natureâs cruel whims. It was all fine and well looking like a grandmother if you actually had grandchildren, but it was hardly the right look if you still wanted to go about
getting
some. Ironically enough, May had always been more interested in the men than the children. Children were so unromantic.
âI think sheâs going to meet someone,â she said.
âMeet someone?â Gertrude sounded alarmed.
âThey always do, you know,â May said defensively.
âThey?â
âSingle people arriving in a new town. In stories, I mean. Even the men.â
âMen,â said Grace. It didnât seem as though she thought the men were worthy of further comment. âIf sheâs got even an ounce of sense, sheâll be off like a shot. This town isnât worth staying in.â
âWhich town is?â asked Gertrude. âWeâre better than
Europe
, in any case.â
Books and People
A GAS STOVE. How, exactly, do you turn on a gas stove? And what happens if you do it wrong?
Sara had never come across a gas stove before. She had lived at home with her parents, where they had a perfectly normal but clearly expensive cooker, a gleaming marvel of black and chrome. And then she had lived alone in her flat in Haninge, which also had a perfectly normal but much older cooker with old-style electric cooking rings and which had, at one point, been white.
She had hovered around the gas stove in Amyâs kitchen for a few days now without daring to turn it on. She had a vague notion that doing so would involve matches, and in a fit of bravado she had even managed to find a box of them in a drawer in the kitchen. Then her courage had deserted her.
Sometimes it felt as though the house itself was working against her. Perhaps it was just her guilty conscience over not having paid any rent colouring everything, but she couldnât escape the feeling that most of the rooms had been unhappy long before Amy died. There werenât even any books in the living room, just a black leather sofa which could never have made anyone happy.
She had almost come to the conclusion that it would be best to eat dinner cold again when the phone rang. She froze.
Think, Sara
.
It continued to ring, shrill and insistent.
Whatever she decided to do, it would be painful. A lot of people knew she was staying there, but there must also be others who had no idea. If it was someone who didnât know, it would be fairly awkward if she suddenly answered the phone. And if it was someone who didnât even know that Amy was dead, that would be unbearable.
The ringing stopped.
She regretted not having answered. She was almost entirely certain now that she should have done. Then the phone started ringing again, and she was thrown back into indecision. Eventually, she answered with a âSaraâ, just to avoid having to think about it any more.
A warm, cheerful voice greeted her at the other end. âSara, itâs Andy here. We met at the funeral.â
âAndy!â she said, immediately fearing that she had probably sounded a bit too familiar. She didnât remember him from the funeral, but she knew who he was from Amyâs letters.
âDâyou fancy swinging by the Square tonight? Have a drink or two with a few of the guys here in Broken Wheel. Really laid-back. Cold beer, good people.â
She looked at the gas stove. It didnât give her any answers. She ummed and ahhed instead.
New people were terrifying, of course. Though in a way, it was a bit like she already knew them. Plus it would mean getting out of the house.
âThanks,â she replied. âIâd love to.â
âGreat. Weâll pick you up at six. No, no, itâs no problem at all,â he added before she had even considered that it might have been.
By five, she was as ready as she would ever be. She had completely forgotten about dinner and spent the time going through her things instead,
getting
some. Ironically enough, May had always been more interested in the men than the children. Children were so unromantic.
âI think sheâs going to meet someone,â she said.
âMeet someone?â Gertrude sounded alarmed.
âThey always do, you know,â May said defensively.
âThey?â
âSingle people arriving in a new town. In stories, I mean. Even the men.â
âMen,â said Grace. It didnât seem as though she thought the men were worthy of further comment. âIf sheâs got even an ounce of sense, sheâll be off like a shot. This town isnât worth staying in.â
âWhich town is?â asked Gertrude. âWeâre better than
Europe
, in any case.â
Books and People
A GAS STOVE. How, exactly, do you turn on a gas stove? And what happens if you do it wrong?
Sara had never come across a gas stove before. She had lived at home with her parents, where they had a perfectly normal but clearly expensive cooker, a gleaming marvel of black and chrome. And then she had lived alone in her flat in Haninge, which also had a perfectly normal but much older cooker with old-style electric cooking rings and which had, at one point, been white.
She had hovered around the gas stove in Amyâs kitchen for a few days now without daring to turn it on. She had a vague notion that doing so would involve matches, and in a fit of bravado she had even managed to find a box of them in a drawer in the kitchen. Then her courage had deserted her.
Sometimes it felt as though the house itself was working against her. Perhaps it was just her guilty conscience over not having paid any rent colouring everything, but she couldnât escape the feeling that most of the rooms had been unhappy long before Amy died. There werenât even any books in the living room, just a black leather sofa which could never have made anyone happy.
She had almost come to the conclusion that it would be best to eat dinner cold again when the phone rang. She froze.
Think, Sara
.
It continued to ring, shrill and insistent.
Whatever she decided to do, it would be painful. A lot of people knew she was staying there, but there must also be others who had no idea. If it was someone who didnât know, it would be fairly awkward if she suddenly answered the phone. And if it was someone who didnât even know that Amy was dead, that would be unbearable.
The ringing stopped.
She regretted not having answered. She was almost entirely certain now that she should have done. Then the phone started ringing again, and she was thrown back into indecision. Eventually, she answered with a âSaraâ, just to avoid having to think about it any more.
A warm, cheerful voice greeted her at the other end. âSara, itâs Andy here. We met at the funeral.â
âAndy!â she said, immediately fearing that she had probably sounded a bit too familiar. She didnât remember him from the funeral, but she knew who he was from Amyâs letters.
âDâyou fancy swinging by the Square tonight? Have a drink or two with a few of the guys here in Broken Wheel. Really laid-back. Cold beer, good people.â
She looked at the gas stove. It didnât give her any answers. She ummed and ahhed instead.
New people were terrifying, of course. Though in a way, it was a bit like she already knew them. Plus it would mean getting out of the house.
âThanks,â she replied. âIâd love to.â
âGreat. Weâll pick you up at six. No, no, itâs no problem at all,â he added before she had even considered that it might have been.
By five, she was as ready as she would ever be. She had completely forgotten about dinner and spent the time going through her things instead,
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