Giving up the ghost

She shuffled slowly towards the window, her swollen feet uncomfortably overflowing the formless slippers that her son had bought her too many years ago. It was a beautiful morning, sharp and clear, the sort of morning that in a so distant past would have called her out running onto the frosty lawn, trainers crunching on the still slightly frozen gravel and out onto the lane towards the river.

Por Wordflow - Jo Carter | Cádiz | 27/05/2014

Now she contented herself with the sense of light and the faint songs and chattering of the morning birds flitting from branch to hedge. She would have opened the window but her hands were too painful just now. She kneaded each one with her thumbs to ease the soreness before making her careful, unhurried way to the sink. There she rested her hands on the enamel sides and looked towards the vase of sweet peas. They smelt so wonderful, but it was impossible to describe. Hadn´t she once owned a perfume of that same scent, or was it freesias? They grew them one year, she thought. Hyacinths too made her almost cry. They were blue like... what was it called? It climbed and it had such an ugly name for such a porcelain-blue bird´s egg...

A voice interrupted;

“Morning gran, how are you? Did you sleep well?”

She didn´t answer straight away. These things took time. She smiled towards her granddaughter, unaware of how beautiful the girl looked with her hair catching the sunlight shining through the window, wearing the buttercup yellow dressing-gown she´d found in the back of the wardrobe.

“I did, thank you. Did you?”

“Yes, fine. Same as always, gran. Right, I´ll put the kettle on.”

“Grandpa will want one, won´t he, or has he got his already? Is the water warm, love?”

“Grandma, grandpa’s not here, is he? You know...”

“Oh, isn´t he? Well he´s out doing the birds then. Or he´s gone to lock the church. He´ll be back in a minute so use the big pot, love.”

She then thought it best to sit down. Her hands were aching so from resting on that cold sink and she was quite tired. She was gasping for her tea though.  She wondered if her grand-daughter would bring her a biscuit with it. It was a bad habit really but it was such a lovely one. The chair must be near now she thought. I´ll sit down and have my tea and I´ll feel the sunlight on my face and it´ll be such a lovely start to the day.

“I´m not ready to give up the ghost yet, you know,” she said, though she wasn´t sure if she said the words aloud or if they were just in her head.

She put her head on one side and listened for the stamping off of rubber boots before the back door opened and her husband, long dead in the churchyard, walked in and too, wished her a good morning.

To give up the ghost - to shed the mortal coil - to peg it - to die

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Jo Carter

Jo Carter is from England but has been living in Spain since 1999. Up till then she was a primary school teacher and enjoyed inspiring young children to love books. She has spent a lot of her life reading and writing (in between work, three children and lots of cups of tea) and intends to write a novel (one day!).

The idea behind the column is to highlight what is beautiful in the English language... Thus the column: idiomatic expressions in English woven into a short piece of creative writing.