke eye contact and, picking up the tissue on the bedspread, squeezed it between her fingers. For one awful moment, he thought Raquel might have lied to him.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Evelyn, making eye contact again. ‘Though you’d have thought someone was getting married. There were enough flowers to fill a church.’
Ian laughed nervously. She was not pleased. Why on earth not?
She dropped the tissue, captured it again and Ian said, ‘So where are they?’
His mother looked at him blankly.
‘The flowers, Mum. Where are they?’
She looked away again and said, with studied airiness, ‘Oh, I told the girls to put them in vases in the day room. Let everyone enjoy them.’
‘But those flowers were meant for you, Mum. They cost Raquel a fortune.’
His mother brought her gaze to bear on him and her features hardened. ‘They were lilies, Ian. There must’ve been two dozen of them.’
Ian blushed and looked at his feet. ‘She must’ve forgotten,’ he mumbled. How could Raquel be so thoughtless? She’d been at his father’s funeral five years ago when the church was festooned with the pure white flowers, their musky scent as overpowering as the grief. How many times had Mum said in conversation since then that she’d come to hate lilies? How she could not look upon them, nor catch the faintest whiff of their perfume, without thinking of that day.
‘I’m sure she meant well,’ said Sarah.
‘Hmm.’ Evelyn pressed the hankie to the tip of her nose. ‘Flowers are all very well, but why doesn’t she come to see me?’
‘She’s er … busy,’ said Ian. He glanced at Sarah who lowered her eyes to her lap. The last time Raquel had visited was four weeks ago. She’d been sitting beside an old man in the day room, waiting for the staff to finish attending to Evelyn, when the man soiled himself. She’d been horrified, though not as much as the poor old bugger who, though he’d lost control of his bodily functions, was still compos mentis. Raquel hadn’t been back since.
Sarah stood up and said, ‘Well, I’d better be getting along. I don’t want to be late picking up the
‘Have a look.’ She prised the lid off the tin and tipped it so that Evelyn could see the contents.
‘Homemade wheaten bread!’ she exclaimed breathlessly, trying to lift her head off the pillow. ‘My favourite.’
Sarah picked out a piece and held the moist, buttered bread to Evelyn’s lips so that she could take a bite. Her head sank back into the pillow, her gums working slowly, and Sarah said, ‘I know.’
Sarah held out the tin to Ian. ‘Want some?’ He shook his head.
Evelyn chewed and swallowed. ‘That was delicious. The wheatgerm’ll play havoc with my dentures. But what the heck. You only live once.’
Ian smiled, slightly envious of the easiness between Sarah and his mother. Sarah got up, lifted the glass of water from the bedside table and held it to Evelyn’s lips. They’d always been like this together, easy in each other’s company. Even when Sarah was a girl she’d gotten on well with his mum, and their relationship had always operated independently of his marriage.
‘Want some more?’
‘No thanks, love.’
‘You gave me the recipe. Took me ages to get it right.’ Sarah stared doubtfully into the tin. ‘It’s still not as good as yours.’
‘The secret’s in the flour. Got to be Morton’s. And a light touch.’
The first day he’d brought her home as his girlfriend, Sarah and Evelyn had ended up in the kitchen together, where Evelyn revealed the secret of her famous wheaten bread. He’d known then how much his mother approved. He’d always known that he wanted her to be his wife, but that day simply confirmed it. When she’d said yes, he was thrilled, though if truth be told, he’d not expected her to accept.
He cleared his throat and looked about the room. ‘Raquel said she sent you some flowers a few days ago.’
His mother broke eye contact and, picking up the tissue on the bedspread, squeezed it between her fingers. For one awful moment, he thought Raquel might have lied to him.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Evelyn, making eye contact again. ‘Though you’d have thought someone was getting married. There were enough flowers to fill a church.’
Ian laughed nervously. She was not pleased. Why on earth not?
She dropped the tissue, captured it again and Ian said, ‘So where are they?’
His mother looked at him blankly.
‘The flowers, Mum. Where are they?’
She looked away again and said, with studied airiness, ‘Oh, I told the girls to put them in vases in the day room. Let everyone enjoy them.’
‘But those flowers were meant for you, Mum. They cost Raquel a fortune.’
His mother brought her gaze to bear on him and her features hardened. ‘They were lilies, Ian. There must’ve been two dozen of them.’
Ian blushed and looked at his feet. ‘She must’ve forgotten,’ he mumbled. How could Raquel be so thoughtless? She’d been at his father’s funeral five years ago when the church was festooned with the pure white flowers, their musky scent as overpowering as the grief. How many times had Mum said in conversation since then that she’d come to hate lilies? How she could not look upon them, nor catch the faintest whiff of their perfume, without thinking of that day.
‘I’m sure she meant well,’ said Sarah.
‘Hmm.’ Evelyn pressed the hankie to the tip of her nose. ‘Flowers are all very well, but why doesn’t she come to see me?’
‘She’s er … busy,’ said Ian. He glanced at Sarah who lowered her eyes to her lap. The last time Raquel had visited was four weeks ago. She’d been sitting beside an old man in the day room, waiting for the staff to finish attending to Evelyn, when the man soiled himself. She’d been horrified, though not as much as the poor old bugger who, though he’d lost control of his bodily functions, was still compos mentis. Raquel hadn’t been back since.
Sarah stood up and said, ‘Well, I’d better be getting along. I don’t want to be late picking up the
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