Candlelight

Mark was made redundant from his role as Oliver’s fellow-gamester today by the early arrival of Harry.

Oliver was still in his dressing gown, not because it was early, but because it has been his sole choice of apparel since he arrived home and tugged off his school uniform on his way up the stairs, abandoning it in a crumpled pile at the bottom.

I collected the uniform, very pleased indeed to discover that it included one of his thermal vests, which he assures me he has been wearing regularly, so that is something I don’t need to worry about any more when I wake up thinking about children in the dark troubling hours in the middle of the night. I washed it all, including the vest, and today I have ironed it, ready for tomorrow’s return to school, for which event obviously Oliver will finally be obliged to get dressed again, and it is pleasing to be prepared in advance.

Thus unexpectedly unemployed, Mark buzzed off to work for the afternoon, leaving me supervising boy-activities and baking cakes.

I had got half of a left over banana rejected by Oliver yesterday, and some carrots that I bought in a fit of optimism last week when I thought that maybe if we were in possession of some vegetables we might eat them. Of course we didn’t and the carrots have lain in the fridge ever since, growing ever more droopy and less appealing. We had eaten all of the biscuits, on the other hand, and the Christmas provender is long gone, so I thought that I would chuck banana and carrots in a bowl with some black treacle and nuts and make cakes.

I made mayonnaise as well, into which I put the limp remains of some basil and parsley also lurking unloved at the bottom of the fridge. This has turned out to taste very nice indeed but regrettably is a suspicious looking shade of green which I have not yet tried out on Mark.

Oliver came down halfway through and watched for a minute, and asked if I had been watching adverts about not throwing away food. This surprised me, since as far as I was aware such things had ceased when the war ended. Of course I have not been watching adverts, on account of the lack of television, but was intrigued and pressed Oliver for further details.

“You’re just supposed to find horrible things that nobody wants to eat and cook them,” he explained helpfully, “just like you’re doing. I’m glad I’m going back to school soon.”

After that I had a quiet, but immensely satisfactory hour ironing shirts and trousers and hankerchiefs and replacing all our holiday clothes neatly in their places in the loft, scented with rosewater and brushed, and carefully hung in their bags ready for the next adventure.

When Mark came home he had earned enough money to put diesel in the taxi to take Oliver back to school tomorrow, which was a splendidly unexpected success, and we celebrated by deciding to take the last half of the evening off, since it was Oliver’s last night to be at home, and in any case there were six other taxis all sitting hopefully on the taxi rank.

I have been looking forward to this moment ever since we came back from York, because I have wanted to light our new cinnamon candle. It is a magnificent affair with several wicks and a gorgeous scent of cinnamon that has filled our living room even unlit.

Of course it is beautiful. We lit it and poured a glass of wine, and since Oliver announced that he was watching YouTube and did not require our company, we settled down for a couple of episodes in front of what Mark called ‘that unlikely outfit’ of Downton Abbey, which we think is very entertaining. It is far more excitingly eventful than any family life we have come across so far, aristocratic or otherwise, full of tragedies and sudden deaths and suspicious incidents, and has a very sensible butler, who I think is my favourite person in it. It must be quite gripping, because even Mark is occasionally driven to speculate about what might happen next.

We live in a marvellous world, with the best of everything. How magnificent to be able to spend our evening comfortably rocking in ancient chairs once belonging to some ancestor of Mark’s, but at the same time watching state of the art high-definition expertly told stories, all the time drinking good French wine and eating superb chocolates, and breathing in the gorgeous cinnamon candle-scent.

I am going to bed feeling very contented with our good fortune.

See you tomorrow.