Graham's List

1) Book the car in for its MOT.

2) Cut the front lawn before it takes over the world.

3) Is that guttering blocked above the bay window again? Because last time it happened we had to plaster where all the rain got in and we mustn't ignore it again.

4) There's been far too many things ignored in our house over the years.

• The guttering.
• The state of the garden.
• Us.

5) Are we going to have a holiday this year or not? And if so, where?

• I don't want to go and stay in that Villa in Tuscany again. I don't like Tuscany, it's far too hot, and Alice never leaves me alone.
• Did Helen notice what Alice was up to?
• Did Helen care?

6) Things that Helen hasn't noticed:

• The guttering's leaking again.
• The state of the garden.
• The way Alice behaves with me, when she's meant to be Helen's best friend.
• The way I watch Helen whenever she leaves the room. As if she might never come back.
  
  

Rod Holland

Helen's List

THE LIST

Start diet
Get job What? Paid? Voluntary? Local paper
Second-hand car? (later)
Meet new people. Not from university. Clubs? Evening classes?
Rent cottage? How much?
Learn Welsh? Class? Book?
Check trains/buses/taxis?
Leave Graham?


THE WRITING OF THE LIST

Late afternoon. Low tide. Cool. Two men dig for worms at the water’s edge. A man walks his dog. Beyond them, the pirate ship chugs back to harbour with its cargo of fretful tourists. Above the horizon the sky is navy blue but the sun shines fitfully, netting the seagulls in a silver flash; the cottages tucked beneath the cliff a necklace of shining sweets, yellow, pink and blue.

A woman walks along the seafront, stops and leans over the railings gazing out across the bay. She walks to a bench, picks up a polystyrene chip-tray between her finger and thumb and drops it into a litter-bin (Keep Greyling Bay Tidy) and sits down.

She pulls a notebook from her raincoat pocket and scribbles as the sky darkens further and spits of rain speckle the concrete.

She stops, reads, then slowly tears the page out, screws it into a tight ball and tosses it in the bin. She walks away. The bin is full. The paper ball rolls off and drops into the gutter. A seagull hovers, lands, stabs hopefully, flies off.

A boy on his way home from school dribbles it five hundred yards along the pavement until, bored, he kicks it over the railings.

The sun sets. Rain falls. The tide comes in. Goes out. The sun comes up, veiled and weary. A man walks his dog along the beach. The dog stops at something. Sniffs. The man calls. The dog runs on.


Sally Zigmond