#e. durrell

[ffrobisher-blog]

On days like these, sat around the table, you can't help but think about Georgina. It's the empty chair that does it, the empty chair beside your two sisters. It almost makes it feel like she's still there, somehow - flesh and blood instead of ink and paper.

It's not the sort of thing you talk about around the table, though. It's not the sort of thing you even mention, unless it's to Fran.

You're not thinking about Georgina now, though, but about how bored you are: of the stillness, of the silence, of the broken clocks.

You wake up every morning at the same time and help dad around the shop. You go to school. You run errands or help around the house. You dress up in your Sunday best and go to church. You wake up every morning at the same time, go to school, run errands, go to church. You wake up, help in the shop, go to school, run errands. You wake up. Shop. School. Errands.

Maybe that's why Georgina left her Sunday best clothes behind the day she ran off with the baker's son. 

[ffrobisher-blog]

Night's a broken clock that, try as you might, you can't quite fix. There are no cogs here, no barrels, no wheels. Silence's swallowed everything up, even its heartbeat. Night's a broken clock that neither ticks nor chimes. And you're sat here, tinkering, tinkering, tinkering, hoping to bring it back to life.

People are not clocks, though you sometimes wish they were. William gets up every morning at the same time; dad opens the shop every morning at the same time. But people are not clocks because, when they break, they're not as easy to mend.

Doctor came in today and said dad would be all right in no time. Doctor came in to the sound of Fran, Lydia and mum doing the washing. Drops falling from soaked fabric fell to the beat of a ticking clock. Doctor said something that forced Fran to smile.

You open the shop every morning at the same time now that dad's ill.

[ffrobisher-blog]

'Oy, Sam. Sam!'

'What.' 'What does oscillating mean?' 'Oscillating?' 'Yeah. It's what them levitating womens use, ain't it - in Mr. Graham's article?' 'Right. Mrs. Auden?' 'Samuel?' 'What does oscillating mean?' 'Oscillating? I think, uh - hmm. Mr. Lewis...?' 'Yes?' 'What does oscillating mean?' 'Oscillating? Well. Oscill - oscillating. Hm. Charles?' 'Mr. Lewis?' 'Might you know what oscillating means?' 'Oserrating? I'll ask, uh - Mrs. Hardy?' 'Charles?' 'What does oserrating mean?' 'Oserrating? Not a clue. Ida?' 'What?' 'What's oserrating mean?' 'Oserrating? Uh, it's to do with knives, innit?' 'Charles?' 'Mrs. Hardy?' 'It's to do with knives, innit.' 'Mr. Lewis?' 'Charles?' 'Knives. To do with knives - oserrating, I mean.' 'Ah! Mrs. Auden?' 'Mr. Lewis?' 'Knives. Oscillating knives.' 'Oh, of course! Samuel?' 'Mrs. Auden?' 'Knives!' 'Knives?' 'Oscillating knives.' 'Right. Durrell?' 'Sam?' 'They're knives.' 'What are?' 'Oscillating.' 'Knives? To keep them womens levitating?' 'Yeah.' 'Righto.'