When You're Smiling

This uplifting short story by Leonora Francis welcomes you to a brand-new Special.

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MRS MCFARLANE wore sensible shoes. My mum wore six-inch heels. Mrs McFarlane listened to the radio and watched all the soaps, while my mum still loved to party, spend her time in the pub and sleep until mid-afternoon.

Mrs McFarlane was sixty-two years old; the same age as my mum. She said she was a Caribbean immigrant.

“I’ve been here since nineteen sixty five and no-one is chucking me out of this country.”

I had no tenancy agreement to speak of. All I did was rent a room from her, but I could have use of the whole house.

When she’d advertised on the internet – her daughter set it up – you’d have thought my appearance would have put Mrs McFarlane off, what with my tongue piercing and my clothes.

But all she asked was if I was clean. She looked me straight in the eye, and then nodded sagely.

“It was what I saw in your eyes the first time I met you that made me take you in,” she told me some time later.

“What was in my eyes?”

“I don’t know. You seemed like the type of girl I’d be happy to share with, even if you didn’t smile once. You know, Kiely, smiling won’t kill you. Smiling is a good habit to get into.’

I shrugged. I was never a smiler. It wasn’t particularly exciting living with Mrs McFarlane, with her Dutch pot that was always on the fire, her cups of tea and fig biscuits, and her old cat that would sit by the window and welcome me when I arrived home.

I wanted to share with girls my age, but I was still here three months later.

Making friends in London wasn’t easy – people didn’t know how to take me and my Yorkshire accent was difficult to understand. I learned to speak slower and to pronounce my words more clearly.