A Question Of Country

Chapter 3

Anna remembered arriving home that drab December day with all the clarity of freshly washed glass, details of those long-ago hours embedded deep in her blood and bone. They marked the birth of a tempestuous relationship that, after fifty years, still coloured the palette of her life.

A pile of Christmas post greeted her sleet-sodden shoes, precipitating a clumsy dance away from new doormat to threadbare carpet. After depositing her handbag and shopping bag on the hall stand, she picked up the letters and skimmed through the small envelopes, smiling at the still unfamiliar address written by friends and relatives. At the bottom of the pile, a brown foolscap envelope caught her attention and her smile broadened as she noted the typed delivery details and London postmark. Gripping the envelope between gloved fingers, she made no attempt to retrieve the seasons" greetings that fell like giant snowflakes over the faded floral carpet. A draught from the open door prompted swift action from her right foot, while her left hand reached for the light-switch, positioned for some unknown reason at least three feet from the door. Spread-eagled, she slid on Aunt Maud"s Christmas greetings, smudging the spidery fountain pen script, then tilted towards the hall-stand. Grateful for heavy Victorian furniture, she grabbed the polished edge to prevent a fall. Bird-light, the brown envelope fluttered down to join paler varieties on the carpet.

Balance restored, Anna kicked off her shoes and bent to pick up the scattered post. There seemed little point in holding the brown envelope up to the light; the hall was too dingy to see anything useful at this hour of the winter afternoon. Besides, they had agreed one shouldn"t know before the other; they must open it together, share the welcome or unwelcome news. Unfortunately, she knew Joseph would be late home, as his area manager"s monthly visit was bound to culminate with drinks in the pub on the Friday before Christmas.

* * *

Two hours and ten minutes later, dinner ready and kitchen cosy from gas cooker and paraffin stove, she was still waiting to slit the thick brown paper. Propped on the kitchen bench next to salt and pepper, the envelope seemed to mock her deliberate busyness, its glued-down flap and unknown contents never far from thought or eye.

Suddenly, she heard the front door hit the wall with a thud. A second thump and footsteps pounding up the narrow hall confirmed Joseph"s arrival.

"I"m home, darling," he called as usual, entering the lounge.

From the kitchen doorway Anna watched him toss his coat onto a lounge chair and walk sleet-softened leaves across the cracked kitchen linoleum. Chilled lips kissed, whisky breath warmed, wet hair dripped over her candy-striped apron.

"What"s for dinner?" he asked, releasing her and walking over to the cooker.

"It"s arrived," she answered breathlessly, steering him away from saucepans and frying pan.

"What?" he asked, then noticed the envelope.

Side by side, they perched on the yellow kitchen stools he had made just weeks before, their heads close together, the letter held taut between winter-pale fingers.

"Yes!" he cried.

"Yes," she echoed.

He lifted her lightly, twirling her away from kitchen claustrophobia. Elated, they danced through sparsely furnished lounge and across narrow hall to cluttered bedroom. In the kitchen, boiled potatoes cooled, baked beans congealed, sausages stuck to shiny aluminium. The letter from Australia House lay abandoned on the kitchen bench.