Memories are made of these

Looking outside
Her family had now found their own feet in the world, and she had so very much to be grateful for apart from her own sight and life.
“Orbis, what do you mean have you been on the gin again, Esther?”
Arthur grinned, re-emerging from beneath one of his black and pink scrap cars he had been rebuilding (where she thought, one day, roses might be).
“Let’s have a mug of Tetley’s!” He said, as she followed him back down their long narrow garden. “Don’t you think you should have a rest now, we don’t want you doing too much again do we?” Although nothing else was said they both knew what he meant, and no way would Esther risk losing her family to be incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital again where you lost your very soul and identity with all that entailed in there.
As the kettle filled in their half built kitchen, she waited for the kettle to boil and she continued then to tell him her story and her plans without stopping to draw breath.
“Orbis is a charity operating in the third world; giving back sight to people with operable conditions such as cataracts and it costs so little for each but means so. It will be in memory of our mum and dad, and a tribute to them both really.”
Kissing her on the cheek he dropped the empty white tea-stained mug into their new sink and left her with her bright idea still simmering wondering as he walked back out the door where it might take her.
Later, and with the kind agreement of the local Gladstone working men’s club who had offered her a free function room for the night, she began to put her plan into action. First she made a list of all the family, friends, acquaintances and neighbors who might be keen on a nice night out whilst doing something for other people less fortunate than themselves. Then she pitched each ticket at five pounds for entry and food and disco as well. Then a kind friend called Gina in the next town offered to do the catering for free. Over the following months invitations she had earlier delivered by hand came back through her front door, with many people keen to take up her idea. Never had she bought so many lettuces, and God was that the price of the ham and cheese?
There was no stopping her now. Then there was the disco and music to decide on. What if it all went wrong and fell flat? She wondered as she continued to rush around.
Again she thought of her father’s words, “It was better to try and fail then never to try at all!” He had gone to London and survived and made a nice life after losing his sight, then fell in love and married her mum how could she be anything than proud of that memory.
She arrived early along with so many of her kind friends and family without whose help she knew she wouldn’t have been able to follow her dreams through. How the silver ball on the high ceiling spun and glittered on the dance-floor as she helped with the balloons and plate’s chairs and gingham tablecloths. In a split second, in that community room, she thought of the two wars and those who never returned home again.
Then from their past was the girl who had her plaits tied to the front door of Dr Spencer’s house. A character nicknamed Lizzie Miller, who once years ago owned the Iron Monger shop, and sold paraffin for oil lamps. Turkey Rhubarb, the tall man who wore gaited trousers, and all the wedding receptions and wakes right through the years. Many of those faces and feet were now deathly still, but memories lingered on. The best of that night was her dad’s sisters and family were there and she now knew a little about where she came from and her identity reconnected somehow.