The Forget-Me-Not Summer by Katie Flynn Page B

puddled on the wooden table.
    Miranda could not believe her luck. Never, in her wildest dreams, had she expected it to be Aunt Vi who backed down, but it had happened. She seized the ladle and helped herself to a generous portion, then sat downat the table and began to eat. Halfway through the meal she reached over and cut herself a wedge of bread from the loaf to sop up the last of the gravy, and when she had finished she went across to the sink and put her dirty plate with the others, while Aunt Vi continued to munch cake and stare at her as though she could not believe her eyes.
    Miranda gave her aunt a big bright smile and headed for the stairs. ‘I don’t suppose Beth wants anything now, or she would have shouted,’ she said cheerfully. ‘However, a bargain is a bargain; I said I wouldn’t wait on Beth until I’d had something to eat. Well, now I’ve had a meal, and a good one, so I think I’m strong enough to get up the stairs and see if there’s anything I can do for my cousin.’ As she left the kitchen Miranda glanced back at her aunt and had real difficulty in preventing herself from giving a great roar of laughter. Aunt Vi had her hand across her mouth as she shovelled cake into it, and just for a moment she could have modelled for the monkey in the well-known portrayal of
Speak no Evil
. But she managed to contain her mirth until she was well out of hearing.
    Upstairs, her cousin was already looking a little less unhappy, though her skin was still scarlet with spots. She had drunk at least one full glass of the raspberry cordial, but the scouse beside it had scarcely been touched. She looked up as her cousin entered the room and indicated the plate of stew with a weary hand. ‘Want it?’ she asked in a hoarse whisper. ‘I can’t eat the flamin’ stuff; food makes me feel sick.’ She sat up on one elbow, peering at Miranda through swollen lids. ‘Where’s you bin all day? Mam can’t make the stairs more’n twice intwenty-four hours, she says, and anyway I wanted
you
. She bought the latest copy of
The Girl’s Own Paper
so’s you could read me the serial story, but you weren’t here.’
    Miranda sat down on the bed and pulled the magazine towards her. ‘I offered to read to you this morning but you told me comics were pictures and to go and buy me own.’
    â€˜So I did,’ Beth said feebly. ‘But I didn’t mean it, you know that, Miranda. And anyway, me mam can’t read as well as you. She says her glasses steam up so she misses words out and has hard work to read her shopping list, lerralone a magazine story.’ She gave a gusty sigh. ‘I telled Ma to send you up as soon as you come home.’
    â€˜And I told your ma that I needed some food before tackling the stairs again,’ Miranda said. ‘She let me have a plate of scouse and some bread; I must say it were prime. As for what I’ve been doing all day, you wouldn’t be interested; it was just – just messing around. You know the Mickleborough boys? I know your mum doesn’t like them, but they’re all right really. One of them – he’s called Steve – said he’d take me on a grand tour of the area and he showed me all sorts. Do you know, Beth, there’s a huge art gallery quite near the London Road and a marvellous library as well as a museum . . . oh, there’s all sorts of things I never dreamed of. While you’re laid up I mean to get to know the city as well as he does. Then, when you’re better . . .’ But Beth’s interest in her cousin’s doings was already fading.
    â€˜Never mind that. Just you do what my mam says and read me my serial story,’ Beth commanded. ‘If you want to go around with some perishin’ rough boy, that’s upto you. Oh, and I could do with another drink. Me throat’s that sore, even talking hurts.’
    Miranda stood up,