I for Isobel by Amy Witting Page B

life. Why not?’
    â€˜I didn’t like school. I don’t want to stay here all my life.’
    â€˜I can sympathise with that. OK. But there are other jobs. Librarian, what about that?’
    Isobel sat silent and dejected.
    â€˜All right. Give it till the end of the year. From what you say about those people, I think if you want to get anywhere there you’ll have to hold a gun at their heads. You have to be prepared to tell them you’re leaving; if they let you go, we’ll think about a change. How about it?’ Her purse was on the dresser. She got out the four pounds Isobel didn’t deserve and didn’t know how to earn. ‘This is for your first month. And try to put a bit away every month. Even if it’s two bob in a money box, try to get a bit behind you. Well, I’m glad you can smile.’
    â€˜I was thinking about Mr Micawber. In
David Copperfield
. “Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen pounds, nineteen and six, happiness.”’
    â€˜Well, yes,’ her aunt said vaguely. ‘That’s the idea.’
    Mr Micawber seemed to have been the last straw for her. She drank her gin in silence. They were both relieved when the phone rang in the hall.
    Isobel thought she could hear relief in Aunt Noelene’s voice as she said, ‘Oh, Stan. That’s OK.’ Laughter. ‘I’d have had a piece of you if you had been there. You and your certainties!…No, not too bad, made it up just about on Peter’s Dream in the fifth…twenty to one…Vi and her magic pin again…Yes, I told her she’d better get a forked stick and take up water divining, she’d be a sensation.’
    Aunt Noelene had tamed money, made it into a kind of playmate, a spirited horse, great fun if treated with caution.
    â€˜No, changed my mind at the last minute, fancied The Oracle both ways and it came in second.’
    People spoke poetry. Aunt Noelene spoke poetry: Peter’s Dream in the fifth, The Oracle both ways. So did the boys at the boarding house, with their football teams, their Eels and Tigers, their Saints and the rest, their dishes and peaches.
    Why did this fill her with anguish, with longing and a sense of exile? Longing for what? Exile from where?
    â€˜Good. We’ll get up a game then. Friday night, fine. I’d better go. Got my niece with me, Rob’s girl, you know.’
    Would it please if she spoke of her father? She did not know what to say that would please, she did not know how to please. She is doing all this for me because she is Aunt Noelene, not because I’m Isobel. More honour to her.
    Yet Isobel could have wished to have something to give in return.
    Things went better after lunch. They rummaged among Aunt Noelene’s overflowing possessions and she came back to the boarding house with a red belt to brighten up the black outfit, a nearly new handbag, a half-knitted sweater and a winter coat of old-fashioned cut. Aunt Noelene had been doubtful about the coat: ‘Had it for years. Kept it because of the fur. I meant to take the fur off but never got around to it.’ The fur was a deep spreading collar, deep cuffs, and a narrow trim that outlined the two fronts and the wide flaring hem. ‘I don’t know. It’s out of style but it doesn’t look too bad. Maybe it’s so far out it’s in.’ The alternative was to break into the furniture money to buy a coat. The furniture money was a cheque for twenty-two pounds, with which she was to start a bank account.
    Isobel thought the fur-trimmed coat was beautiful and gained approval from Aunt Noelene for keeping the furniture money intact.
    In spite of that, the general effect of the visit was depressing. Until Aunt Noelene had explained to her the frightening living nature of money, how it had to be hunted, seized and tamed, she had been satisfied with her progress. Everything was manageable except Mr Richard, who still