Forever Young

by Jeanne Davies

milky Ovaltine

This story was entered for the Resolutions anthology. Although ti was declined it is highly commended.  

He collected Liliane at three. She wore the lime green velvet coat they had bought together many years previously. To him she looked as beautiful as ever, like a delicate faded flower with silvery hair as wild as Medusa’s. Their scruffy Jack Russell, Tula, greeted her lovingly as they were reunited, bringing an innocent smile to his wife’s face. Ray took her hand gently, escorting her to the car before tenderly enveloping her in the seat belt. Her fragile faced turned towards him as she asked if she was going home. How would he ever find the words to tell her? Today, like on many occasions before, his resolution was to try to explain, but he needed to find the right moment.

     Glancing sideways at her as he turned the engine on, he remembered the excitement of the drives they had together when they were courting. In those days he had a Honda CB550 with a sidecar, and she dressed like Audrey Hepburn with her headscarf folded neatly into the nape of her neck, and huge black owl-eyed sunglasses. The motorbike engine was too loud for them to converse, so throughout the journey they would communicate with nods and hand gestures. At the end of any trip, Liliane would alight daintily, tugging at her scarf to release her golden curls which tumbled down her back in a swaying curtain. An inch or two taller than Ray even in flat shoes, she always took his breath away and still did to this day.

     Today they drove slowly through the Hampshire countryside which was vibrantly painted in all its autumn glory of colours; neither said a word. The dappled light highlighted her age spots, once tiny flecks of girlie freckles across her nose, which surrounded her heliotrope eyes in a butterfly shape. He leant across to point at a striking giant oak tree, solitarily stationed like a warrior in the centre of a horse field. She stared at it for some time before gesturing back with a nod of her head and a weathered smile. They pulled over to the side of the road to see the horses, three mares and a foul; her eyes suddenly illuminated with enthusiasm. The naivety of her child-like smile brought tears forward which he promptly dismissed. How could he tell her these outings were numbered?

     In the early days of the illness, she had told him that there were moments when she felt alone on a beach where the tide had gone out completely, taking all her memories with it. Every day he had felt her mind slipping away until one day she was completely gone. As the disease progressed her fear turned into frustration and anger, most of it aimed at him because there was nobody else. He often suffered injury from her violent rages and many times she became a danger to herself, frequently leaving the house barefoot and turning up at the other side of the village with no idea who or where she was. Strangely she still remembered Tula’s name, but these days often referred to her as ‘the puppy’. The time eventually came when he had no choice but to put his dear Liliane into a care home, which made him crumble inside. Before long, the drugs they were able to administer in the home began to calm her, although by then she hardly recognised Ray at all.

    This little outing was all part of their usual Friday jaunt. Soon they would arrive at the coast, abandon the car in the seafront car park to walk across to Hayling Island. Here they would sit on a rickety old bench to watch the boats heading into the harbour for mooring, boats of many shapes and colours against the ever-changing skyscape. Ray covered Liliane’s legs in a car blanket, which Tula took as a signal to jump up. Ray’s hand fitted over Liliane’s as they gazed at the sun lowering in the sky, creating dark silhouettes of tiny, moored crafts outlined by the ocean. Twilight gradually persuaded the day to disappear. As tiny dots of light began expanding in the crimson velvet sky, they headed for Harry’s fish and chip bar, their eyes still wrapped up in the sunset as they watched over their tasty morsels being wrapped in white paper. The smell in the car was intoxicating. He could see her delight as she looked across at the warm parcel between them. He had been careful to hide the Estate Agent’s Sold sign in the front garden and hoped she wouldn’t notice how bare the house had become. Quickly switching on the lights in the house he led them into the parlour where he had previously laid the kitchen table for two with floral serviettes and two wine glasses. Ray took her coat to hang behind the door, carefully coaxing her to her usual seat at the other end of the table. He placed the cream donut he had bought that morning in the centre of the table, dividing it carefully into two. Her eyes were owl-like as they ate the fish and chips together, savouring every morsel with their glass of white wine.

     The television went on as they sat with their coffee and half a donut on the two-seater sofa. Tula crept up on to Liliane’s lap just like so many times before. He could not possibly tell her now; what would he say? This was just one day in his week that highlighted his lonely life, and he did not want to waste it … not for either of them. Ray knew this was his last opportunity to keep to his resolution and be honest with his wife, but inside he knew he would probably fail again.

     “But won’t mother want me home … won’t she be worried?” she gasped as they climbed the stairs together.

     Mrs Smith at the Care Home had become Liliane’s mother over the past four years, catering for her every need and keeping her safe and medicated. Even so, sometimes Liliane did not even recognise her.

     “She knows you are here dear and will be waiting for your return in the morning,” he said soothingly.

     Ray had previously ensured that all his packing cases were well hidden under the bed before taking her into the spare bedroom. He helped her into her pyjamas and stood by as she obediently swallowed her night-time tablets. Leaving the glass of water easily within her reach and the low-wattage bulb on in the bathroom, Ray tucked Liliane carefully inside the crisp white sheets before quietly turning the key in the lock.

     “Goodnight, sweetheart”, he whispered back through the door.

     When he woke Liliane next morning with her cup of tea, that old look of distrust and fear had returned to her eyes. But with gentle coaxing he persuaded her to dip her favourite shortbread biscuit in her tea; the fear slowly subsided and she rewarded him with a smile.

     They ate croissants and fresh orange juice in the conservatory before they belted into the car. After careful consideration, he had decided that his news would have to wait.

     “Did mother say it was alright for me to have a sleepover?” she asked as they drove away.

     He nodded. “Yes, of course, dear”, he sighed.

     Liliane’s life now consisted completely of living amongst strangers, with unfamiliar faces, in places unknown. His Oncologist was correct, there would really be no purpose in sharing his prognosis with his wife. The treatment had ended, and his hospice bed was booked and ready. He held her hand until it slipped away from him. She didn’t say goodbye but disappeared behind the plastic bubble light doors of the care home. Her lack of recognition had finally confirmed everything for him … she would not notice he had gone; she would continue to be forever young.

 

About the author

Jeanne enjoys creating stories and visiting other people's worlds and feelings. She's had many short stories, flash fiction and poetry included in anthologies and magazines in the UK and USA. Her first single author anthology Drawn by the Sea was published by Bridge House in 2020.

 

 

 

A Christmas Present

by Phyllis Souza

Ovaltine

After coming home from Mid-night Mass, remembering fifty years earlier, Betty dressed herself in a long flannel nightgown.

Crimson lingerie, sheer as a veil. A neckline that plunged.  Her husband had given her a Christmas present.

"Sweet Pea, go try it on," Harold said. "Beautiful isn't it. He smiled, showing the slight space between his front teeth.

"I'll wait. You don't mind... do you?" Betty asked.

"Don't you like it? The saleslady said I could take it back. Exchange it for something else. A purse, maybe." Betty could see the sad expression in his pale blue eyes. She knew that he knew how she felt. He deserved better.

Betty didn't love Harold. Wanted to. She prayed to the Virgin Mary to make her love him. 

She couldn't and wouldn't ever wear the crimson nightgown. 

Later that night, after putting on her flannel gown, Betty crawled onto her side of the bed. And Harold knelt and prayed next to his. Then, he got under the duvet and snuggled close to her.

Pretending to be fast asleep, she sighed.

Rolling over, facing the wall, Harold whispered, "Goodnight, Sweet Pea. It's okay that you don't like it. I'll return it."

"Thank you, Harold. I'm so sorry," Betty softly said.

Relief

Relief

by Copper Rose

Ovaltine 

Abilene swings her feet from the warm bed. She gathers the frayed edge of the nightgown around her skinny thighs and sucks in her breath as her soles touch the cold floor. Hiking up her hem, she tiptoes to the bathroom to relieve herself. She sighs. She is always in search of relief, scanning every area of her life, hoping it will come in language, in a form she recognizes. She never wishes for a lot.

Abilene tugs at the collar of the gown, inspects her neck and face in the medicine cabinet mirror, spots nothing out of the ordinary and nods her head in satisfaction. One less thing to worry about. She glimpses her hair, shakes her head, nothing to be done about it. The only thing to do is focus on something else.

Abilene peeks in her husband’s bedroom. They had stopped sharing a room eight years ago when Henry became ill after working thirty-seven years at the parking garage, for the city parks department. He is too restless. Exhausted. Fuming. Selfish in his pain. Abilene finds a smidgen of peace in having a room of her own after fifty-two years, her room to the right of the bathroom, Henry’s to the left.

Henry is snoring, his head propped awkwardly on the pillow, one scrawny leg flung from beneath the tangled blankets that cover the three-quarter bed, his mother’s bed with the rounded, maple foot board where it is hard to tuck things in but looks lovely in the spare room. His puckered mouth open—the one gold tooth glints in the morning sun shining through the window. Veins bulge in his forearms, above his balled-up fists clutched to his chest. He’s been pounding his lungs again, trying to squeeze out every ounce of air trapped inside. His eyes flutter open. His head lifts slightly as he scans the room searching for his wife.

“You hungry now, Henry?” Abilene asks.

“Hashbrowns?”

“Not today.”

“Bacon then?”

Abilene ducks into the kitchen to fix his bowl of oatmeal, with a spoonful of powdered gelatin added, softened a little to help it blend in. The protein he needs, but hates. There are two servings left in the box of oatmeal. Three servings left of the gelatin. No money at the end of this month to buy more if she decides to pay for the electricity they need to run Henry’s oxygen concentrator.

Abilene balances the bowl and spoon in one hand, carries a glass of water in the other. Henry turns his face away when she holds the spoon to his mouth.

The next morning Abilene swings her feet from the warm bed. She has made a decision. Henry is sleeping, his puckered mouth open. She is quick with her morning work, something she has to do before the oatmeal. Before she changes her mind.

By the time the oatmeal is ready the bleeding has stopped. Henry opens his mouth as Abilene spoons in the oatmeal. The gold tooth glints in the sun—on the kitchen windowsill next to the gold watch the city gifted to Henry upon his retirement. The pawn shop opens at ten and there is just enough gas in the car.

Maddie's Dream

by Michal Reibenbach

Ovaltine

Big Maddie knocked on the scratched, weathered beaten, wooden door of the tired looking house. Some of the houses large, whitish grey, stones were covered in moss and the white paint of the window’s wooden frames was flaking off. It took a while before an old, plump woman opened the door; peeking out from behind her was a little girl. Big Maddie recognized them: the old woman was her grandmother and the little girl was herself as a little child. She didn't understand what was happening; 'had she somehow gone back in time?!'

"What do you want?" asked the old woman. In her heart, Big Maddie felt she wanted to cross the threshold, enter into the house, and somehow help the motherless girl that had once been herself as a little child; so she said, "Please don't be alarmed! I just thought you might need some help around the house?"

"Yes, actually I do," answered the old woman, “The house is in an awful mess and I don't feel very well. I really do need some help but I'm afraid I won't be able to pay you very much."

"Oh that's alright," said Maddie. "You can give me whatever you can afford."

She didn't tell the old woman that she was even willing to work for free, for it might have seemed strange and suspicious. The old lady let Big Maddie into the house, "If you could begin with cleaning the kitchen and the sitting room, and then folding the laundry—I'm afraid I'll have to leave you now to go and lie down for a while, for I feel rather dizzy," said the old lady, and she shuffled off to a back room to rest. At the same time, her grand-daughter scurried up the stairs and out of Big Maddie's sight; as a result, she was left alone.

Big Maddie began to look around curiously. As she did so, she could see the belongings of the little girl's father lying about everywhere; and that brought back memories as to how much he used to resemble an Ogre, which was what everyone had called him: ‘The Ogre.’ She could feel his presence all around her, even though she couldn't see him. She thought to herself, "He's made himself invisible, to make it easier for him to torment me!"

Upon entering the kitchen which was in an awful mess; she set about washing the dirty dishes and cooking-pots with great gusto; until there was a large pile of them drying on the draining board. Next, she washed the floor down with a cloth, until it shone. Then, as Big Maddie stood still waiting for the damp floor to dry, she called out to the Ogre, "Even though I can't see you, I know that you are around here somewhere, for I can feel your presence! I've journeyed back in time in order to help the pathetic, motherless child that used to be me all those years ago. Now that I've cleaned your filthy kitchen and washed your dirty dishes, will you show your little girl some love?"

The Ogre roared with laughter, "Ha-ha-ha-" and then he shouted out in a slurred, cocky voice, "I can't give her any love, for I don't have any emotions!"  Big Maddie could tell that he was drunk. The Ogre was so enraged with her request; so much so that, with the force of his anger, he managed to knock some clean dishes off the sideboard and consequently they smashed down onto the floor and broke into tiny pieces. In despair, Big Maddie sat down on the kitchen floor with her shoulders hunched over and began to cry into her chest, tears burst forth spilling down her face for the little girl. Finally, she pulled herself together, got up and wiped away her tears with an old tea-towel she found in a kitchen drawer, then she set about sweeping up the broken dishes with a broom and threw the pieces into the dustbin. Next, she dried up all the pots and dishes with her tear-soaked towel and placed them in the cupboard. Having finished cleaning the kitchen to her satisfaction she took the towel, along with a broom, mop and a bucket of water with her into the sitting room; where she set about tidying it up and scrubbing the floor. This also involved dusting off any toys she found lying around and placing them into the toy-chest; while she was doing this, her tea-towel got caught in the wheels of a toy car and as she pulled at it, she accidentally tore the towel---she thought to herself dismally, 'All I'm armed with to help the poor, motherless child fight her battles, is a wet, torn, tea-towel..'

Maddie cleaned the sitting room until it sparkled. Once again, in desperation, she called out to the Ogre, “Now that I've tidied up and cleaned your previously messy sitting room, will you agree to help your little girl, at least in ways that don't include love? For example, give her a little kindness and please stop beating her, you're damaging her, taking away her dignity and making her feel very lonely!"

"You're making me furious!" roared the Ogre, and this time he used the force of his anger to pull all the toys out of the toy chest, causing them to tumble onto the floor.

"I lock her up and beat her because she annoys me, and anyway it's good for her to be frightened of me!"

Big Maddie could tell that she wasn't making any progress with the Ogre, that in fact, she was simply aggravating him, making the situation worse. In despair, she tidied up the toys back into the toy chest and moved on to her next task: folding the enormous pile of washing which she found in the little washroom. She placed the dry laundry in the airing cupboard and laid out the still damp clothes to dry on the sofa. As she worked, she had an idea: turning to the ogre, she said: "If you keep on being cruel to your motherless child, I'll report you to social services!"

"You can report whatever you like; they're much too busy, they won't interfere!" scoffed the ogre at her in his gruff voice. Then, in order to annoy Big Maddie even more, he called out to his little girl, "Maddie, Maddie, come down to the sitting room.

Soon Little Maddie appeared. "Go and jump on the sofa, on all the damp washing, It'll be fun," he urged her.

Little Maddie did as she was told to by the Ogre for she feared him; she climbed up onto the sofa and jumped up and down on the washing. From time to time, she looked at her older self guiltily, expecting her to be angry, but Big Maddie just stood by silently. Inside she felt like a deflated balloon and a useless failure; for she had gone back in time to help the poor, unloved, motherless child that she had once been; and she was failing pitifully in her task.

Suddenly, much to Big Maddie's surprise, an enormous soap bubble came floating in through the open window and landed on the sitting room floor. There it popped; revealing inside of it an old, white-haired lady who was holding a large ginger cat in her arms. The old lady smiled at Little Maddie, who was staring on in amazement, and said: "I'm your ‘fairy godmother’, dear."

Then she turned to Big Maddie and said, "I think I know how you can help her: you can sit down beside her and encourage her to tell you her sad story; and while she tells it to you, you can write it all down. It'll help her to know that you care for her and that you want to hear her story. It will make her feel better about herself."

Big Maddie rushed over to the fairy godmother and hugged her, "Thank you so much for coming to help us,” she said.

Swiftly she went and collected a paper-pad and a pen from off the table, then briskly walked up to Little Maddie, caught hold of her hand, and said, 

"Come with me, we’re going to write a story together."

They walked over to one of the sitting room’s large, old, battered armchairs and slumped down into it. Thus snuggled up close, little Maddie began to tell Big Maddie her sad story: about how her mother had died and even though her granny had come to live with her and ‘the Ogre’ her father, he had been continuously nasty to her ever since then…Big Maddie wrote down everything that the little girl recalled. All the while the ‘fairy godmother’ watched over them, stroking her cat, and waving her magic wand at the invisible, outraged Ogre to keep him away, for he was continuously trying to interrupt them. When Little Maddie had at last finished telling her story, and Big Maddie had finished writing it all down; Big Maddie hugged little Maddie and said, "Never forget that I love you." Then she turned to face the ‘fairy godmother’ and said, "It's done, it's written."

"Good," said the ‘fairy godmother’, and then to little Maddie, "I'll leave you my ginger cat so that you won't be so lonely; she's a magic cat and if your father, ‘the Ogre’, tries to hurt you or her, she'll turn into a tigress and frighten him away. Does that make you feel better? " 

"Yes it does make me feel much better," answered Little Maddie, adding, "and thank you so much for your cat."

”I'm glad I could help you. Good-bye, Little Maddie, and good-bye Big Maddie," said the ‘fairy godmother’ and then she vigorously waved her magic wand, twirling it around above her head. This caused an enormous flash of light to bounce off the wand and up into the sky; thus the ‘fairy godmother’ was able to travel up along the beam of light she had created, and she disappeared up into the sky…

A few moments later, a rumble of thunder could be heard from far away beyond the blackened clouds…. It woke Big Maddie up and she found herself in her bed! When she looked up and out of her window she saw that a storm was raging outside; there was a downpour of rain and streaks of lightning split the sky. It was then that she realized she had been dreaming.

As she snuggled deeper into her soft eiderdown so that it enclosed her with its warmth, she thought to herself, 'I didn’t have a very happy childhood, I'm glad that I'm all grown up now!'

Ovaltine

by Lynn Clement

Ovaltine

 

‘Bye Carol, I’m off now, see you tomorrow.’ The door clicked to.

‘Uh oh, rumbly tumbly,’ Carol said. She opened the fridge door. No lunch. She closed it and it beeped at her, then began to whirl around. Carol stared.  She opened it again. ‘No magic food.’ Her tummy gurgled. Carol’s slippered feet shuffled to the drawer. She was sure there would be food in the drawer.

‘I know Mother has been stock -piling arrowroot biscuits and camp coffee.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘New coffee in blue bottles?  Mmm… purple blocks – chocolate.’ Her stiff fingers eventually peeled back the packaging and she bit into one of the blocks. ‘Yeuk, it’s off.’ She spat it into the sink and washed it away. The water made foam in the basin.

‘Hello,’ she said to the cat who had sauntered into the kitchen. ’I see you’ve got food.’ The cat purred. Carol eyed the jellied meat; her mouth watered. Her knees creaked and she stroked the cat. His food looked juicy and flavoursome.

‘Has mother given you the tinned steak puss? We must be short of cash if she’s got tinned steak in; we only have that for Sunday when Papa has been drinking again. Why have you got it?’

Carol reached for a spoon from the kitchen side, then pressing her back to the wall; she held onto the towel rail and slid down next to the cat. She could smell the stress of those Sunday lunches. She winced and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again the kitchen light had gone off, but someone was shining a torch beam through the window. She rubbed her cold arms and moved her head from side to side, to ease her stiff neck. Blinking her sticky eye-lids she looked ahead and saw a note on one of the doors.                 

  Carol your lunch is in here.

          Love from Trina x

Carol looked at puss curled up on her lap. ‘Now why would Trina put my lunch in the washing machine?’ she asked him.

The Magic Mixture

Ovaltine Susan Jones Glynis rolled out the scone mix, cut the dough into thick round wedges and placed them onto the baking tray.  Geraint followed with the pastry brush painting egg wash across the tops of the deep scones. Betty Juniper chief cook at the workhouse, opened the enormous Aga and filled the oven with the huge trays of cakes. 'Hey Glyn, where’s that barley?’  She had her head deep inside the pot, stirring the brew when she heard Geraint’s muffled voice.  Happy with the bubbling creamy mixture Glynis wobbled slightly on the tall stool she used to perform the daily jobs.  Turning with a quick twist she pointed the wooden spoon towards the larder. ‘Over there where we always keep it you goof.’ ‘Okay, keep your knickers on, I only asked.’ ‘Well I’m only telling.  Come on, hurry up!’  Geraint clicked his tongue with apparent annoyance as he retreated to the pantry.  Brothers eh? Glynis watched the way he huffed as he hauled the large sack of sweet smelling barley malt across the kitchen to where she was waiting.   ‘Sis, why do we have to do this job every single day?’  ‘Geraint, how can you say that?’  Glynis wiped her hands on her apron and jumped to ground level.  She drew her little brother to the stool and sat him down. ‘Look, I know we should be going to school, but we have to make refreshments for Dad and Uncle Terry, otherwise they wouldn’t be able to work like they do, would they?’  Betty bustled around the kitchen and began lifting the hot scones onto the large wooden table, followed by a plate of rock buns. ‘Hurry along children, time to go up to the gas works with lunch for the workers. ‘Glynis, is the mixture ready?’ ‘Nearly, I’ve just got to add the barley.’  She heaved the bag up and tipped the contents into the pan. ‘Jeepers, don’t overdo it.’  Betty steadied the bag as Glynis mixed and whisked with her wooden spoon until a frothy topping began to appear around the pan.  While Betty was close to hand, Glynis took her chance to ask the question. ‘Betty, Geraint and me, well we were wondering...” 'Yes?' 'Well we were wondering about our school work.’  Betty’s jaw dropped. ‘What get educated y’mean?’  she said. ‘Mmm that’s what we’ve been thinking.  We’d like to learn to read and write to make something of our lives.  Have something to aim for like a career one day maybe.’  Glynis held her head as high as she possibly could, watching Betty, wanting her to know that this wasn’t just an idea; it was more than that It was everything. Glynis waited for as long as she could for a reply Maybe it was foolish to have brought the subject up.  Maybe she was wasting her time.  ‘Tch, what d’you two need to learn things for eh?’  Realising the moment had passed, Glynis glanced across to where her brother was watching and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I tried,’ she mouthed silently.   Betty clapped her hands. ‘Get along you two for goodness sake.’ They left for the factory, as they did every day, loaded up with malted barley drink, rock cakes and scones.  As they walked up the cobbled hill, Mr Knockjack pulled up in his Rolls Royce.  He was the factory owner probably checking up on his workers.  Glynis was immediately rather afraid of this skinny little man with bushy grey hair, who watched them intently through his half opened car window.  ‘Children, what’s in those bags?’ ‘We’re taking lunch to the workers.  Our dad and uncle are in there.’   'Could I try some?’  Mr Knockjack’s beady eyes seemed to bulge at the sight of the cakes; piled high. ‘Just a little bit, there’s only really enough for the workers.  I don’t want anyone to miss out.’  Reluctantly, Glynis unscrewed the cup of the flask and poured half a cup of the pale brown steaming drink.  Handing it to him, she nodded to Geraint.  ‘Pass him one of those.’  Geraint took a sugary cake with currants jutting from all sides.  Glynis nodded as he whispered.  ‘You mean one of these?’  'Yes, go on, quick so he can have the two together.’  Glynis began to get a little impatient.  It was almost break time at the factory.  But then Mr Knockjack made a most unusual sound.  Glynis wondered for a moment if he was having what Betty would have called ‘a turn.’  Maybe he was choking even? It was a cross between a gurgle and a howl.  His eyes glared, nostrils flared, finally he spoke. ‘Oh my life this is simply wonderful, magnificent.  No wonder my workers at this factory are so jolly every time I call.  I wondered what the secret was; now I’ve tasted it with my own tongue.  That drink is absolutely dreamy, and so creamy it makes me feel relaxed.‘ ‘You like it that much?’  Her lips teased apart.  Glynis felt a well of pride growing inside her.  He liked it?  He actually liked something that she and Geraint had made.  She wanted to laugh.  Her breathing became short and sharp, her hands shook.  Here was factory owner Mr Knockjack reeling with happiness after tasting their offerings.  ‘We really have to get these to the workers, they’ll be waiting.’  She ushered Geraint through the double doors and along to the canteen area where they laid out the cakes and filled cups with drinks.  Mr Knockjack followed them. ‘Children, how long have you been coming here bringing such delights for my workers?’ ‘We’ve been coming here for ages.’  Glynis was glad of a welcome seat while her father, Uncle Terry and the rest of the factory workers enjoyed the scrumptious homemade fare they’d spread in front of them. She could see Mr. Knockjack behind them. He seemed to be marvelling at the scene as if at last something warmed his old, cold heart.  Glynis gathered up the flasks and gags, their work was finished for the day.  Geraint ran to his father and threw his arms tightly round his neck. ‘Go on lad, you go with Glyn.  I’ll see you tomorrow.’  Glynis took a deep breath and smiled bravely towards her father.  Since her mother died, there had been no other choice but the workhouse.  This job was a way that they could see him every day.  Blinking back tears that threatened to spill over onto her cheeks, she smiled and turned, leaving with the empty basket full of bags. The walk home seemed longer than usual.  Geraint kicked a stone hard against the cobbles. ‘Don’t do that, you’ll wear your shoes out.   Being grumpy won’t do anyone any good.’ ‘It’ll do me good.’  Glynis looked sideways at her younger brother, grinning.   ‘You should try it Glyn. How come you’re always cheerful?’  Glynis sighed.  If only he knew the  truth.  It was as she was thinking that the familiar Rolls Royce pulled up alongside them. ‘It’s that Knockjack chap,’ Geraint said. ‘Shush, Geraint, where’s your manners?’  ‘Can we talk for a moment children?  I’d like to have the recipes from you if that’s alright?  You’ve given me an idea that I’d like to try.”  ‘What’s that then?’  Glynis said shifting from one foot to the other, staring at him, seeking clues. ‘The effect on my workers is touching on miraculous. It’s definitely something I want to expand to my other factories.’  Glynis watched him lean towards her thinking about what he said. He really liked it that much? But she had to keep calm. But really? He really wanted to expand? That’s when it came to her. Taking a deep breath, she wanted to sound controlled, considered. But so much for that-  it was like words spilled out like barley. And they kept on spilling.             ‘Me and Geraint want an education Sir,” she said, crossing her fingers, twisting them behind her back.  ‘We really would like to read, write, and learn sums and countries.’  She felt her cheeks burn. Maybe what she was asking was impossible, but everyone had to dream, didn’t they?  Spurred on by Geraint’s excited little face she continued.  ‘If you had our recipes, then we’d have time to have books, pens pencils, I’ve always wanted to learn a language as well.’   Mr Knockjack leaned back in his seat pressing the tips of his fingers together, the way she’s seen Dad do, like it was something that helped grown-ups think. And she waited. And waited. She shifted, looked at her feet, then back at him who was watching her. Then she looked at Geraint saw the way he too was watching Mr Knockjack too, like this moment was now so big she might just fall inside it. What was she thinking? Dear God what if he told her dad- would be think she was begging? Would he send her to her room, would he.... That’s when he finally spoke.  He was leaning towards them, tapping his fingers together. ‘I could pay for your education until you’re both twenty one.’ Was that her gasping or Geraint? She daren’t look away from him. ‘Of course this would be In exchange for your wonderful cake and drinks formula,’ he said.  ‘You would have to show me exactly how they’re made of course.’  Glynis smiled when he said that, knowing how the mixture could vary slightly from one day to the next. But that was okay- wasn’t it? Because now she and her brother were being offered something that would change their life. Like really change it and all because of a recipe! What would Betty say to that? Oh she would be thrilled Glynis was sure.  Taking her brother’s hand squeezing it tightly, she nodded. ‘Yes, we have to go and tell Betty.  Definitely, the answer to your question is almost certainly yes.’  Mr Knockjack smiled and even as they turned and ran hand in hand along the cobbled street she knew if she turned her back he would still be smiling. But his smile could never match hers.       About Susan: I am 51 years of age, live in Warwickshire and have recently joined twitter. I have written articles for Words with Jam, My Weekly, Bella magazine and Take a break magazine. Visit my website here. www.susanjanejones.com I am blogging here. www.susanjanejones.blogspot.com

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