Angels

You’re sure you don’t remember?
No! It was before your time I suppose. I forget these days, I look in the mirror and I’m still twenty six. I wasn’t bad looking you know. Had all the lads after me, Sam was the only one I had eyes for though. When you find the right one you stick with him.

And you don’t remember? I don’t suppose they sell it any more.
I loved Saturdays. Saturdays I’d go to the Co-op and do the weekend shopping. We didn’t have much money but just enough for a little treat at the weekend. If I’d been good I could choose the treat, and it was always the same thing.

Sam was lovely. There’s a picture over there. We’d gone to Blackpool for the weekend to celebrate. I was pregnant; if you look carefully you can just tell. Sam was so handsome don’t you think? I still miss him.

I’m rambling on again. I was telling you about my treat. The Co-op, not like they are today, looked a bit like someone’s front room with shelves reaching up to the ceiling. Mrs Stevens, a grumpy old so and so, scared me to death. To reach the top shelves she had to get a stool and she’d glare at me and grumble the whole time and then stand puffing and panting as she took a long draw on her cigarette. How things have changed.

Sam was always puffing away. When Pete was young he’d go and sit on the old bench in the garden, didn’t want him to breathe in the smoke, not good for him he thought. Pity he didn’t think the same about himself. But then we didn’t know then.

Luckily my treat was on the lower shelf, she didn’t have to climb up to get it. Everything else that mum wanted was written on the back of an old cigarette packet. She’d walk back and forth, up and down collecting the things and then she’d lick the end of a stubby pencil and muttering to herself she’d add up the total. She’d then stare at me out of her little piggy eyes and ask if there was anything else. I’d stutter and stammer and go bright red. In a tiny voice I’d point and say ‘One of those please’. I’d clutch the bag close and get out as quickly as possible.
I’d have to wait till Sunday before I could eat it.

Pete’s favourite was that Neapolitan ice cream. You know the one with the colours in. I can see him now with it dribbling down his chin. His arms and legs going as he demanded more.
My little angel.

Sunday tea time. Mum would get out the packet. It had a lovely picture on the front. She’d tip it into a bowl and add the milk. The she’d whisk as fast as she could. Her hand a blur. A portion would be put into a bowl for me. I ate it very slowly to make it last, always the last spoonful a disappointment. When mum wasn’t looking I’d lick out the bowl. Such memories.

What’s that you say dear?
I’ll never forget it. It was called Angel Delight. If I close my eyes I can still taste it.

All gone now.

All my angels gone.