The fire’s been burning in the big metal bin for over an hour; smoke and ashes swirling in the air. Some of her bookie dad’s betting slips are barely lit before they take flight, while others burn black, then red, before turning to grey dust.
I didn’t set the fire, and there’s no reason to stop it. No one has invented shredders for home use yet, so I suppose it’s a convenient and secure way to get rid of things no longer needed. No one mentions the taxman.
Newspapers, envelopes, catalogues. Then old school jotters. We were allowed to throw these in if we made sure we didn’t touch the scorching sides of the brazier. That bit was fun, although I was glad mine were safe at home, with their gold stars and much improved handwriting. Then, before I realised what was happening, it was in the fire, being pushed down by the mop pole, already singed. Ruined.
There was nothing I could do. No one seemed remotely concerned, but I felt an ember in my coal black eyes, felt them sting, threaten tears. I looked at my Timex and made an excuse. Ran.
I couldn’t tell Mum what had happened, not for a very long time. Certainly not while the tears were still burning my cheeks, not until my heart had stopped pounding.
As the youngest of four, my wardrobe was filled with cast-offs. Aunts and Mum’s friends, with daughters older or bigger than me, brought round bags full of booty. I would do a fashion show, not caring that everything was a season or two out of date. Mum, in turn, would make us clear out our drawers, toy cupboard, and bookshelves to send things down the line. Let another wee girl get the use of it. You’ve already read that one. You don’t play with it now. It was the world that I understood. I got a brand-new outfit once a year, bought with great ceremony, a special day out. But the thrill of opening a bag full of Angela’s clothes was worth a dozen days out.
Jacqueline had lasted three weeks at Brownies, had her uniform from the start, even though we had been told it wasn’t necessary. She didn’t even make her promise. It wasn’t her type of thing at all, what with the rules she hadn’t made, and girls who had more power than her.
I progressed through the Brownies, onto the Guides. I got badges galore right down my arms, went camping, and promised to do my best.
I am meeting her tomorrow to drink cocktails and reminisce, and I wonder if she will even remember the day that is branded in my brain. The day when her smart, brown dress was consumed by the fire, and I was the only one who mourned it.