Читать книгу Miss Lamp - Christopher Ewart - Страница 15

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Dreaming of a White Christmas.

Abby and Grandma bitched about the wonderful Christmas snow falling beyond streaky hotel windows as Young Young Miss Lamp cut a dozen oranges with a plastic knife. She ground all twenty-four halves to and fro on a glass juicer. Happy juice. She didn’t bother filtering out the pulp and seeds and bits of peel. Grandma didn’t appreciate the juice.

‘This tastes like shit!’ Grandma slammed the glass down on the dining table so hard that a splash jumped out, hitting Young Young Miss Lamp in the left eye.

Irrepressible juice.

‘I’m doing a wink, Mom … Mom?’

‘Don’t listen to your grandmother, dear. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. The juice is lovely, dear. Don’t listen to her.’ Abby feigned a sip.

Winking up at Abby, Young Young Miss Lamp coughed a little. ‘You haven’t tried it yet, Mom, and look! I’m winking. I think I’m winking.’

Abby’s stare fixed on Grandma. A deadbolt. Locked. ‘Why don’t you be nice to your granddaughter?’

Grandma sucked in a wheeze. ‘Why don’t you be nice to Grandma? Eh? Why the hell did you haul us to Florida for Christmas in the goddamn snow?’ She plodded to the sliding door and heaved it open. A blast of fresh air washed through the room, dancing tinsel on their plastic tree. Grandma scraped in some more air. ‘Sunshine State, my ass! Can you believe it? Three inches, and the pool’s got a cover on it.’

Tingling like a tin angel, Young Young Miss Lamp stepped close to the door, putting her toes on the mini-golf grass of the balcony. One, two snowflakes hit her forehead and rosy cheeks, three, melting in a drip down her nose. ‘Ahh,’ Young Young Miss Lamp sighed as the snow fell. ‘It’s nice.’ She stuck out her tongue to catch a flake.

Chilly Grandma spoke. ‘Get in here, young lady, and put that tongue back in your mouth. You’re not a dog!’

Young Young Miss Lamp held the door frame for leverage and stuck her tongue further out, confident the chocolate Lab back home did exactly the same for snowflakes. Mindful of Grandma’s words, she came back in for a second or two, fingers kept just so.

Abby flinched, squinting at Grandma. ‘Why don’t you turn that frown around, old lady? And shut the door!’

So Grandma did.

In a whoosh Young Young Miss Lamp’s heart rose to her throat as the heavy steel frame of the sliding glass door pinned one of her tiny fingers to the wall. Her face went white as a golf ball.

Snowflakes hurt to catch, she thought.