Sunday 2 June 2013
At the place where I stop on my journey to Peakville, a couple in their mid-to-late 40s (if not older) are seated on the low wall outside the entrance, with a girl aged three or four. The girl is at the man’s left hand; she is wearing a black dress with white polka-dots. She makes reference to two red cars, and the man responds that those cars are red “like daddy’s car”.
On my way out, I see the girl seated at the woman’s right hand — and then I realise that there are two girls, wearing identical dresses. One girl has light-brown hair, and the other has dark-blonde hair. Perhaps they are non-identical twins, and the couple are their grandparents, who find that the girls are less trouble if kept apart.
A slim thirtysomething woman is standing at the offside rear of her black estate car. She is trying to read what is printed inside the fuel-filler flap. Her facial expression suggests it’s all hieroglyphs to her.
When I arrive at the Old Man’s house, there is the smell of a barbecue from the JGs’ back garden. Unfamiliar cars are parked near the JGs’ house.