Before Another Year Goes By

10th May 2012 Thursday

My husband is up early to make a phone call to the Dept of Work and Pensions. He’s had a letter saying his unemployment support allowance is coming to an end since he’s only elegible to claim for one year. But they will re-asses it. I offer to be part of the conversation in case there is anything he may not understand. He says he doesn’t need me to. He hangs on for half an hour but  they say call back at 8am tomorrow as they are on strike.

May is the 'hungry gap' month at the farmers’ market  so I only buy white sprouting broccoli, salad leaves and a quarter of a Crown Prince squash. And a tall bundle of midnight blue irises.

I’m trying to leave the house on time to walk with friends and notice the pussy cat has been sick on our bed. On the cream bedspread. I shove it in the washing machine - feel hopeless about him ever getting better.

We are three drowned rats after our walk by the Otter River, which rushes by us like a sea of coffee. We are talking so much I don’t notice the rain seeping in under the cuffs of my jacket. The dampness brings out the perfume of the May blossom and violets hiding in the green banks.  And our apetites for lunch. 

Later my sister visits me after her shopping expedition to buy an outfit for her son’s wedding. We imagine our big sister on the plane to Beirut to visit her daughter. She is taking her some maternity clothes from one of her friends. 

She also brings me eight letters written on airmail forms in my handwriting. She found them in our father’s papers that she’s been sorting out. They date from 1962 to 1982, all except one to my Grandmother, written to him when I was at shcool, on an exchange in France, at university, on holiday in Cornwall, in London starting a new job.

One starts,

Dear Pa,

Tomorrow I am 17, so I think I owe you a letter before another year goes by!

I’ve been wondering what else I must do before another year goes by.