Grace

Grace always liked to hide in the dark airing cupboard. 

In the dampness of the linens, with the fresh smells of 

laundry day filling her nostrils, Grace would close her 

eyes and dream.

In her pocket she often had a square of coconut ice, her 

favourite delicacy from Grandad's sweet shop. He would 

give her a sly wink and slip it over the counter when her 

mother wasn't looking.  Saying "Bye bye Duckie, see you 

next week."

Mother always bought large slabs of Aero chocolate bars 

from the man on the market stall, demanding that he keep 

her secret and not tell her father. The whole town knew 

that he had the sweet shop and it was suffering in these 

hard times.

In the airing cupboard, breathing in the scents of linen 

and fresh air through the cracks in the old wooden door, 

Grace would cry in private and eat her coconut ice slowly, 

with a certain dedication.

The vase she had accidently broken lay in shards across 

the dining room floor.  Unable to think clearly, she had

automatically fled to her secret refuge.  Her mother, with 

her decisive emphasis on "absolute truth" would be angry 

and denounce Grace to her father when he returned from the 

hospital. Father, she knew, would be kind and understanding. 

He worked at the local mental health facility, in a building 

known as "the loony bin" . 

It was a forbidding building with fluted pillars set in 

beautiful landscaped gardens designed by a famous Victorian 

gardener.  It always filled her with dread to visit.  But 

when she was older and able to crack the childhood codes that 

once frightened and befuddled her, she could translate 

encephalitis to mean the sad and sick demented souls who had 

once haunted her dreams. They were just poor and poorly, 

not devils after all.

The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Rule