On a Clear Day by Anne Doughty

stairs and as they went into the living room, Clare was sure she smelt bacon and egg. The kitchen door was open, she could see the draining boards were stacked with dishes. There were saucepans parked on the floor and on top of the meat safe. It looked as if no one had washed up for days.
    In the living room, Eddie sat with his feet on the mantelpiece, a stack of Picturegoer magazines beside his chair. The table was covered with sporting newspapers where Uncle Jimmy had been studying form before he filled in his Pools coupon. A teapot, an almost empty bottle of milk and a couple of largemugs had been parked on the polished surface of the sideboard. Clare knew what her mother would say if she saw the room in a state like this.
    ‘Can I go to the bathroom, please?’ she said, grateful she had remembered that Auntie Polly had a proper bathroom and not just a lavatory outside the kitchen door.
    ‘Yes, love, you know where it is.’
    Clare nearly caught herself on the pedal of Davy’s bike as she hurried past the table where the telephone sat.
    As soon as she stepped into the bathroom she sneezed. She saw immediately what it was she’d smelt the moment they came through the front door. The bath was full of sheets steeping in Parazone. Auntie Polly must have been in such a hurry to get to Armagh when she heard about Mummy and Daddy that she hadn’t time to rinse them out. They’d be very clean by now, but as her mother always said, ‘Overnight is one thing if they’re in a bad way, but more than that you’re just wearing them out’. These must have been here for days.
    The bathroom was in a mess. There were shaving things everywhere, foam on the mirror and shirts and socks lying all around the laundry basket. It was true Uncle Jimmy had a bad back, but surely Davy and Eddie could pick things up. And where was Ronnie?
    There was no toilet paper left so she had to dowithout and she felt very damp and uncomfortable as she went back downstairs. She had to squeeze past Auntie Polly at the foot of the stairs because she was in a hurry too.
    In the living room, Uncle Jimmy was gathering up the things on the sideboard, but Eddie hadn’t moved. He hadn’t said hello either.
    ‘I’m sure yer tired out, Clare. Would ye like a drop of milk before ye go tae bed?’
    ‘No thank you, Uncle Jimmy. I’m afraid I don’t like milk. Mummy says I’m a nuisance because it means William won’t drink it either. She gives us orange juice instead. We get bottles of it from the Dispensary on the Mall and you have to mix it with water. It’s really quite nice.’
    ‘Is that so?’ asked Uncle Jimmy kindly.
    He looked at the child perched on the settee, her legs dangling inches above the floor and reminded himself that Ellie and Sam were dead. Gone. He couldn’t rightly take it in. Maybe he should have gone to the funeral, back or no back, they could have scraped up the second train fare somehow.
    Auntie Polly hurried in and Uncle Jimmy grasped his newspaper as if its flimsy pages might deflect what he feared was to come.
    ‘Could you not even have done that much?’ she began crossly. ‘I told you the wee bed wasn’t fit to sleep in. Where’s Ronnie? I thought at least he’d do it if none of the rest of you could be bothered.’
    ‘Sure he’s away at camp with the school, Polly. Had ye forgot?’
    She shook her head and muttered under her breath.
    ‘Come on, Clare dear,’ she said, putting an arm round her, ‘Come on away upstairs, these big men might want to rest themselves, they’ve been so busy all evening.’
    Ronnie’s room was beautifully tidy. He had lined up his books on the windowsill and the mantelpiece and his radio still sat on the small table where she and Daddy had helped him to mend it in the Christmas holidays.
    ‘You can sleep in Ronnie’s bed tonight. You won’t mind, will you? The bed in my wee work room is covered with sewing and there might be the odd pin there as well,’ she explained, as she took