LIJLA Vol. 1 No. 1 February 2013

Page 28

and what had once looked like fine silver outlining the curves of the handle now looked like cheap, chipped imitation. But using it brought her comfort and sometimes she thought she could catch the scent of her mother, a hint of lavender or the smell of her sweet pea perfume. She shrugged at the black circles under her eyes; she’d looked the same for a few years. She was forty but could be taken for an old thirty something or even, on a dull day, a young fifty something. She turned as she heard her sister’s footsteps coming down the ten stairs to the bathroom.    “You in there?” “Yes.” “Hurry up. I’m dying.” “Dying.” “Come on.” “Just about ready.”    She finished brushing and scooped out the hair. She squashed it on top of the used cotton wool balls. They sparkled with the electric blue of her sister’s eye shadow in the plastic bag the green of spring inside the grey wicker basket. She smoothed her hair with her hands and took a deep breath.    “We’ve got to get moving, wash his face, call the doctor,” she said to Mel. “Well, good morning to you too, Rose,” Mel said as she grazed past her and went into the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.” “I’ll put the kettle on.”    Rose trudged down the next set of steps slowly, pausing, thinking she should go to her father, say hello, touch his forehead; it would be horribly cold now, she thought. But she continued on down to the kitchen. She shivered. It was cold, this morning, or maybe it was the shock. It was June. It was Monday. And she had also to ring work and tell them the news. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, tracing her finger over the spiral pattern in the carved banister, mahogany; her mother had always insisted on polishing it every week. She rubbed it with the sleeve of her dressing gown; that was better, it shone.     She walked over to the hall table and as she picked up the receiver she could hear Mel coughing again, that deep, chesty cough with the spitting and hawking that came after it. Mel disliked doctors and refused to go; you couldn’t make her do anything so Rose had stopped pleading with her. They were

Page 18


Issuu converts static files into: digital portfolios, online yearbooks, online catalogs, digital photo albums and more. Sign up and create your flipbook.