mory of Aunty Kiss, by Sarah Swatridge, Tetley’s Tea

 

In Memory of Aunty Kiss by Sarah Swatridge

Tetley’s Tea

‘Smile,’ said Jenny’s mother, Gladys. ‘Aunty Kiss wouldn’t want you to be sad.’

            ‘It’s been a difficult week, admitted Jenny. ‘Losing Aunty Kiss was bad enough, although she didn’t suffer. Then I went for an interview and didn’t get the job.’

            ‘Are you very disappointed?’ asked Gladys as she poured them some Tetley tea. With Aunty Kiss it had to be Tetley’s tea.

            ‘It seemed a friendly place to work but I really wanted to be on the reception desk instead of in the accounts office. I told the woman I’m better with people than with paperwork.’

            ‘At least you were honest. It just wasn’t meant to be.’

            Jenny shook her head. She gazed into her cup of Tetley’s. ‘And the third thing, because bad things always seem to come in threes, was that Kenneth’s teacher called me in to speak to her.’ She let out a weary sigh. ‘He’s playing up at school. She’s concerned that his reading and writing aren’t as good as they ought to be.’

            ‘And what do you think?’ Gladys asked Kenneth as he came into the kitchen. ‘What are you good at in school?’

            His eyes lit up. ‘I always win the running races. No one can beat me. I’m not the oldest but I am the fastest.’

            Grandma Gladys smiled but Kenneth suddenly looked serious. ‘I do try with my reading but it’s hard.’ Changing the subject, his grandmother turned to Jenny and said,

            ‘I’ve been sorting out Aunty Kiss’s things. Was there anything in particular you wanted to remember her by?’

            While Jenny was thinking, Kenneth asked, ‘Did she kiss everyone?’

            ‘No, but she always signed her Christmas cards with nothing but a kiss.’

            ‘What I’d really treasure are The Herbert Stories. I could read them to Ken.’

            ‘The Herbert Stories? I’m not sure what you mean.’

            ‘It was a lovely old picture book. A large book, beautifully bound, and there were colourful pictures of Herbert doing his wonderful deeds. I remember her reading it to me whenever I stayed with her.’ Her mother looked puzzled.

            ‘Kiss didn’t have many books. I can’t think what you mean. You’d better come and help me sort through her things.’

            Sorting out Aunty Kiss’s house brought back many happy memories. Even the smell made Jenny smile.

            ‘That’s better,’ said her mum. ‘I don’t like to see you so down.’

            They flicked through scrapbooks, and reminisced over holiday souvenirs.

            Kenneth called to them to look out of the bedroom window. He’d been playing in the garden and had collected sticks. He’d made the word OXO out of sticks.

            ‘OXO?’ asked Gladys.

            ‘No,’ said Kenneth, ‘It’s my new signature. The circle’s a hug, then a kiss and another hug. One for each of you.’

            Gran smiled and Jenny felt a lump in her throat. She caught her mum’s eye. ‘I know he’s not a bad lad; I just want him to do well at school.’

            ‘I’m sure he’ll do just fine.’

            Jenny was no longer listening. In a corner she’d found the large beautifully illustrated book she had enjoyed so much when she was young. It was the only story Aunty Kiss had ever read to her but now she couldn’t recall whether it was because she’d always asked for the same one, or because it was the only book Kiss had owned.

            Carefully she flicked through the pages. She’d always loved Herbert. He was so strong. He’d fought lions, nine-headed monsters and man-eating birds. No matter what challenge was set, he always went for it and came up trumps. Jenny wiped away her tears.

            ‘Have you found it?’ asked her mum. Jenny nodded.

            ‘It wasn’t Herbert, but Hercules,’ she said aloud. In her heart she knew Aunty Kiss had always called him Herbert. And, the more she thought about it, her aunt hadn’t ‘read’ the words, but retold the story, because it was slightly different every time. Not that it mattered.

             ‘Mum?’ she asked as an idea occurred to her, ‘did Aunty Kiss have problems reading and writing?’ It had been an innocent question but she saw the shadow cross her mum’s face.

            ‘It wasn’t her strong point. But she was a marvellous cook, never needed a recipe. She taught me all she knew. She was a kind soul, too. Nothing was ever too much trouble.’

            Jenny found she was smiling again. She felt a bit lighter now. ‘Oh well, you can’t be good at everything, and we all have something we can excel at.’ Jenny hugged The Herbert Stories and thought, with excitement, about the challenges that lay ahead.

 

In Memory of Aunty Kiss was originally published in WI Home & Country in December 2005.

About the author

 Sarah Swatridge writes short stories for women’s magazines worldwide. She now has a collection of twenty uplifting short stories called Feel-Good Stories along with her large print novels available in libraries and online. Visit www.sarahswatridge.co.uk and sign up to her monthly one page newsletter. 

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