around a common theme.
Teapot Tales No. 8: Ann
A walking stick thrashed away at the cabbage plant.
‘Shooo, go away, you naughty butterfly.’ Ann hit out at the cabbage white. More leaves flew up in the air and a rather spindly shredded stalk was left looking rather forlorn.
‘Ah, there you are. I wondered if I might find you here.’ Peter approached Ann who was still waving her stick wildly around.
‘Why did you let the butterflies out today, Peter? I keep telling you not to let them out. They will eat all your cabbages.’
‘Yes, I…,’ started Peter.
‘I’ve made a pot of tea. Here, let me pour you a cup,’ Ann continued.
‘Thanks, but…,’ Peter tried to cut in.
‘Excellent, here you go. Milk? Good. I’m going to the seaside today, Gina says that Morris will pick me up at eleven’. Ann continued as she poured something a pale yellowish hue into a china cup from a small watering can on the garden table.
Peter took the cup of tea. It was warm but it certainly wasn’t tea. He sniffed it. He thought he knew what it was. How the hell did she find that watering can? The seaside? No, she was not going to the seaside and anyway Morris, her husband, had died eight years ago…
‘Perhaps we should go back now, Ann. Morris will be wondering where you are.’ Peter suggested gently.
As Ann began take aim at another butterfly Peter carefully caught her stick in mid swipe and held her arm to guide her back to the house.
‘Do you remember when you fell into the pond?’ Ann continued. ‘Gina had to pull you out and you were very ill. Morris wants a coffee cake for his birthday. Gina will make one. I have given her a recipe and your flies are undone.’
‘Yes, dear,’ Peter sighed.