If you’ve two left feet, do you march at half speed? thought Jayne, and Margaret babbled. Jayne remembered running alongside the brook during cross country. The smell among the trees wasn’t like air freshener. The breeze was not like air conditioning. Me mam was a dinnerlady in the days before ketchup, said Margaret. Jayne remembered her brother crouched behind the shrub as the clouds started spitting. Him spitting back at the sky. Also, she remembered streamers hanging in the unlit school hall, and also the big dirty nails on the park keeper’s fingers, some hanging off. You comin down for a fag? asked Margaret as she left. Jayne sat still. I’ll not come to the Christmas party, she said to no one in particular.
© Matthew Joseph Johnson, 2010
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