2
“Would you like a cup of tea?” I said, gently. She threw me back a look like a bucket full of wasps.
“No thank you.”
I shifted my weight onto one foot and then the other. I tried not to make any noise, or to breathe too loudly.
I thought that the crying had finished, but she pulled out a tissue and held it to her face. She was bent over herself, buckled and twisted. Inside and out, I thought, inside and out.
Hair was strewn across her forehead and stuck to her cheeks with tears. What a mess you are, I thought. What a mess.
She had put the tissue away once more. A brilliant idea struck me.
“Crumpets!”
“What?”
“I have some in the freezer. Wait here.” I sprinted up the kitchen steps and out to the washing room, where the chest freezer had lain dormant for many years. I returned holding the crumpets, clutching them to my chest like a burning baby.
Katia was stood by the crying girl, offering comfort, stroking her wet and tangled hair. They both looked at me very slowly when I entered, as if to say, What reason have you to be happy? And how dare you bring those crumpets near us? Can’t you see that we are mourning?
I put the crumpets down on the table. “Not on my letters,” said Katia. “They’ll get wet.”
I moved the crumpets over by the sink. “Help yourself.” I tip-toed back to the kitchen door. “I recommend honey, and some real butter if we have any.” And with these words, I was gone.
