Free First Fruits by Penelope evans Page A

beans? We'll have to
do something about that, won't we, mother? Fatten the old kid up a little.'
    Here he winks at Gran, who stands
unsmiling. She has picked up the ladle with one hand and has a saucepan lid in
the other, in readiness, Mrs Morris or no Mrs. Morris. She looks as if she
could batter someone as easily as feed them.
    All the same she's ready to do exactly
as he says. We all are, Lydia included. Especially Lydia.
    So you see, there's nothing for Lydia's
mother to do now but go. She brought her daughter here, and now she's going to
have to leave her. It's what everyone wants. Even Gran. It only took her a moment to understand that Lydia was no threat. No-one was going to miss any
meals because of Lydia.
    LYDIA,' Mrs. Morris tries one last time,
emphasising the full breadth of her daughter's name - for others to take note,
no doubt. She hadn't reckoned on my Dad, had she, picking up on that ' Lyddie '
the way he did.
    But all she wins by it is a brief
colliding of heads as Lydia allows herself to be kissed goodbye. A moment later
Mrs. Morris has found herself standing by the door, probably wondering how she
got there. Still she hangs on, though, refusing to leave, hoping that Lydia will
change her mind.
    But it doesn't happen. Instead, my
father sends Mrs. Morris another one of his special smiles, the sort that could
pacify nations, and send old ladies fluttering like pigeons back to their own
homes. But, for all those strange reasons that I can't fathom, it has no effect
on her. Mrs. Morris doesn't move. In the end it has to be Lydia, suddenly
looking across at her from under his arm and frowning, mouthing that one little
word.         
    Go .
     
    SO
what can she do except just that?
    What's more, she'll probably end up lost
again. She doesn't even have Lydia now to help look for signs. Lydia is staying
with us.
     
     

Chapter Six
     
    Now it's just the four of us, the way it was meant to
be, the way it would appear to someone on the outside - a mother, say - stealing
a glance through the window, to see what has happened to the daughter she has
given up. 
    We know exactly how it would look on the
outside. Dad and me, it's a knack we both have - of knowing - a God-given
talent you might say.
    But now here's Gran, elbowing her way
between us with a steaming saucepan which she bangs upon the table with a
thump. But even then, wonderful things continue to happen - wonderful if you
were Lydia. Dad leads her to a chair and, with infinite pains, sits her down,
right next to him - where normally I would sit. And still Lydia can't take her
eyes off him, watching from behind the dazed sheen of her spectacles as if
afraid he might disappear.
    It's all that attention of course, going
to her head, putting her in a spin. Don't they pay her any attention at home,
then? This morning, I'd have said, of course not. But I'm not sure now.
    Unless it's Laura, always getting more,
no matter what Lydia does. Curly little Laura who will never need a brace, the
apple of her daddy's eye.
    Well there's no question of Lydia having
to share the attention here. Dad hasn't so much as looked at me in fifteen
minutes. Well, he's been busy, naturally. But it's the strangest feeling in the
world. It's like...it's like being invisible.
    Is this what Lydia complains about at
home? Having people look away, forget she's there? If that's the case, then all
I can say is silly Lyddie, stupid old Lyddie-love.
    And that's when I catch Gran's eye. I'm
not invisible after all. There's always Gran, isn't there? Gran and her nose,
forever sniffing in my direction. Gran is there to keep an eye on me. Gran
never forgets. She's his mother, so she's bound to have talents too.
    But for once I'm not doing a thing
wrong. There'll be nothing for her to report. She won't even be able to say I
was jealous, watching the two of them, Lydia and him, getting on like a house
on fire. She's talking nineteen to the dozen about Greek, and he's making her a promise that