Page 2 of Little Wing
‘You know it’s not a Walnut Whip if you don’t eat the walnuts, Frank.’
Today, the window latch was stiff even for Nell and it took a shove to swing it open.
‘Break them in two, even three, Nell. They’re big’uns. Put them right there – and there – and there. Perfect.’
The nuts were lined up on the outside sill. Nell and Frank watched as the birds, at first warily, descended to feast. Frank always looked triumphant. Job done, he’d say, job done.
‘Here.’ Nell handed him today’s newspapers that had been left at the café.
‘TheTelegraphand theMirror,’ Frank mused. ‘Right and Left, you see. This way and that. Back and Front. Both ends of the spectrum, Nell – and that’s what one must always set out to consider.’
‘You never know, next time it might beTheSunandTheStar,’ said Nell.
Frank’s teeth clackered at the thought of it.
‘Did you bring me my scraps and leftovers?’
Nell laughed. ‘Cheeky! You know I always dish out your portions before we even write them up on the blackboard.’
‘One day,’ said Frank, ‘I’ll come to your café and eat my tea there.’
‘You’d be very welcome. I could pick you up, if you like.’
‘One day.’
They’d had the same conversation for years.
Home. No mail. Nell walked up the communal stairs, subliminally noticing new scuffs on the paintwork, new stains on the carpet tiles. The corridor on the fourth floor had that vague silence she’d grown accustomed to. Only as she passed other doors could she detect the faint sounds of other people’s lives: a TV tuned to a kids’ channel, a vacuum cleaner, random banging, an argument. It was just gone half five when she shut her front door behind her and felt she could quite easily don her pyjamas, watch crap telly, maybe drink crap wine and fall asleep without actually going to bed.
Nell slumped down on her sofa. Or her settee. She wasn’t sure of the difference. Actually it was an oversized armchair erroneously called a love seat because only Nell had ever sat on it. She looked at her walls and imagined how just one of Frank’s paintings would affect the emptiness and numb white. She’d feel seasick, she decided. She didn’t like clutter and she never bought anything that had no use; however, she didn’t think of her flat as bare; she thought of it as a clean, contemplative space which in itself had supreme purpose in her life. But she saw herself just then, sitting in silence with her new phone, flipping the lid and snapping it shut over and again. And she realized she could quite easily sit there, doing just that, for hours on end.
There was a time when she’d have phoned Philippa whileCorriewas on, orSilent WitnessorFriendsorCold Feet, and it was as if they were together, magically inside the stories, known to all the characters, part of the action playing out. But these days Philippa had two small children and lived in New York and she and Nell were on different episodes ofDesperate Housewivesand it never felt like they were watching it together at all. There was also a time when she’d have called her mum so she could listen to her theatrical discourse of the day. She could prepare an entire meal and eat while her mother veered off on her fanciful tangents. But there was no point Nell phoning her any more because it was just a grim episode on repeat.
Hello, Mum?
Hello?
Hello – Mum.
Who is this?
It’s Nell, Mum.
Who?
Mum – it’sNell.How are you?
Who is this?
It’s Nell – Mum. It’s just Nell. I was just calling to see how you are.
Nell?
Yes! Yes, it’s Nell! Mum!
Nell—
Your daughter? Nell.
