The Lost Child by Ann Troup Page A

of course. Anyway, like I was saying – they’ve got that kid there, staying with them bold as brass. I wonder what she makes of it all eh? Being dumped off here after everything that happened. That mother should be ashamed of herself, ought to have pulled herself together and got over it by now. If she’d been looking after the kid properly it would never have happened. Anyway, it’s ancient history now, leave it dead and buried, that’s what I say.’
    Elaine patiently withstood this tirade, buoyed by the irony of Rosemary’s convictions. However, she felt a need to defend Brodie. ‘I’ve met the girl, she’s a nice kid. I feel for her. After all, the past isn’t her fault and it’s a shame some people can’t see that.’ Her words were pointed, but missed their target by a mile.
    ‘Well, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Those who are innocent carry the burden, don’t they?’ Rosemary stated sagely.
    Elaine felt defeated, Rosemary was a wearing woman. It seemed as if the trait had run in the family, a thought that reminded her of Jean languishing on the doorstep. ‘True enough. Anyway, I ought to get going, it’s been lovely to meet you both. I’ll um, think of somewhere else for Mum.’
    Rosemary gave her a look that said she doubted it had been lovely at all. She followed Elaine down the hallway to the door, ‘Well, nice to meet you I suppose, but don’t be expecting a Christmas card or anything, I’m not the type,’ she said as she leaned in the doorway, arms folded across her chest – looking like the archetype of a battle-axe landlady.
    Elaine looked around for Derry, eager to say goodbye to the shy giant, but he was nowhere to be seen.
    It was only when she got back to the cottage that she realised that she had left Jean on the Tylers’ doorstep as if she was as unimportant as an umbrella on a sunny day. Her intention to go back immediately and retrieve the urn was interrupted by Miriam, who arrived at the cottage bearing fresh sheets and towels. ‘Just popping in to do your change.’ she said, bustling past breathlessly.
    ‘That’s OK Miriam, leave it there, I can do it. You’ve got enough to do already.’ Elaine erroneously thought that she would be doing the woman a favour.
    Miriam bristled, ‘Certainly not, you are a paying guest and will have the same service as everyone else. Besides, you’ve been very good to Brodie and I don’t want you to think we don’t appreciate it.’
    Elaine conceded and made room for Miriam to move past her towards the stairs, ‘It’s not a problem, I’m very fond of Brodie.’
    Miriam paused, ‘Well, you’re a brave one I must say, she’s such a prickly little thing usually, but she certainly likes you. All I hear is “Elaine this, Elaine that”.’
    Elaine felt uncommonly pleased by this and rewarded the compliment with one of her rare smiles.
    ‘She tells me you’re an artist.’ Miriam said as she trundled up the stairs on heavy, swollen feet. Elaine suspected that she was a martyr to those feet.
    In order to answer she was forced to follow. Trailing in Miriam’s wake awkwardly, as people do when they’re not used to being waited on. ‘Well, yes. I’m an illustrator – books, posters that kind of thing.’
    ‘Oh, how lovely.’ Miriam was clearly none the wiser. ‘Can’t draw a pair of legs with a ruler myself, still, God finds a use for all of us I suppose,’ she added, hauling the quilt off the bed and fighting with the cover. It was a laborious thing to watch, the quilt was twice the size of the woman and Elaine had no choice but to wade in and help. As they wrestled with the quilt Elaine pondered what God’s plan was for her, if her only purpose was to concoct twee pictures for children’s books. Not that that was the only thing she did, but it was her bread-and-butter work.
    ‘I met Rosemary Tyler today,’ she said as they were fitting the sheet, Miriam huffing with effort as she manhandled the fitted corners around the