Break Point by Kate Rigby Read Free Book Online Page B

you've made it your business
to be informed? And it was a bit odd, that, wishing me well in this
placement. Most people would have said, See you tomorrow, or
Monday, or whenever she's due back. I shove the writing pad in the
drawer. It's time for Gwen's supper and bedtime drink.
    *
    Gwen's in her
dressing-gown and slippers, slurping on her horlicks, and taking
her time over it like a child who knows it's time for bed. "What
time's Gordon coming tomorrow?"
    "Gordon can't
make it."
    "Gordon can't
make it? When did he tell you this?"
    "Earlier. I
phoned him when I was out."
    Gwen's
gobsmacked. "I've told you, you may use this phone."
    "Anyway, the
good news is, Elliot can come, so you'll still be getting your
garden done."
    "Elliot? Who's
he?"
    "You know, my
brother. He knows his turf, his PH levels, everything!"
    Gwen huffs and
puffs. "What time is he coming then?"
    "About nine
o'clock if that's all right."
    "It'll have to
be."
     
     

MIDDLE
SUNDAY
     
    On Sunday I
find myself going through the same routine with Gwen as Saturday.
The tweezers, the bath, and today she wants her hair shored up with
clips, as well as the smear of lipstick. She wants perfume and her
brooch with the ceramic flowers because she's having a male
visitor.
    And I'm
thinking, It's only our Elliot, for God's sake.
    Just after
nine o'clock his red van pulls up. He comes trudging up the path in
his muddy wellies, mobile phone in hand, jeans on his hips making
his legs look all stubby. I could have pretended Elliot was me
bloke come to think of it. He's got more the look of our dad: with
that red glow to his wavy hair. Mind you, he gets the flushed
squares on his cheeks, same as me, so that might have been a dead
giveaway.
    "How lovely to
meet you," says Gwen. "And how kind of you to come. There's so much
to do out there - the grass, the weeding and pruning, and the hedge
needs trimming. Mrs Parrott said something about the fence at the
end as well."
    "Oh, no
problem. I'll get stuck in straight away, Mrs M," says Elliot. "Bit
fresher today, ain't it? Looks like we could get a few showers." He
sets to work whistling and I hang about while he fills up the
wheelbarrow.
    "She's all
right your Gwen, ain't she? Funny her calling you Robina. Bobbie
too much for her?"
    I do love
Elliot lots, he's all I've got really. He's a big softie and right
cuddly. Like June was. I love people with flesh. I always felt
cold. Dead thin and small I was back then. June used to hug me by
the fire at Wimble Den, sharing her flesh. She was like something
to wear, something to wrap around your shoulders on cold
nights.
    But June
lulled me safe. "I never wanted to buy into all this," I said,
shooing away all the natural pine, the dado rails with a brush of
my hand. "You might like all this - setting up home, listening to
your k d lang CD's, but my politics are pink." And off I would go,
wearing my pink triangle, loud and proud, around our estate. Me and
Colin stood outside the community centre, our faces whipped pink in
the raw wind, woolly hats on our heads. We stood outside, drumming
up support for our latest cause - lowering the age of consent for
young gay men. "Why don't you stand up and be counted, June?" I
said. "You're acting so much like a straight, these
days."
    Now it's me
stuck here in Gwen's back garden filling up the barrow while June's
off having her foreign adventures.
    *
    "Oh, I can see
it's looking a lot better already," says Gwen later as Elliot
scrubs away with the soap before shaking his hands and wiping them
on the tea-towel. "Have you much more to do?"
    "Just the
fence and a bit more tidying up. Shouldn’t take too
long."
    "Well, now, I
think you've earned yourself a spot of lunch. Ham salad and new
potatoes do you?"
    Elliot rubs
his hands together with glee.
    "Robina's the
one you have to thank. Now sit yourself down. Help yourself to
lemon, won't you? Robina bought it yesterday
especially."
    "Cheers." Gwen
holds her lemon barley shakily aloft, and then squints