Читать книгу Miss Lamp - Christopher Ewart - Страница 9

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Sprung Flowers.

Sitting on the end of one of the two twin beds, Miss Lamp rubs her right hand over polyester gardens. Not Best Western. The card on the side table reads WELCOME TO PEACHLAND HOTEL. Gideon’s Bible rests in the drawer until she places it in her travel bag. She hums a bar of ‘Rocky Raccoon.’ Plastic flowers don’t brighten up a room much either, but they won’t collect dust in her travel bag.

Miss Lamp’s cheeks itch when she craves Campbell’s Tomato Soup. Her afternoon nap will not come easy on a stomach empty of Campbell’s. Soup is good food.

Room Service Boy’s knowledge of grilled-cheese presentation impresses Miss Lamp. Cut to corners, golden brown and not burnt. Grilled cheese is art, but not without the right kind of soup.

She nods slightly, picking at a clear thread from the pattern of hyacinths pink and blue, orange-centred beige daisies and prickly holly bushes. Her right fingertip finds this thread easy to wind. Within seconds, the bedspread lifts a little. An artificial garden freed from its fencing, she thinks.

Her threaded fingertip turns like a tulip. She leans into the bed as if to sniff it, snapping the excess plastic twine with her incisors. Her adeptness at removing clothing tags proves scissors obsolete – strong teeth will do. Her eyes reel in sleep.