aside: “Of course, I could be tapping you for a bob or two if the dreaded millennium bug hits and wipes the whole shebang!”
As the others burst into the room, the men’s moment of intimacy was gone. Liz, desperate to see her children, had already reached the first landing when Edward, hearing her voice, turned and saw her framed against the rose window. Elegant and tall, she could have been carved from ivory except for that vital spark of light that shone out of deep emerald eyes. The soft light of the candles gave her the appearance of a young girl rather than a mother of two-year-old twins. Liz saw him watching her and blew him a kiss; then seeing Donald she blew one to him, turned on her heels and was gone, effortlessly running up the next flight.
Donald turned to look at his own wife. Brenda was slumped inelegantly in an armchair by the fire. Letting out a slight snore she slumped further into the voluminous chair and let her head fall back, surrendering to the irrepressible spinning of the room. Her legs splayed in front of her, one of her sensible brown shoes abandoned beneath the chair. Donald looked at his semi-conscious wife and for a brief moment contrasted her to the willowy figure on the stairs,
“She’s gone! One glass and she’s had it.”
“Night, night, darlings…” The words might have come from Brenda’s mouth but her mind was already lost to the ether of the night.
The rest of “the Circus”, the name adopted by this close group of friends, was sitting around the fire when Liz re-joined them. They were munching thick doorsteps of sandwiches that Mel had obviously thrown together without the refined removal of crusts that Liz would have insisted on. Donald rose and sidled up to her, sliding his solid arm around her waist.
“Thanks,” he said. “I assume it’s all quiet on the Western front?”
Good old Donald, at least he showed some sense of responsibility towards his son. David had shown no concern about young Emily. But then she was thirteen and had been left in charge of the other three. He probably assumed that being so dependable, a clone of her mother, she needed no checking on. And Edward… well, he was the host and far too busy to play concerned father. She gave Donald a peck on the cheek and answered his question.
“They’re fine, all ‘snuggly-buggly’, including the dog. Even your Robert’s fast asleep, bless him. Get me a drink, there’s an angel.”
Donald filled a clean glass with champagne. “I hope Ed realizes what a lucky sod he is.”
Liz threw him a wry look and grabbed the last of the sandwiches: “Mine, I think,” she said, sinking her teeth into the thick crusty bread. She groaned with ecstasy as her fingers crammed the crust into her mouth. After dinner she had vowed never to eat again but now she was famished. Well, she thought, this is another century, the start of a new millennium. She tore off another chunk and was suddenly filled with an overpowering sense of guilt. How mean of me to criticize Mel’s sandwiches. They’re deliciously decadent. Why have I so much? This world is such a hell hole for some, survival dependent on a global post-code lottery? Maybe Mel’s right. We will all have to come back to live other lives until we’ve been through the whole gamut of experience, before we get to rest in peace? How many of those who stood here before me asked the same questions? Maybe they had lost children in dreadful epidemics or been struck down by hideous plagues. Thank God for modern medicine. I’m a lucky cow. With that final thought she unceremoniously stuffed the last morsel into her mouth.
Edward was whispering obscenities in Mel’s unabashed ear. Chewing with an over-full mouth, Liz slipped her arm around her husband’s waist and then foolishly attempted to speak. What came out was a jumble of words and crumbs that sprayed incoherently over Mel.
“Hey, didn’t your mother teach you not to talk with your mouth full? I assume
As the others burst into the room, the men’s moment of intimacy was gone. Liz, desperate to see her children, had already reached the first landing when Edward, hearing her voice, turned and saw her framed against the rose window. Elegant and tall, she could have been carved from ivory except for that vital spark of light that shone out of deep emerald eyes. The soft light of the candles gave her the appearance of a young girl rather than a mother of two-year-old twins. Liz saw him watching her and blew him a kiss; then seeing Donald she blew one to him, turned on her heels and was gone, effortlessly running up the next flight.
Donald turned to look at his own wife. Brenda was slumped inelegantly in an armchair by the fire. Letting out a slight snore she slumped further into the voluminous chair and let her head fall back, surrendering to the irrepressible spinning of the room. Her legs splayed in front of her, one of her sensible brown shoes abandoned beneath the chair. Donald looked at his semi-conscious wife and for a brief moment contrasted her to the willowy figure on the stairs,
“She’s gone! One glass and she’s had it.”
“Night, night, darlings…” The words might have come from Brenda’s mouth but her mind was already lost to the ether of the night.
The rest of “the Circus”, the name adopted by this close group of friends, was sitting around the fire when Liz re-joined them. They were munching thick doorsteps of sandwiches that Mel had obviously thrown together without the refined removal of crusts that Liz would have insisted on. Donald rose and sidled up to her, sliding his solid arm around her waist.
“Thanks,” he said. “I assume it’s all quiet on the Western front?”
Good old Donald, at least he showed some sense of responsibility towards his son. David had shown no concern about young Emily. But then she was thirteen and had been left in charge of the other three. He probably assumed that being so dependable, a clone of her mother, she needed no checking on. And Edward… well, he was the host and far too busy to play concerned father. She gave Donald a peck on the cheek and answered his question.
“They’re fine, all ‘snuggly-buggly’, including the dog. Even your Robert’s fast asleep, bless him. Get me a drink, there’s an angel.”
Donald filled a clean glass with champagne. “I hope Ed realizes what a lucky sod he is.”
Liz threw him a wry look and grabbed the last of the sandwiches: “Mine, I think,” she said, sinking her teeth into the thick crusty bread. She groaned with ecstasy as her fingers crammed the crust into her mouth. After dinner she had vowed never to eat again but now she was famished. Well, she thought, this is another century, the start of a new millennium. She tore off another chunk and was suddenly filled with an overpowering sense of guilt. How mean of me to criticize Mel’s sandwiches. They’re deliciously decadent. Why have I so much? This world is such a hell hole for some, survival dependent on a global post-code lottery? Maybe Mel’s right. We will all have to come back to live other lives until we’ve been through the whole gamut of experience, before we get to rest in peace? How many of those who stood here before me asked the same questions? Maybe they had lost children in dreadful epidemics or been struck down by hideous plagues. Thank God for modern medicine. I’m a lucky cow. With that final thought she unceremoniously stuffed the last morsel into her mouth.
Edward was whispering obscenities in Mel’s unabashed ear. Chewing with an over-full mouth, Liz slipped her arm around her husband’s waist and then foolishly attempted to speak. What came out was a jumble of words and crumbs that sprayed incoherently over Mel.
“Hey, didn’t your mother teach you not to talk with your mouth full? I assume
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