Quarter Past Two on a Wednesday Afternoon by Linda Newbery Page A

school, and the folder containing notes and essays for A-Level English.
    Mum showed no interest in her selection, bundling the other books and folders into bin-bags.
    ‘You’re not throwing it all away?’ Anna asked. ‘The clothes and everything?’
    ‘No, I thought I’d give them to the church jumble sale.’
    Neither of Anna’s parents was a churchgoer, but her mother helped Lesley, who lived next door, with the jumble sale and the Christmas craft fair, and with a plant stall at the summer fête. That first autumn, Lesley persuaded Mum to go to services with her, suggesting that she might find comfort. Mum was welcomed, and prayers offered for Rose and for the whole family. Dad never went with her, and neither did Anna; she thought it hypocritical, only turning to God, whoever or whatever you thought God was, when you wanted something. But neither God’s intervention nor more practical measures had brought Rose back, and the church attendance lasted only as far as Christmas.
    Anna thought of strangers wearing Rose’s clothes. She might see people in the street wearing garments she’d recognize, like the denim skirt with patches. Strangers in Rose’s skirts or jeans – it would be like wearing a dead person’s clothes. Maybe they actually were a dead person’s clothes.
    On the first page of Rose’s infant exercise book there was a crayon drawing. A group of figures, four of them, with stick limbs, bulbous heads and smiles like half-moons. They were drawn in descending order of size, going down to a baby on the ground, resembling an Easter egg with a face. Rose had drawn herself with long black hair and a smile like a banana. Overhead was a blob of yellow sun, and even that was smiling. Underneath, the teacher had printed four names, and Rose had copied them underneath in wavering purple. Daddy Mummy Rose Anna .

    Now, daring to sit on the bed, Anna thought: of course Mum won’t leave. Why did we ever think she would? There was only one chance to leave, and Rose took it.
    The clothes and the books had never got to the church jumble sale; they were still here, bagged up, in the cupboard and the wardrobe. They’d made it as far as the car boot before Sandra had changed her mind and carried them all back inside.
    In recent years Sandra had taken up fabric-work – ‘creative embroidery’, as she called it. Her desk, sewing machine and workbasket were here, her silks and buttons and whatever she needed for her current project – a frame maybe, or stuffing for a cushion. Whether she sat for hours in Rose’s old bedroom merely in order to put the room to practical use, or whether she saw it as unspoken communion, Anna often wondered. It had made her father uneasy at first, but his way was to humour her mother in everything she did. To challenge or question would mean bringing the taboo subject into the open.
    Anna took off her shoes, lay down on the bed and stretched out. If she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, she would scuttle back to her own room.
    Her mobile rang in her bag. She picked it up: Martin.
    ‘Hi – are you at your parents’ now? Are you OK?’ He never used endearments like darling or sweetheart – neither did she – but his voice held no reminder of their earlier exchanges. ‘Is Sandra ill?’
    Anna remembered the note she’d left. ‘No, it’s all right. She’s just … Dad thought she was behaving oddly. She wants to call off the move.’
    ‘No! Well, the two of you can talk her round.’ He sounded sure of that. ‘So you’ll be back tomorrow? Actually I need to speak to Don about his investments, but I’ll ring again on the land line. See you latish, then, tomorrow – I won’t be in till gone eight. Send me a text.’
    ‘Will do. Bye then. Take care.’
    Anna ended the call, and the silence of Rose’s room settled around her. Moments later she heard the phone ringing downstairs, and her father answering.
    Is that it? Rose whispered. Your man, your relationship? Is that