Next to me, on a bench, sat a little girl of five named Grace. She was swinging her legs and filling me in on her fascinating existence:
“Ive never met my dad, you know, because he left me and Mum when I was tiny. Mum passed away last year. The grown-ups told me shed died.”
Grace glanced up at me, then carried on:
“After the funeral, my Aunt IrisMums sistercame to live with us. Apparently she was terribly noble for not sending me off to some childrens home. They said today Aunt Iris is my guardian and that Ill be living with her now.”
She went quiet, peered under the bench and continued:
“After I moved in, Aunt Iris started tidying the house. She put all Mums things in a corner and wanted to throw them out. I burst into tears and begged her not to, so she let me keep them. Now I sleep in that corner, right on top of Mums things, and its so cosyalmost like shes still nearby.”
Every morning, Aunt Iris gives me something to eat. Shes not exactly the next Jamie Oliver, you know; Mum cooked much tastier food, but Aunt Iris insists I finish everything. And I do, because I dont want to upset her. I understand she made an effort with the cooking. Its not her fault she cant cook like Mum. After breakfast she sends me out for a walk, and I cant return until its nearly dark. Aunt Irisshes very, very kind!
She loves to brag to the other aunties she knows about me. I have no idea who these aunties are, but theyre round ours all the time. Aunt Iris sits with them over a pot of tea, tells funny stories, says nice things about me, and spoils both them and me with biscuits and cake.
Grace sighed and carried on:
“I can’t eat treats all day, though. Aunt Iris has never once scolded me. Shes always lovely. One time, she gave me a doll, although the dolls a bit under the weatherwonky leg and a dodgy eye that winks too much. Mum never gave me a sickly doll.”
Grace jumped down from the bench and began hopping on one foot:
“I have to dash because Aunt Iris said today all the aunties are coming, and before they do I have to put on my nicest dress. She promised to give me some scrumptious cake afterwards. Goodbye!”
With that, Grace bounced away for her errands. I sat there for ages, pondering, and all my thoughts revolved around this “good” Aunt Iris. Whats the point of being so noble? Why does she need everyone to think shes wonderful? How can you watch a child sleep on the floor and wrap herself in her late Mums clothes without feeling anything…
