Silent Street fragment - Maggie in the kitchen

Maggie rubbed the butter through the flour – her worn hands becoming soft and warm as she worked. She felt good here, in the kitchen. More than just at home, she felt in control. It was something she had dearly missed since her arrival at the Silent Street house. Away from her own home she was easily overwhelmed by the lack of familiar faces, the alien bus timetable, shop keepers who had no idea who she was. But here, in the kitchen her panic subsided. It was not her stove, but it was a stove all the same, nothing she could not cope with. In every other room of the house she often felt like an idiot – her mind was not quick enough, her accent and limited vocabulary made her painfully aware of the difference in their backgrounds, even though Em’s family was maybe not so very different to her own. But cooking allowed her to earn back some self respect. She knew that not one of her sisters could cook more than toast or a boiled egg. Her cooking drew praise and admiration when she needed it and when she set her sisters to help her peel or chop they followed her orders meekly, understanding an unsaid rule that allowed her to be the boss of this domain.

She missed the smell of her children’s skin when she hugged them dry after their weekly bath in front of the kitchen fire. She missed her chair – the cushion worn to her own contours and window nearby which looked out onto the street where she knew everyone and they knew her. Silent Street lived up to its name – it was eerily silent, the inhabitants seemed to scurry in and out of their homes, never luxuriating in that slow gossipy progress that she was used to, with words exchanged and news heard at every doorway she passed on her way home.