Erika Banerji Extract from Miss Edith Comes to Tea
E
dith Williams didn’t like change. At 9.25am, on a Friday in April, she put a chair by the front window and peered through a gap in her net curtains to keep an eye on the removal van parked in front of her lawn. To be sure she wouldn’t miss a moment of the arrival of her new neighbours, Edith filled a flask with hot tea and moved the small electric heater nearer her feet. Jane, her dearest friend and neighbour of the past forty years, had died just two months before and Edith had hoped Jane’s house, a tired Georgian terrace with a tiny front garden and peeling sash windows, would stay empty for longer. It didn’t seem respectful that new people would take her friend’s place so soon. The cul-de-sac on Denham Road where she’d lived for most of her life held few surprises, which was just as well. Edith didn’t like surprises. Misty, her liver-spotted spaniel, whined, ready for his morning walk. They should have been down by the river an hour ago and were usually back home by nine. Edith tucked the dog’s leash under the seat cushion and said, “I’m sorry Misty, we can’t just go out whenever we feel like it anymore.” The dog whimpered and sat down at her feet, resigned. Edith didn’t really want to bump into anyone new, not yet. “You must be patient.” She spoke to the dog without taking her eyes away from the window. A shiny blue car pulled up and a tall, dark-haired man and a much shorter woman stepped out, followed by a dusky little girl with plaits so long they almost reached her waist.
erika banerji
13
