Tread Softly
Page 36
‘Now you’re talking crap! You and Ralph are on the breadline. You can’t compete with the likes of Chris.’
She did some quick sums in her head. A modest share might be possible. Agnes’s cottage had sold for more than expected.
‘Aunt Agnes,’ she whispered, peering up at the starlit sky through the uncurtained square of window, ‘was this your plan?’
Agnes had been delighted about the wedding and had invested in a new hat – pale straw, with a bunch of cherries on the brim: the only frivolous item of clothing she had ever bought. She would certainly approve of the marriage continuing, even if she were dubious about its unconventional style.
‘But you know what Ralph’s like, Aunt. An unorthodox relationship might suit him rather well.’
And suddenly Agnes was there, her face transfigured as on her deathbed, and fixing her with the same intense and piercing gaze.
Shaken, Lorna stared into her eyes. Again, as at the moment of death, she seemed to be trying to communicate. But what was she saying? That love was imperfect but none the less precious? That, although Ralph had never been demonstrative, he had proved his love? – like Agnes herself.
She couldn’t tell. The fleeting vision vanished and she was alone in the shabby kitchen again, with a trifle-spoon in her hand. She felt unnerved, yet also elated, with a sense of possibilities … Things might work out.
Maybe.
And if they didn’t, well, she’d be fine. ‘Fine,’ she said aloud, startled to realize that ‘fine’ was no longer bravado, but true at last.
And there wasn’t a peep from the Monster.
Copyright
First published in 2002 by Peter Owen
This edition published 2012 by Bello an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR Basingstoke and Oxford Associated companies throughout the world
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Copyright © Wendy Perriam, 2002
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