whirled about the yard in the fall and we ran in circles.’ The money had come from Glasgow cotton-spinners and she remembered the aunts coming over one time to help her mother, when she was ill. Anne always felt she owed it to the auntsto come and help them when their time came. ‘I had to leave my career in New York,’ Anne said, ‘but I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘But that was later,’ the nurse said. ‘We were talking about your childhood.’
‘They helped my mother.’
‘And what about your daddy?’
He sent her typewritten notes whenever he went away on business, always signed: ‘I love you, Daddy x.’ She could see them today. He fixed up a small light bulb in the doll’s house by her bed so that she could leave it on while she was sleeping, the perfect house, the perfect house to dream by, and it would stand there no matter what happened in the world. The child and the adult too lived in sympathy with the landing light. Her mother went mad when the jerking took over, when nobody could help her any more, and one day she simply disappeared from their lives. And so it was that whenever Anne pictured the house called Clydevia she was really picturing the doll’s house. ‘It was lit with a bulb,’ she said again. ‘And that’s what my father did and I think that’s enough for now.’
Maureen looked moved by what she’d heard. She felt close to Anne when it came to certain things and put a hand on her sleeve.
Often prints for hanging and exhibits require a generous amount of fixing up and retouching. To prevent markings from showing, you should follow a certain treatment. This method works best with dead matte paper without any sheen. That was Harry. He could spend hours retouching because that was his thing. You don’t mind me saying that, love? I never told you about the doll’s house because I wanted our house to be the first.
A young man wearing a boiler suit came into the loungecarrying a pole and he winked at the nurse. ‘Afternoon, ladies. I won’t be a minute, I’m just checking the smoke alarm.’
‘What’s that?’ Dorothy said.
‘It’s a big pole, missus.’
‘Jeezo,’ Maureen said. ‘They’ve got all the technology nowadays.’ The man got two beeps out of the alarm and seemed satisfied with that. Dorothy played a few silent notes on the organ and the elderly man continued sleeping in the chair.
‘Then what happened?’ asked Maureen.
I might be daft, but I’m not as daft as I look, Anne thought when Maureen asked for more. She knew that her daughter and Maureen were always talking on the phone. And they wouldn’t be talking about Luke or any of the important things because that would be unlike Alice. They would just be gossiping about Anne’s pension book and probably talking about the photographs Anne had in the darkroom.
‘You need to go easier on Alice.’
Maureen had said that to Anne the day before. And that was a sign, thought Anne. That was definitely a sign. Alice had always wanted to turn Anne’s neighbours against her. She’d tried to poison Luke’s mind but he was off fighting, so he wouldn’t be bothering with all that nonsense. Anne believed nowadays that her daughter’s main goal was to put her in a nursing home. Alice blamed her for everything. ‘I don’t remember anything else,’ she said to the nurse, thumping the arm of the chair. The nurse pretended she was startled, then spoke with her eyes down.
‘Aw. I think you do, Anne. I think you remember artists you used to like. You spoke about them last time. Maureen was helping you, remember? Because she says you were a very talented photographer.’ Anne found it hard sometimes to tell thedifference between Luke and Harry. And she found it hard to separate pictures she had taken herself from ones she just loved. The young man in the boiler suit had finished what he was doing and he just sat down with them. Nobody seemed to mind because he was nice and he was young and Anne was an open book.
‘I
‘But that was later,’ the nurse said. ‘We were talking about your childhood.’
‘They helped my mother.’
‘And what about your daddy?’
He sent her typewritten notes whenever he went away on business, always signed: ‘I love you, Daddy x.’ She could see them today. He fixed up a small light bulb in the doll’s house by her bed so that she could leave it on while she was sleeping, the perfect house, the perfect house to dream by, and it would stand there no matter what happened in the world. The child and the adult too lived in sympathy with the landing light. Her mother went mad when the jerking took over, when nobody could help her any more, and one day she simply disappeared from their lives. And so it was that whenever Anne pictured the house called Clydevia she was really picturing the doll’s house. ‘It was lit with a bulb,’ she said again. ‘And that’s what my father did and I think that’s enough for now.’
Maureen looked moved by what she’d heard. She felt close to Anne when it came to certain things and put a hand on her sleeve.
Often prints for hanging and exhibits require a generous amount of fixing up and retouching. To prevent markings from showing, you should follow a certain treatment. This method works best with dead matte paper without any sheen. That was Harry. He could spend hours retouching because that was his thing. You don’t mind me saying that, love? I never told you about the doll’s house because I wanted our house to be the first.
A young man wearing a boiler suit came into the loungecarrying a pole and he winked at the nurse. ‘Afternoon, ladies. I won’t be a minute, I’m just checking the smoke alarm.’
‘What’s that?’ Dorothy said.
‘It’s a big pole, missus.’
‘Jeezo,’ Maureen said. ‘They’ve got all the technology nowadays.’ The man got two beeps out of the alarm and seemed satisfied with that. Dorothy played a few silent notes on the organ and the elderly man continued sleeping in the chair.
‘Then what happened?’ asked Maureen.
I might be daft, but I’m not as daft as I look, Anne thought when Maureen asked for more. She knew that her daughter and Maureen were always talking on the phone. And they wouldn’t be talking about Luke or any of the important things because that would be unlike Alice. They would just be gossiping about Anne’s pension book and probably talking about the photographs Anne had in the darkroom.
‘You need to go easier on Alice.’
Maureen had said that to Anne the day before. And that was a sign, thought Anne. That was definitely a sign. Alice had always wanted to turn Anne’s neighbours against her. She’d tried to poison Luke’s mind but he was off fighting, so he wouldn’t be bothering with all that nonsense. Anne believed nowadays that her daughter’s main goal was to put her in a nursing home. Alice blamed her for everything. ‘I don’t remember anything else,’ she said to the nurse, thumping the arm of the chair. The nurse pretended she was startled, then spoke with her eyes down.
‘Aw. I think you do, Anne. I think you remember artists you used to like. You spoke about them last time. Maureen was helping you, remember? Because she says you were a very talented photographer.’ Anne found it hard sometimes to tell thedifference between Luke and Harry. And she found it hard to separate pictures she had taken herself from ones she just loved. The young man in the boiler suit had finished what he was doing and he just sat down with them. Nobody seemed to mind because he was nice and he was young and Anne was an open book.
‘I
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