The Marmalade Diaries by Ben Aitken

Author:Ben Aitken
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Icon Books
Published: 2022-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

22 February. She’s on the phone. She’s telling someone that she ordered the coal weeks ago and is about to succumb to the cold. The lady at the coal company says that, in point of fact, Mrs Carter ordered last Tuesday and was told it would be at least seven days. Mrs Carter, ever reasonable, says, ‘Well I suppose that is one way of looking at it,’ and then hangs up. She looks at me, unperturbed, unrattled, quite happy. ‘Never hurts to drop them a line,’ she says.

Apparently she’s never done a stew before – quite incredible. She’s done a chop, roasted a joint, baked a cake, fashioned a soup, assembled a salad, sorted a pie, but never done a stew. I cut the fat off the meat at her behest. It smells of vinegar. I raise the matter; it’s not a problem, she says, stop being a snowflake.

An hour later. The stew’s bubbling away. She says she might borrow a carrot from Carlotta, thinks it will help bring the dish together. She phones. ‘Could I, by any chance, borrow a carrot?’ I don’t hear Carlotta’s reply but Winnie giggles and giggles and giggles, and then collapses into a fulsome laugh. My feeling is Carlotta just made a joke. The doorbell goes. A delivery of one carrot. Winnie says she’ll repay the debt and so on. More laughter.

An hour later. The telly’s on in the kitchen. She’s in her apron, hand on corresponding hip, watching the government’s daily press conference, while keeping an eye on the stew. ‘Can they say any more about it? Is it possible do you think? It’s overkill. The words lose their sense. So shut up.’

Half an hour later. The telly’s still on in the kitchen. ‘For the love of God will they ever shut up?’ ‘That’s EastEnders, Winnie.’

The government briefing that was going on and on and so exercised Winnie’s patience pertained to the government’s new ‘roadmap’. I’m given to understand that ‘roadmap’ is a carefully selected euphemism for ‘major lockdown extension’. Another five weeks before I can meet a friend in public in any weather not for exercise. Two months before I can dine alone al fresco up a tree. And so on. Some good news for Winnie though – from 8th March, Arthur can receive one nominated visitor, so long as that visitor tests negative and wears a wetsuit throughout.

An hour later. She joins me in the sitting room. Flicks leisurely through a gardening magazine. The sight of Winnie doing this would please me if I didn’t know she had a stew on a rolling boil in the room next door.

‘How’s your stew getting on?’ I say.

‘Hm?’

‘Your stew.’

‘Oh that old thing.’

‘Yes that old thing.’

‘Probably needs checking on.’

‘Should I?’

‘Would you?’

At 9, with her stew more reduced than any set of freedoms could ever be, she decides she fancies a baked potato with it. We sit down an hour later and something about the lateness of the meal prompts her to bring up the family ‘holidays’ they used to take down in Devon.

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