This Time Next Year We'll Be Laughing by Jacqueline Winspear

Author:Jacqueline Winspear
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Memoir
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2020-09-19T19:30:39+00:00

15

The Fledgling Writer

I decided I wanted to be a writer on one of those long journeys to and from the ophthalmology department at the Kent and Sussex Hospital in Tunbridge Wells. Mum hated being on the top deck of the bus, but on our return journey, she always gave in to my brother’s desire to sit upstairs right at the front so he could pretend to be the driver. By the time we clambered aboard, I was so tired, I just wanted to fall asleep with my head resting on my mother’s lap as she ran her hand across my hair.

As the bus rumbled along following my first day as an ophthalmology department patient, I had almost drifted off, my eyes weary from putting the rabbit in the hutch, the dog in the kennel and the horse in the stable, time and time again. I was nursing a migraine from following the tiny light and Miss Trew’s pointed finger—up and down, side to side, here to there. Soon the bus pulled up to a halt for Pembury passengers to get off and new passengers to get on. I glanced down into the bay window of the Edwardian villa situated alongside the bus stop, then sat up to take account of what I saw before me. A desk was situated in the bay window to the right of the door, probably to take advantage of the light, even though there was a tall hedge between the villa’s small front garden and the street—I could only see in because I was on the top deck of the bus. There was a typewriter on the desk, a pile of books to one side and sheaf of papers on the other. There was a sheet of paper in the typewriter. A cup and saucer had been set just in front of the books and a cardigan had been draped over the back of the chair. Every wall in the room beyond was covered with bookcases. I didn’t think ordinary people could own so many books. I could just about see coals burning in the fireplace. Whoever lived in the house had probably just left that room. I wanted very much to see the person who owned all the books—but the bus moved off.

A fortnight later, I was ready at the bus window when we reached Pembury. Some of the books had been moved from the desk and a clutch of papers had been laid across the top of the typewriter. There was a cup and saucer as before, and a fire alight in the grate.

“Mum—Mum, come here.” I was sitting farther back in the bus than my mother and brother, who were right at the front, my brother’s hands stretched out, gripping that imaginary steering wheel.

My mother turned around. “What is it? Do you feel sick? I’ve got a magic penny for you.”

I shook my head and beckoned to my mother. “Come here, quick . . . quick, before the bus leaves again.”

Mum left her seat and leaned across me to look in the direction I was pointing.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.