CHAPTER10 part 3– Old School
Jackie stepped down the old dingy staircase. She didn’t like cleaning much. The net curtains clung to the light blue, slightly rotten always clammy window frame. A misty damp aroma filled the small scullery. That’s what she called it; old timer with old descriptions. Well she wasn’t really that old but her wrinkles and gait gave an impression of a much older woman than she actually was.
The cotton cloth dangled slightly brown, tarnished with tea stains and jam. Crumbs reflected in the mirror, a half light embracing a sharp image of a curving moon.
Jackie was slightly stooped like the world had rested gently on her shoulder and she had relented to the gravity. “Gran, you okay?” Daniel propped up his aluminium shiny bike against the soft white chrysanthemum patio door and carried on talking so Jackie, his slightly eccentric grandma would not be alarmed.
Daniel sort of loved and hated his Nan. He knew that she needed him but resented it quite deeply. She knew she was not able to help herself; sometimes her place was one of a long time past. She was unable to resist the ongoing pressure from her memories. They crept up on her until she was living and breathing every strange moment all over again.
Jackie had been a lively, bubbly and quite exceptional girl. In fact some might say that she was to exceptional. Unfortunately for her the Idea Factories and the progressive philosophies that became a consequence of there integration into society was scarcely talked about in her young days.
When she was a small child Jackie was expected to support her mother and work with her and of course to go on and get married to an ordinary man with a settled income; one that would insure her safety and allow her to maintain the life she had become accustomed to. Jackie just did not fit into this bracket and felt it was her right to do what she felt she should do.
She listened to Daniel as he talked to her on his way in. He was a kind young man but definitely not happy. Today Jackie had a present for him: one that she didn’t even know about herself.
Copyright Patrick Turner-Lee 2015