Living It Up
Flora meets an old friend who has news for her . . .
AWAVE of guilt swept over Abigail as she looked at the row of jars of raspberry jam that Rachel had made.
For most of her life Abigail had expected others to do all the chores.
Now here she was, approaching old age and still not pulling her weight on the domestic front.
“I’ve been very lucky,” she told Munchkin, the cat. “Rachel and Flora have become good friends and I really must show my appreciation.”
Abigail was breathless but content as she came back into the house after her daily half hour on the trike when the phone rang. It was Alan, her son, phoning from Italy.
“How are you, Mum? I was thinking about Dad today. It must be ten years exactly since he died.”
“I’m fine. Just been on my trike and thinking how lucky I am to have landed where I am today.”
“The house sharing is still working out, then?”
“Yes. I think your dad would approve. By the way, what do you think of us having a book group here?”
“I think it would suit you, Mum. Reading was always your kind of exercise.”
“Alan! I’m getting much better at exercising. I’ve even lost a bit of weight. Now answer my question.”
“It sounds good to me.
Who knows what kind of odd people might want to join you?”
“Alan! You’re teasing again. We’ll all ask someone we know and there might be others.” Abigail sounded her old prim self as she spoke.
“We are all going to be spending some time this week thinking about our favourite books.”
****
Almost as soon as Abigail was happily settled with a pile of books, Rachel came in from town.
She had been visiting the local library to ask if there had been any enquiries about the book group.
Flora had copied old book covers and made an eye-catching poster inviting people to leave their names with the librarian.
“Mrs Marion Brady – she’s a regular here in the library. The others I don’t know so well,” Cherry Lawson, the librarian, said.
Rachel had taken the list of names and telephone numbers and laid it on the kitchen table.
“We can talk about this when Flora comes in. There’s just a few names, but that’s good. Too many means there’s somebody too shy to speak.”
It wasn’t long before Flora appeared, looking tired.
“Just been shopping,” she said and unpacked some coloured threads from her shopping bag.
“Can’t wait to get to grips with that quilt.”
Flora went out of the kitchen and straight upstairs without another word. The other two shrugged at one another.
“We’ll talk about the book group at dinner,” Rachel said to Abigail. “Flora obviously has something on her mind.”
Later, when Flora had rejoined the others, she picked up the list of names that lay on the table.
“I know this Marion Brady. I met her today when I was buying my threads. She used to be one of my customers.
“She told me that my husband is now living on his own. His fancy woman has had enough.”
It was easy to sense that Flora was confused. The others didn’t remind her that Marion had been to tea at the house.
“She’s a fun woman, Marion Brady. She bought a lot of clothes from me. Always up-to-date, always easy to please, make laugh.
“She’ll be good in a book group. She’s never lost for a word or an opinion.” Flora fumbled with the list.
Abigail reached out to hold Flora’s hand and soon the tears flowed freely.
“I’m so mixed up. A bit of me feels it serves him right. A bit of me feels sad for him. A bit of me is still furious with him for going off with her.
“I’m sore. That’s what I am. Sore.” She wiped the tears away. “And angry!”
“Let’s forget cooking,” Rachel said. “What with fruit cleaning and jam making, we’ve been in the kitchen enough. Let’s find somewhere new to eat.”
They decided on Italian and were greeted very charmingly by a handsome waiter who led them to a table near the window.
“You know what?” Flora said as she looked at the pretty red-head at the next table. “I think I’ll change my hair colour. It’ll fair perk me up.”
More next week.