Chapter4
‘Auntie Flo, are you there?’ Star shut the street door behind her and made her way up the uncarpeted winding wooden stairs to the flat above Sibley’s, the former newsagent. Finding the old lady asleep in her worn green wing-back armchair, newspaper open on the crossword page, Star said, ‘Ah,’ out loud. A fire was glowing in the grate. The six o’clock news was blaring out from the TV. The rubber-ended pencil Florrie had been using had slipped out of her fingers and on to the floor. Florence Sibley’s hair was a natural silver-grey, cut short in no particular style. Her day dress was designer, her tights thick and her moccasin slippers were lined with sheepskin. A budgie with a bright yellow fluffy-feathered head and cobalt-blue body was pecking away at a cuttlebone that had been wedged through the bars of his cage. On seeing Star, he started to fly around his cage, chirping, ‘Hello, hello, hello, hello.’
That and Star turning the main light on woke Florrie with a start.
‘It’s only me, Auntie Flo. I’ve got your fish and chips, and hello hello to you too, Boris.’ Star walked across the small sitting room and put the two greasy parcels down on the dining table.
‘Friday, already,’ the old lady said sleepily. ‘Can you believe it, dear. How was the market today?’
‘Windy and cold, but I sold a few bits from my new collection, so it was worth the frostbite.’
‘It does seem to have got cold earlier this year. Aren’t you wearing those gloves I got you from the church fete? And turn that main light off, will you, dear. The side lamp will do.’
‘It’s too dark in here, Auntie.’
‘Save the pounds and the pennies will take care of themselves.’
‘I think it’s the other way around. And you have the money, so I don’t know why you do this.’
‘I also might live until I’m a hundred and ten, which is another twenty-five years, so be a good girl and do as you’re told.’ Star knew she would never win this argument. Apart from her legacy, any spare cash the couple had once had would more often than not go into the church collection tin on a Sunday morning. Frugal in their personal life they might have been, but throughout her childhood, her great-aunt Florrie and great-uncle Jim could not have been richer in kindness and spirit.
‘Good girl!’Boris’s screech was drowned out by some sort of firecracker being let off in the street below.
‘Bloody kids! They start selling fireworks earlier and earlier these days. Me and Jim, we got them in the shop a week before Bonfire Night and that was that,’ Florence Sibley huffed.
‘Aw yes, I loved the sparklers. Uncle Jim used to take me to the beach in the dark so I could write my name with them against the real stars.’
‘So he did.’
‘Bloody kids!’Boris screeched again.
‘And you can pipe down, bird.’ Florence Sibley’s sadness came out as a snap. ‘Put the cover over him, will you, love?That’ll shut him up, although it doesn’t always work now.’ She reached for the beaded chain around her neck that Star had made for her and pushed her spectacles up over her nose.
With the threadbare cloth covering the birdcage, there was silence for a second, then they heard,‘Load of bollocks.’
‘Boris!’ Star couldn’t contain her laughter. ‘I bet the Women’s Institute ladies don’t know you have such a rude man in your life.’
‘I bet the Women’s Institute ladies wished theydidhave such a rude man in their life,’ Florrie said more cheerfully. ‘I must remember to curb my tongue in front of him. Luckily, he’s yet to shock the vicar.’
‘Who have you have been saying “bollocks” to anyway, Auntie?’
Florence Sibley chuckled. ‘It used to be to that Piers Morgan fellow on the breakfast programme. One minute I loved him, next minute he made me come out with that. Mind you, I do like that Naga Spaghetti on the other side. She always wears such beautiful clothes.’
‘It’s Munchetty, Auntie.’ Star couldn’t wait to share that gem with Kara. She walked through to the small kitchen to get some salt, vinegar and ketchup, calling out, ‘Talking of clothes, is that a new dress you’re wearing?’
As Star returned and placed the condiments on the small table with its embroidered tablecloth, Florrie undid the tightly wrapped paper parcels containing their fish suppers. ‘This dress is from the charity shop – two pounds fifty it cost me. Armani, so I’m told, dear. And no need to holler, I’ve got my hearing aids in.’
‘Well, it’s very smart. How’s it going down there anyway?’
‘Seeing as I have given them our old shop floor for free,it’s all very friendly. I pop down to say hello every day, but just work the two mornings a week now. Means I can still do the church flowers on a Tuesday, go to my WI meeting on a Wednesday and help with the homeless lunches on a Thursday.’
‘You’re eighty-five and work harder than me,’ Star teased.
‘“Poor is he who works with negligent hand, but the hand of the diligent makes rich.” Proverbs ten, verse four.’
‘Amen,’ Star said seriously, then, ‘Sorry I turned out to be such a heathen.’
‘You are a guiding light, my dear niece. You give me the greatest joy and you don’t have to do this every Friday, you know, especially in the winter. I don’t like to think of you driving on those windy roads. They could be icy or all sorts.’
