The Home Girls (2012)
“Turning around with the milk she looked at the back of his neck as if it would answer her.
She thought it drooped with eyes down.
She took her place at the table not looking into his face but pulling her scrambled eggs to her.
When the kettle boiled she turned to the stove to attend to it and it was his turn to study the back of her neck.
Her thick hair was combed upwards into a bun but a few strands escaped and trailed onto her collar without taking anything from her air of neatness.
He saw he...r shoulders move when she poured water into the teapot and glimpsed her profile.
How strong she is, he thought. I wish I were strong like her.
When she was sitting down again he said: “Couldn’t we ask them to come here?”
He looked around the kitchen which she seemed always to be adding to. One corner was filled with a string of baskets starting near the ceiling. They were like big straw pockets filled with her recipe books, tea towels and the bottom two with vegetables. Dried ferns sprouted uselessly from an old pottery jug which had the cracked part turned to the wall, and she had painted over an old-fashioned washing board, her latest find, and hung it to use as a notice board on which she pinned messages to herself or him, recipes and household hints.MoreLess
She thought it drooped with eyes down.
She took her place at the table not looking into his face but pulling her scrambled eggs to her.
When the kettle boiled she turned to the stove to attend to it and it was his turn to study the back of her neck.
Her thick hair was combed upwards into a bun but a few strands escaped and trailed onto her collar without taking anything from her air of neatness.
He saw he...r shoulders move when she poured water into the teapot and glimpsed her profile.
How strong she is, he thought. I wish I were strong like her.
When she was sitting down again he said: “Couldn’t we ask them to come here?”
He looked around the kitchen which she seemed always to be adding to. One corner was filled with a string of baskets starting near the ceiling. They were like big straw pockets filled with her recipe books, tea towels and the bottom two with vegetables. Dried ferns sprouted uselessly from an old pottery jug which had the cracked part turned to the wall, and she had painted over an old-fashioned washing board, her latest find, and hung it to use as a notice board on which she pinned messages to herself or him, recipes and household hints.MoreLess
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