Dreaming Out Loud by Benita Brown Page B

mother as well as give a sum of money to both her and your sister?’
    ‘Yes, it’s true.’
    ‘Why would you do this?’
    ‘Well, my mother . . . my mother . . .’
    ‘Talked you into it?’
    Kay shook her head. ‘It’s not a matter of her talking me into it. It’s just that when she pointed it out, it seemed unfair for me to have everything.’
    ‘So you’ve given half of it away?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Kay shifted on the hard wooden seat uncomfortably. One of the legs was shorter than the other three, and every time she moved she felt as though she were going to tip over. She wondered if Moira had placed it there deliberately as a punishment for displeasing her.
    In spite of the glass-shaded light above the desk, the room had grown progressively darker since she had arrived to collect the keys. What had started as a miserable drizzle was now a downpour. Fleetingly she wondered whether she might ask Moira if she could borrow an umbrella, but after one glance at the secretary’s cross expression she decided not to.
    ‘Kay,’ Moira put the letter down and lit a cigarette. When she spoke it was difficult to judge her expression through the haze of smoke. ‘Kay,’ she repeated, ‘your mother has chosen a very expensive house.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘It seems to me that she is the one who is not being fair.’
    Not wishing to meet Moira’s eyes, Kay stared obdurately at the typewriter.
    ‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ Moira said.
    Kay shook her head. ‘I can’t do that.’
    She wished she had asked for the keys to the house as soon as she had arrived, and then, regardless of the rainstorm, she might have made her escape. The phone rang, saving her momentarily from Moira’s wrath, but the caller was dealt with briskly, and when Moira replaced the receiver she picked up the letter and read through it again. ‘You could at least tell your mother that she must choose a less expensive house,’ she said, ‘and as for giving Julie two hundred pounds, that’s extravagant, to say the least.’
    ‘She’s my sister.’
    ‘You were Lana’s goddaughter. Julie was not.’
    ‘My mother was Lana’s friend.’
    Moira leaned back and narrowed her eyes. ‘But they didn’t keep up the friendship, did they? Haven’t you wondered why?’
    ‘I just don’t know. Lana used to visit us every now and then. She would bring presents – for Julie, too. Her visits were always exciting. Then suddenly the visits stopped. My mother would never talk about her. But I don’t think that’s significant. You see, my mother doesn’t like talking about anything that happened in the past; not just Lana’s visits.’
    Moira picked up the letter and held it out towards Kay. ‘Did it not occur to you, Kay, that this is not what Lana wanted?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘For goodness’ sake, don’t pretend to be stupid.’
    Kay felt herself flushing. ‘I’m not pretending, and I’m not stupid.’
    ‘Good. Now that we’ve established that, are you instructing me to go ahead with these arrangements?’
    ‘Yes, please.’
    ‘Your saying please doesn’t make me feel any better about it.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘So you should be.’ Moira opened a drawer in her desk and took out a bunch of keys. She sighed and handed them to Kay. ‘Here you are. I was going to come with you, but to tell the truth I feel too exasperated.’
    Kay took the keys and walked towards the door. Just as she was just about to open it, Moira said, ‘Wait. I think you’d better borrow this umbrella.’
    Clutching the coal scuttle, Kay braved the rain and dashed across the small garden to the coalhouse set in the back wall. Her spirits rose when she discovered it was almost full. She loaded up the scuttle and made her way back to the kitchen.
    The apple-green enamelled range had a fireplace and grate on the left, and a large and small oven on the right. The oven doors had paler green inserts which matched the doors of the kitchen cabinets.