The Sewing Machine by Fergie Natalie

Author:Fergie, Natalie [Fergie, Natalie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Unbound Digital
Published: 2017-04-17T06:00:00+00:00

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At home Connie spread the leaflets out on the table and studied them for half an hour, completely engrossed. This was when Alf knew he had won this particular battle. He hadn’t seen her concentrate on anything like this for months.

‘Can you get me something to write on please, Alf?’

He fetched a used envelope from the drawer in the hall, took his pen knife from his trouser pocket, and carefully sliced open the folds to make a bigger sheet of paper. He set it down before her and laid a newly sharpened pencil beside it.

‘Is it going to be very difficult to decide?’ he asked.

‘Not difficult, exactly, but there are so many possibilities.’

‘I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m off to cut the grass; it’s our turn.’ He smiled at her bowed head.

‘Mmmmm,’ she replied, not really listening.

Connie drew columns and rows to make a grid and wrote FEATURES at the top and MODEL at the side. She began to fill the chart in with ticks and question marks. It took some time. When she had finished with the leaflets from the shop she went over to the magazine rack and lifted out the latest copy of Woman’s Weekly. She turned the pages, seeking out the advertisements for other sewing-machine manufacturers, and folding over the corner of each relevant page as she came to it. This new sewing machine would see her out, she thought, so it was all the more important to spend wisely and not fritter away the wages. There was no way of knowing what calls there might be on their income in the years ahead.

She went to the bureau in the front room and got out the blue correspondence case that had been a gift on her twenty-first birthday. She unzipped it and breathed in the leathery smell. On the right was the pad of writing paper: plain white Basildon Bond. On the left were pockets for envelopes and stamps. Her fountain pen was in the loop in the centre.

She wrote to three companies in her best handwriting, asking them for further information and then licked the stamps for each letter, grimacing at the taste. After she had put the envelopes out on the hall table ready for the post, she stood at the kitchen window for a few minutes. Alf – who was now in his shirt sleeves – was pushing the lawnmower from side to side across the grass. As she stood there, he paused and bent down to unhook the grass collector from the back of the mower, his shirt pulled tight over his back, his long legs and strong arms doing the work for both of them, and she had a rush of love for him, which she would never have been able to put into words.

He stood up again and turned towards the flat. His smile, meant for her alone, could have melted the heart of any woman watching.

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