MONO ISSUE 2 - Flipbook - Page 33
They move into the kitchen, believing they are out of earshot.
'When did Ms Blue Rinse move in?’ The man asks.
‘Er, I’d have to check the exact date,’ Nina replies.
‘How much rent does she pay?’ he sighs. ‘Is she a sitting tenant?’
'It’s a knockdown price for a reason,’ Nina explains.
'Can I evict her?’
‘Robert, shush,’ the woman berates him, ‘she’ll hear you.’
I do hear, but that nasty little man doesn’t scare me. The Citizens’ Advice Bureau told
me that I'm protected and have security of tenure because I moved into the house
before 1989. The threesome pad around me in the living room. The window creaks as
the man pushes it up.
‘Robert, it’s cold,’ the woman looks at me, an apologetic smile creeps across her face.
He shoves the window down, places the palm of his hand on the wall and rolls his
eyes. I catch the woman staring at my photographs; our eyes meet.
'Sorry,' as she steps into the narrow beam of sunlight escaping a crack between
clouds, I notice her striking green eyes.
‘That’s Ernesto. He died thirteen years ago,’ I tell her.
The memory of that day flashes through my mind, causing my eyes to well up. I still
feel a pang of guilt at noticing the mess first. I gave him his lunch, went to the kitchen,
and returned to find tomato soup splattered everywhere, the bowl and spoon on the
floor, and Ernesto slumped in his chair.
‘Sorry.’
I feel the warmth of her hand as she touches my arm, a gentle soul. ‘Your husband?’ I
flash a glance at the man.
'Brother,’ she replies.
'Oh.’
'Who is that?’ She points to the photo on the wall. But the brother interrupts, his body
stiff as a heron’s, ‘keep up, Ellen.'
Ellen looks at her feet, inhales deeply and moves towards him. When she darts a
glance back at me, her eyes betray a hint of sadness. The group clatters up the wooden
staircase to view the bedrooms and bathroom.
Their voices muffled; I quicken my knitting pace like someone increased the speed of
a metronome. The constant clicking is reassuring. Ellen reappears from the hallway,
coughing. I hadn’t heard her soft footsteps on the stairs.
‘I need some water,’ she launches the words back over her shoulder. ‘Oh, Kitty, sorry
to disturb you,’ her voice is low and even. I finish a row before putting my knitting down.
'No Bother,' I fill a glass from the tap and hand it to her.
‘Thanks,’ she sips it like a little bird.
Her eyes are drawn to the photograph on the wall.
‘It’s you,’ her broad smile reveals even white teeth, ‘a trapeze artist!’
‘Yes, it was great fun,’ I laugh.
‘Ellen!’ Robert’s voice echoes down the stairwell, ‘Ellen, come up!’
Ellen gulps the water down, puts the glass down and rushes to the hall.
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