Shuffle Ball Change

The things we do for those we love... even if they turn out to be rather good for us, too

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YOur bag and coat goes over here, Nan.” Poppy indicated a row of chairs at the side of the hall above the Old Fire Station.

Kathy, who had paused in the doorway, followed her granddaughter in. It was a Saturday morning in January. Dust motes danced in the winter sunlight that shone through the high windows.

The room was cool, but not cold. She shivered her nerves were getting to her, but she was determined not to let them show to Poppy. After all, she was here as support.

“Have you got water?” Poppy asked.

Kathy lifted the bottle she’d filled before leaving home, smiling. Makes you wonder who’s the adult, she thought.

They were the first to arrive, and all was calm. The last time she’d frequented this place on a Saturday morning was too many years ago to count. She’d probably been a little older than Poppy, who was almost nine.

Funny, though, it had barely changed. There were the wooden shutters at the far end, behind which she knew there was a kitchen. Chairs were scattered against the walls, and at the front were small, neat wireless speakers on a table. That was different. Back in Kathy’s day a redoubtable elderly lady would sit at the piano, belting out familiar tunes.

The smell, though; that was evocative. Kathy could detect polish, coffee, weak squash and rich tea biscuits, she was sure.