Monday, June 16, 2008

Late Bloomer


Felicia looked at the child estimating, by its height, finger dexterity in peeling the top layer of icing from a display cake, and ability to construct language (“Mommy, I want a wee now”) that it was four or five years old. Any older and it would be in school, surely?

Third in the queue, her ears pricked when she heard the word ‘bread’ as in, the grocer had none. “We’ve had no delivery, see,” he said. “Ted’s late.”

“He’s never late,” said Mrs. Dalloway. “I’ve known him thirty years, regular as clockwork. Gets up at four, he does, to make his bread and delivers by eight.”

Felicia turned and left the premises. There would be no delivery today. She remembered now what the scent was last night. Gillian had smelled of warm beds and home and chip butties for tea. She had smelled of fresh baked bread.

5 comments:

aims said...

Gosh - it just sounds dangerous living in Laverstone.

Leatherdykeuk said...

Please remember that I only narrate the interesting bits and the interesting people. There are 100,000 stories in Laverstone that just involve getting up and going to work, but if I wrote those no-one would read them.

aims said...

How true is that! On the other hand - while I was working away today I was thinking - land must be fairly cheap - and abundant - in Laverstone.

Leatherdykeuk said...

Why? Why must land be cheap and abundant in Laverstone?

aims said...

All these disappearances - leaves property empty doesn't it? Or do they come back and I'm missing that?