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“Oh. how ridiculous!” exclaimed Elizabeth, throwing a transcript at Godfrey.

Deftly catching the paper being tossed in the whirlwind of a forceful exhalation of Liz’s cigarette smoke, he raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

“She had a dream, you see,” continued Liz. “A dream about a writer and her maid. She mentioned it to me because she had one of those funny feelings it was about me, and when she told me, well the first thing I thought about was, well, you know….”

But Godfrey wasn’t listening, he was winking at Finnley who was reading over his shoulder. The maid stifled a giggle.

“So then I said to her,” Elizabeth explained, “‘I wonder what she’s been up to, left to her own devices?” and then she asked him all about it, and that’s what he said. Thrown me for a loop, I must say.”

E: (chuckling) Left to her own devices, she generates considerable intensity in extremes.

A: is this a character that has become a focus?

E: Reverse.

A: So it’s a focus that has become a character…. is there any information on the focus itself that I could offer her to play with that?

E: The focus is a past focus, but a recent past focus…a past focus in the timeframework of the 1940s…

A: in the Americas?

E: This focus travels, but I would express is based in Britain.

A: That makes sense.

E: And in actuality is involved with early computers…with large cables. LARGE cables…

A: [babble babble ohh ahh blah blah] …and she is female?

E: Yes.

“Who is Dan?” asked Finnley, puzzled.

“Why don’t you get on with telling us your dream and then we can all bugger off,” prompted Finnley.

“It was a big rambling house, much more to it than we expected. The kind of house with lots and lots of little rooms and different areas, and two or three people here or there, doing whatever they were doing. Sort of odd people, but not madly strange. A lovely feeling of curiosity and interest, and a marveling at how much more there was than we had anticipated. It was the kind of place,” Liz said, “That I could have moved into and not changed a thing.”

Roberto and Finnley started to fidget noisily while Liz was lost in the remembrance of wandering around the labyrinthine dream house.

“Did you move into it?” asked Godfrey.

“Well that is the funny thing, old bean. I said to Dan, in the dream, when I noticed the place was on the top of some very steep close together craggy mountain peaks with narrow bridges between them, I said “ Dan, I’ll never be able to drive all the way home in the dark after classes” and he said with a chuckle, “That’s what I was thinking.” It seems as if I had been contemplating taking a course at this place. But you know what I think?”

Liz paused to make sure everyone was paying attention.

“I don’t think you need to drive a car to get to that place.”

“I’m not falling for that, Finnley. And I was being sarcastic, not humble. As if!” Liz snorted. “You silly goose. Now then, where is Godfrey and that scrumtious gardener, what’s his name? I’m reminded of a story.”

“Roberto? Didn’t you send him to another thread? Or turn him into a dastardly escaped criminal, or psychic double agent or something?” asked Finnley, who had come to her senses and removed the strange grimace masquerading as a smile from her otherwise rather sweet and curious face.

“That’s much too long, Liz,” she added. “A “strange grimace masquerading as a smile from her otherwise rather sweet and curious face”? Bit wordy, isn’t it?”

“Finnley, please!” Liz was aghast. “You know you’re not supposed to do that!”

“As a matter of fact, I was dancing,” said Finnley with exaggerated politeness. “It is something I do to get back in the flow of the Universe … and counteract negativity.” She looked pointedly at Liz.

“Anyway,” she continued, “allow me read to read a little from the great Prof E P Lemon’s latest offering:

“It’s also like in taiji, you sometimes get into that flow state but for that you need to go past the learning phase, can’t really go around that.”

Finnley looked sympathetically at Liz.

“Perhaps you are still at the taiji learning phase, Liz.”

“How would I learn taiji?” asked Liz humbly. “I can see you are a master, dearest and wise Finnley.”

Finnley looked thoughtful. “Apparently the Prof used to go regularly up a mountain. The air is more taiji up there … maybe you could do that? Don’t worry I will take care of things here,” she said quickly, envisaging the peace and tranquility of a few days without Liz continually haranguing her.

“Take as long as you need to get some taiji,” she added with what she hoped was a kind smile.

“what on earth are you on about?” asked Finnley. “I go away for 5 minutes …. 5 minutes,” she repeated with emphasis and several eye rolls, “and everything goes to pot. I have barely got over the horror of having to go on holiday and now I have this load of rubbish to contend with. I am, quite frankly, flabbergasted and dismayed.”

AUNT IDLE:

“Have you seen that daft look on Mater’s face this morning?” I asked Corrie. “Pass the butter. sweetpea.”

“She started going a bit gooey looking last night when she was grilling me about the twins that Clove’s bringing with her when she comes home,” she replied.

“Is she going senile?” I asked.

“She’s no worse than usual, Auntie. She does seem overly interested in those twins, though. I wonder why?”

There is was again, nagging at my brain to remember. The image of Fred standing beside my bed popped into my mind. Suddenly the penny dropped. Surely it couldn’t be!

MATER

The room was dark, save for a sliver of light coming in through the curtains where I had not quite pulled them together. The rain started this evening bringing much needed coolness with it. I lay in bed and smiled thinking of the funny twists and turns life can take.

I had asked Corrie a few more questions but they were more a formality to reassure my brain that I was not going crazy. In my heart I knew. It is hard to find the right words to describe the state which came over me while Corrie was talking; it was as though the air around me had become lighter — so much so that I could almost see it shimmering — and a great … peace … I think the word is peace … had enveloped me.

I just knew it was them.

What a remarkable coincidence!

No, no, not coincidence. I know better than that. It’s magic!

Magic. I smiled again into the darkness. One needs to be reminded of magic at my age, where with every creaking, aching joint one can no longer be distracted so easily from the steady and inevitable propulsion towards death. A sort of reassurance in the presence of supernatural forces and perhaps a hint that there may be a purpose to my small little life. Dare I believe that I am worthy of magic?

Ah, perhaps I have not explained that well. Is it love? Is love the word I am looking for? When I felt the lightness, the magic, I felt expansive and loving. All the irritation of the morning was gone. And I felt loved in return by forces I could neither see nor explain. Not in my head, anyway.

Yes, and it was even nice to see Idle, though she was so full of rambling talk about Iceland and her trip that I had to excuse myself on the pretext that I had laundry to get in before the rain started. One can only take so much chatter.

MATER:

I jumped as Corrie burst into room.

“Hey, Mater, guess what?” she called out with, in my opinion, unnecessary exuberance.

I had been looking out the window and ruminating on my vegetable garden — the tomatoes didn’t seem to be growing this year — and felt a little irritated by the invasion. Irritated by the children in general that morning, I guess. I had just asked Prune if she could help me with some chores and had been informed that she was unavailable as she was communing with future Prune on Mars. I suppose as excuses for chores go, it was at least inventive.

“What is it, Corrie?”

“Clove is coming home! And she is bringing some twins with her.”

Feeling suddenly tired, I sat down on the sofa.

“Some twins?”

“The twins at the place where she is staying. Sara and Stevie, or something like that. Woo hoo, can’t wait to see her!”

I didn’t know much about Clove’s living situation. She communicated frequently with her sister but correspondence with the rest of the family was sporadic.

Another thing which irritates me.

Sara and Stevie … my mind flittered through the years to rest on some other twins. Same names. Twins I had only met once — many years ago — but nevertheless thought about at times. Wondered how they were getting on in life. I wondered if Fred ever thought about them, or regretted his decision.

Of course there was no connection, but I felt compelled to ask.

“How old are Sara and Stevie?”

“Oh, I dunno … old I think. Maybe about 30?”

“Where’s Mum?” asked Steve. The kitchen door banged behind him.

John winced at the noise. “What will the neighbours think with all that banging!”

“Where’s Mum?” repeated Steve.

“Oh, she had a stroke when she saw the new clothes pegs. Not bloody surprising, either! Far too bright for down the garden, they were! Enough to give anyone a stroke.”

“No, seriously, Dad, where is she?”

“I am serious! She’s in the hospital, lost her speech but her arms and legs are working fine. Blessing in disguise if you ask me.”

“Dad!” Steve was shocked. “Poor old Mum. Who’s going to cook the dinner?”

Clove realized that she wasn’t going to get very far with her investigations if she didn’t gain the family’s trust and an amicable footing in the household.

On impulse while wandering around a discount shop in the high street she decided to buy a couple of packets of gaily coloured plastic clothes pegs to replace the old wooden ones that had been marking her laundry with mossy green stains. Next she put a pack of bright poppy motif table mats in her shopping basket to replace the dowdy stained hunting print mats to brighten up the kitchen table. A tall shiny emerald green pepper mill caught her eye next; that would look nicer on the table than the Titsco powdered white pepper container that the Smith’s made do with. She would pick up some black peppercorns in the health shop when she got the organic oat cakes. They’d like a change from cream crackers all the time, she was sure. The final impulse purchase was a couple of balls of sustainable organic hemp string, which Clove thought would make a nice change for Sue to crochet with.

The house was empty when Clove returned. She unpacked her shopping bags and distributed the new things around the place with a satisfied smile on her face. The old table mats she put in a bag next to the rubbish bin: Sue might want to keep them, although Clove doubted it. But better be on the safe side, she thought. The pegs went straight in the bin, and the hemp string into Sue’s crochet basket.

“What did Clove ask about the other lodgers? You didn’t give away anything did you?” asked Sue later that evening. Sue was in bed with her latest Mills and Boon novel: Caride’s Forgotten Wife. She said to John that reading them was her “secret vice” and she hid them in the bedside cabinet — the one with a lock — so that none of the children would come across them. She whispered her question about the lodgers to John, although it wasn’t clear who she thought might be able to overhear.

John sighed heavily and sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t believe in these sort of communications before bed time; sleep was a serious business and it was best not to get stressed prior to commencing. But he realised the importance of Sue’s question and decided to make an exception to his usual rule.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, luv, she did ask. She did … and I confess it was I who mentioned the lodgers in the first place. In my defence though, I was getting fed up with her pestering to go out gallivanting god-knows-where in the middle of the night. I was quite sharp with her. But I don’t want you worrying.” He patted Sue’s leg under the woollen beige blanket in a reassuring way. “Tell you what, in the morning we will put our heads together and come up with a story to put young Clove’s enquiring mind at ease should the matter of the lodgers arise again. Now, promise you won’t worry, dear?”

Sue nodded doubtfully.

“Oh I hope not, John, she can’t know … I couldn’t stand it … you know. I just couldn’t go through it again. All the turmoil and … upset.”

“Now, young lady,” said John when Sue had left the room. “Don’t you go upsetting the apple cart. A bit of a chatter about travel and what not … well, that would be a good thing. But spontaneous jaunts and rambles after dark… that is another whole kettle of fish.”

“I just thought …. “ began Clove.

“That’s enough!” snapped John. “You watch yourself or you will end up the way of the other lodgers.”

“What happened to the other lodgers?” asked Clove nervously.

At that moment Sue bustled in with the tea.

“Here you are, my lovelies!” she said brightly. “A cup of tea is much more sensible this hour of night. Now I couldn’t remember if you had sugar or not but you can help yourself.”

“Thanks,” muttered Clove.

“Young Clove here was asking about the other lodgers,” said John, with a conspiratorial wink at his wife. “But I think that’s a story best left for another time. We’ve had enough upset for one evening.”

The door to the living room burst open startling Sue whose teacup rattled against the saucer. John merely glanced up with a frown, and pointedly stared at the tv screen.

“Anyone want to join me for a walk?” Clove asked brightly, perhaps even a little feverishly.

“When, dear?” asked Sue. “I’m washing the curtains tomorrow.”

“Now!” Clove replied. “A nice moonlit walk to the park! It’s a lovely evening,” she added hopefully.

“Steady on, old girl,” said John. “We’re watching the telly.”

“Things like that need to be planned, Clove,” Sue said. “And besides, we’re watching tv now.”

“You can’t just go out walking in the dark, haven’t you read the papers? Streets are full of yobs after dark, it’s not safe.” John shook his head and tutted. “Things aren’t like they used to be.”

Sue agreed. “No, times have changed. You don’t want to be out after dark, not nowadays”

“But if we all go together it might be fun!” Clove was feeling desperate. “It’s fun doing something spontaneous, just getting up and doing it!”

John appeared to give this some consideration.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head again. “No, that would never do.”

“Things have to be planned,” Sue agreed, “And besides, we’re watching the telly now. I know, how about a nice cup of tea? I’ll go and put the kettle on.”

“What do you think of the new lodger?” asked Sue that night over dinner. It was Monday so dinner was fish pie. Monday, Wednesday and Friday it was fish pie and Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday it was meat loaf. Sue believed Sunday should be a day of rest so Sunday dinner was fried left overs.

John paused mid bite and considered the question.

“She seems alright, I guess. Doesn’t seem to have much in the way of interests … always locked in her room with the computer. I mean, she could at least join us for dinner. I was hoping for someone a bit more interesting this time … you know, a bit of interesting conversation.”

“Eat up, Jane. What were you thinking of, Dear?” asked Sue anxiously.

John grunted. “Oh you know … travel …. and what not. I dunno. What’s on the telly tonight then, Luv? Anything good?”

“Nothing much,” said Sue. “I might just have an early night. And anyway what sort of a name is Clove? It’s a bit unusual.”

“It’s a bit bloody odd, alright,” said John. “A bit odd to name your kid after a spice. It takes all sorts, eh. I think there is snooker on the telly later. I might stay up and watch that.”

“Oh, that’s great, Luv. I might sit up with you and do a bit of crochet then. The twins are out late tonight at bingo — they probably won’t be home till after 9pm.”

“9pm. That’s late,” grunted John.

“Where have you kept my clothes, Liz, the boxes I left here after my last visit?” asked Felicity. Not for the first time Liz pondered the immense unsuitability of that name for a character such as her mother. She should have been named Snipe E Fuckbucket, or Condescendia Critique.

“Well?” snapped Felicity, “Where are they?”

“I ripped them all up and made collages.” Liz noted with smug satisfaction the look of horror on her mothers face. “Well, you did ask, last time we met, why I wasn’t creative anymore. I thought you’d approve” she added, knowing full well that she wouldn’t.

“What do we do with this ?” asked Roberto.
Felicity removed her sunglasses and looked at the gardener appreciatively. He was wearing his usual dungarees, with no shirt. She then looked at the mannequin covered in maps he was holding in his arms.

“Put it back in the attic”, said Liz.

“Don’t tell me you still do collage”, said her Mother. “I could understand, barely, when you were ten years old, but now… Put it in the trash”, she looked at the gardener longer than necessary, “whoever you are.” She turned to her daughter still spread in the sofa. “What’s his name? Are you two… ?”

“I’m sure Leon and his twin are enough, don’t you think ?” said Liz bitterly. She felt possessive about Roberto, she knew it was silly but she had to get hold on to something before her mother could strip her of her life. An idea began to emerge in her feverish mind. There had been recent articles about a new game attracting swarms of players, she would ask Godfrey to make signs indicating there was a nest of those Pookemoon in her garden, and maybe in the house. People should certainly be more easy to get rid off than rats and roaches…

lost great wasn’t interesting
dispersee situation cleaner
dress white
job sometimes inn looked
asked change front turn
picked order bossy maid