Scattered Seed [antikvár]

Sarah stood by the window waiting for Abraham to arrive home from work. On weekdays, there was no fire in the parlour grate to warm the chili air and she had slipped her faded shawl around her shoulders. She preferred its comforting folds to the smart cardigans her children bought for her. And in a way it was like an old friend: from the days when she had not owned a coat and it had been her outdoor garment. She could hear the wild, autumn wind tearing the few remaining leaves off the tree by the garden gate, and the angry crackle of the bare branches as they were whipped this way and that. How quickly the seasons passed. Another winter approaching. Another year gone by. She rarely paused to think about it, but this morning the calendar had brought her up short. She and Abraham had been in their twenties when they left Russia. Now, they were in their fifties. But she hadn't noticed her ageing appearance until the date reminded her that the Sandbergs had stepped ashore in England thirty years ago today. Her neighbour's grandfather clock chimed on the other side of the wall, intruding upon her thoughts. Usually, she was busy in the kitchen at this hour, but she had prepared the evening meal early and had put on her best frock. She smoothed the box-pleats which feli from her still-slender hips and adjusted the white, lace jabot she had pinned to the neckline to give the simple, grey serge a fest ive touch. The frock was not new, but she took care of her clothes and would probably still be wearing it five years hence; not like her daughter-in-law, Bessie, who discarded things the moment they were no longer fashionable, Sarah thought as her eldest son's car pulled up outside and she went to open the door. The eat joined her in the lobby and she bent down to fondle its marmalade fur. Tibby was pregnant again, but when had she ever had a eat that didn't keep having kittens? And they'd all been called Tibby. Except the first one, the ferocious black tom named after the Tsar by the friends who'd given him to her. The calendar had reminded her of those friends, too, whom she hadn't seen for years and rarely thought about, but the Berkowitzes had been