006: The tip.

We ate in silence, except when Mary was home.

When Mary was home, the place came alive. Not just the old house, us too. She always had a story to tell, some gossip from the factory or a joke she’d overheard on the tram. In my memory she never sat, but stood for the whole meal, eating with her hands as she held court, pouring the gravy and handing round pieces of bread. We laughed with her and cried with her. We consoled her when she had had a bad day and we rejoiced when she was happy.

One time, she had been given a tip on a horse by a friend, and they had won twenty pounds. After it had been divided up with the other girls she barely saw two pounds of the winnings, but we cheered and danced for hours at her good fortune.

We adored her, all of us.

But when she was away we sat, brooding over the soup, or the meatloaf, or the beans. Sulking for Mary.

It never occurred to any of us to tell a joke or a story. Dad never shared what happened at the shop, and if there were hilarious incidents at garage, mum never told.

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@tom_cornfoot is a writer, designer, and illustrator. He’s spent over 30 years carefully developing a style of handwriting that’s almost illegible, defending his collection of old copies of Playboy and failing to learn to play the guitar.

The 100 stories in this collection are plucked from the air, like everything else. There’s no consistent link or thread, unless of course you find one, in which case, it was entirely planned that way.

Words and pictures © 2023 Tom Cornfoot