PAM WEAVER STORIES BY FIRELIGHT

Sometimes it takes unusual circumstances, and an oppor tunity to talk, for a troubled child to open up

The room was plunged into darkness. Three-year-old Harry squealed. Chloe, his nine year old sister, gasped. “What happened?”

Janet glanced at her two stepgrandchildren, their faces lit by the soft light of the fire. “It’s only a power cut.”

In the silence they could hear the wind whistling around the side of the house. Squally rain lashed the window. Janet felt a shiver of anxiety about her daughter and son-in-law out on the road.

“When will it come back?” Harry asked plaintively.

“Soon,” she smiled. “Don’t worry.

I’ll light some candles.” Moments later, the room was bathed in a peachy glow.

Chloe stared at the blank TV screen and frowned crossly.

“What are we going to do now?” Janet’s mind was racing. She was totally unprepared. She’d always planned ahead when she knew they were coming – although just lately, Chloe seemed reluctant to do anything much. She’d become sullen and bad-tempered.

Janet had been getting ready for a relaxing evening when her son-in-law had rung the doorbell.

“Can you take the kids?” His face was pale and anxious.

“Is she in labour?”

Struggling to keep calm, Tom nodded. “But it’s way too early,” she’d blurted out and instantly regretted it.

As usual, Chloe dragged her feet but Harry was as chatty as ever. They had settled down to watch a DVD. But now…

“How long is this power cut going to last?” demanded Chloe.

Janet shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I’m hungry,” said Harry.

Janet chewed her bottom lip. With no means of cooking, she had precious little to offer – just a few potatoes, a bit of bread and a couple of crumpets. Hardly enough for two healthy appetites. She couldn’t even pop next door – the Robinsons were in Australia.

The only other delicacy she had was a tin of baked beans. She could just imagine the scowl on Chloe’s face if she offered her cold baked beans!

Her mind drifted back to the power cuts of her own childhood in the Seventies. She ushered the children into the kitchen behind the bobbing light of a candle she shielded with her hand.

Back in the sitting room, Chloe and Harry could hardly believe their eyes when their grandmother pushed the three large, scrubbed potatoes into the edge of the glowing fire. “Give them half an hour and they’ll be fine.”

They put the bread and jam, the crumpets and a packet of marshmallows onto the coffee table. Chloe had the tin of baked beans.

“This is exciting,” said Harry, his face all lit up.

“Boring,” sighed Chloe.

What was wrong with the girl? She never used to be like this…

Janet’s daughter, Sally, had married late. Tom Peters was a widower with two children, Chloe and Harry. They were lovely kids and Janet tried hard to befriend them. Harry was receptive enough but Chloe was more reserved.

In the beginning, she had tried to manipulate her. “Nana Peters (Tom’s mother) doesn’t mind if we stay up very, very late,” Chloe would say. “She gives us loads of money when we see her.”

Janet wanted Chloe to like her, but she made it clear that she wasn’t in a best grandparent competition.

Using tongs, she drew the potatoes from the fire and split them down the middle.

She and Harry ate theirs with butter. Chloe poured the cold baked beans over hers. They ate with relish and then had toast and crumpets. By nine, the power was still off but the room was warm and cosy. Harry snuggled against her arm.

Chloe positioned herself at the other end of the sofa.

“When can we go home?” she grumbled. “As soon as your Daddy gets back,” said Janet. She scowled crossly and Janet’s heart went out to her.

“When I was little,” she said, desperate to reach her, “my sister and I used to tell each other stories by firelight.” Neither of them spoke. “Who’d like to go first?” “Boring,” Chloe repeated.

“We don’t know any stories,” said Harry. Janet wasn’t surprised. Times had changed. She had grown up in a world where children made their own entertainment. Nowadays, people were used to being entertained.

“Shall I tell you a story about my dad?” she ventured. “He was always trying to be the entrepreneur.”

“What’s an aunty-tren-errr?” asked Harry with interest.

“An entrepreneur is someone who finds new ways of making money,” she said. “Dad thought he’d make cheap envelopes, so he got me and my sister to cut loads of envelope shapes out of drawer lining paper.”

“Did it work?” asked Harry.

“The shape was fine,” Janet went on.

Janet wanted Chloe to like her but she wasn’t joining a competition