Fragments by Morgan Gallagher Page B

people can. What will they think of me, you being out in this
sort of state?’
    Catherine
apologised for her failings. Alma bit her tongue and continued the
attack on Catherine’s face, moving to her nose and forehead.
    What was the
point? The child never listened. Had no pride. She was just wasting
her breath. She dug the needle back in to the annoying pore at the
end of Catherine’s nose that would not close, no matter what she
painted on it. Catherine closed her eyes and counted to twenty.
    *
    ‘I’m so happy
you could come this evening, it’s been such a relief to talk to
fellow grown-ups. More wine...?’
    Monica giggled
as Alma filled up her glass. George offered his glass up.
    ‘And how is the
practice going, George? Settling in?’
    ‘Oh yes, very
well. They’re a good bunch, I was lucky to get the partnership.’
George quaffed the wine. ‘How’s that delightful young girl of
yours?’
    Alma’s face
fell a little. Monica looked over in concern.
    ‘I’m so glad
you asked. It’s been difficult...’ Alma’s voice wavered, and a tear
slid out of her eye. Monica leaned over and patted her on the
shoulder whilst George concentrated on his wine glass.
    His retreat was
firmly halted, as Alma launched at him.
    ‘I did want to
speak to you, George, if you could speak to her... as you are a
doctor..?’
    George stared,
a little open mouthed, Monica pincered in.
    ‘I did say to
you, George, how worried Alma is...?’
    George stared
at his joint doom and nodded, trying to move sideways again.
    ‘It’s just that
as I told you, Monica dearest, if Alma is that worried, she should
see her own GP and have Catherine referred to a dietician... I
can’t...’
    Alma looked as
if she was going to burst into tears but was containing it, just.
Monica launched full frontal.
    ‘Oh think of
the shame, George! Everyone would know about it. It would be the
gossip of the school! Alma doesn’t deserve that, especially since
she’s sacrificed so much for Catherine.’
    Alma made
another effort to contain her crying. A single tear slid from her
left eye. George watched her dab at it with her napkin.
    ‘Oh very well,
I’ll have a word with her, if you like.’
    ‘Oh thank you,
George, I’m so grateful. Brandy?’
    George drank
two down in quick succession. How to get out of this...
    The nightmare
unfolded with meticulous planning. They retired to the living room
to find a set of scales had already been placed out. George tried
to settle on the arm chair, had a chair even been made more
uncomfortable? Alma filled up his brandy glass as she settled into
her own chair. Monica sat beside her, hugging her Baileys Irish
Cream. George felt he might suffocate.
    In front of her
Alma held a chart.
    ‘I only asked
you tonight as she had been doing quite well. She lost two pounds
the week before last and three the week before that…’ her light and
hopeful tones had slowed, and dropped to a pained whisper ‘but only
one pound last week.’ Alma looked at George as as if she were a
half drowned kitten and he the rescue services . ‘I felt a little
encouragement from you would help so much. Keep her on the right
track.’
    George
swallowed down the brandy, not tasting it. Jesus, he needed to get
out of here.
    Catherine, who
had been called to attend downstairs as they’d settled into the
living room, came in.
    George’s heart
leaped. She was such a timid little thing. She’d been and had her
bath whilst they’d eaten, and was wrapped up in her winceyette
pyjamas and dressing gown. Her eyes stared at him as she realised
the room held others. She was the same age as their Timothy; and a
chubbier, more unnoticeable thirteen year old could not be found.
George had always felt, however, that she would be the beauty of
the family once she’d stretched. Her fine skin and clear eyes were
perfect, her cheeks had a sharp slant, and there was a length of
bone waiting to blossom out of her in good time. Under the layer of
puppy fat an