Give birth as soon as you can, croaked Grandma Maggie, swinging her legs off the bed. Maggie was already in her eightyseventh year, and shed long since forgotten how it felt to be young, but her grandson George and greatgrandson Thomas kept nudging her, occasionally tapping her with a wooden cane. If you linger, youll end up with blue stockings and think of your old age when its far too late, they warned.
Now Maggie lay still, refusing to rise, muttering at the housefolk, Why did I raise you nasty snakes just so you could sleep till lunch? and the kitchen pots clanged together at half past six in the morning. The family grew uneasy.
Whats happened to your curses, Gran? asked fiveyearold Poppy, her greatgranddaughter, peering up from the hallway.
Its time, dear, time to go, Maggie sighed, the words hovering between sorrow for a life slipping away and a faint hope for something beyond the stale bangers and mash they could no longer manage to stew.
Poppy darted to the cramped kitchen where the rest of the clan huddled. Grandmas groundhog has died! she announced, breathless from the secret reconnaissance shed just completed.
What groundhog? asked Victor Harrington, the family patriarch and, by default, Maggies eldest son, raising his bushy eyebrows. He looked as if hed stepped out of a Dickensian tale, the sort of man who might have the wind itself whispering through his coat.
It must have been an old one, Poppy shrugged. Shed never seen the creature; Grandma never showed it to her.
The elders exchanged glances. The next day a composed, proper doctor arrived at the cottage. Shes not feeling well, he declared, clipboard in hand.
Of course, Victor snapped, slapping his thighs, thats why we called you! The doctor gazed thoughtfully at him, then at Victors wife, Helen.
Agerelated, Id say, he said bluntly. No serious abnormalities yet. What are the symptoms?
Helen, her voice trembling, replied, She stopped telling me how to make lunch and dinner! All her life shed poke me with her nose, saying my hands werent right for work, and now she wont even set foot in the kitchen.
The family council, with the doctor presiding, marked it a worrying sign. Exhausted by the worry, they fell asleep as if theyd slipped through a floorboard.
In the night Victor awoke to the familiar scuff of slippers on the floor, but this time the sound was softer, unhurried, not demanding he jump up for breakfast or work. Mum? he whispered, stepping into the dim corridor.
A husky voice drifted from the shadows. Well, whats it to you?
What? Victor asked.
Its me, I think Ill sneak off to meet Mick Yates while youre all still dreaming, the voice said, as if Grandma were just beginning to pull herself together. Im heading to the loo, where else?
Victor flicked the kitchen light on, set the kettle to boil, and sat at the table, hands clasped around his head. Starved? Grandma Maggie appeared in the doorway, eyes wide.
Yes, Im waiting for you. What was that, Mum?
Maggie shuffled to the table. Ive been cooped up in my room for five days, when a pigeon slammed into the windowbang! I thought it was a death omen. I lay down, waiting, day after day, and tonight I woke in the middle of the night thinking, What if that omen ran off to the woods to haunt the goblins, and I spent my life under these sheets? Bring me tea, stronger and hotter. Weve gone three days without proper conversation, son, well have to make up for it.
Victor finally slipped into sleep at half past five in the morning, while Maggie remained in the kitchen, churning out breakfast herself, for no one else could feed the children properly with their shy, trembling hands.
