Tag Archives: Maggie Sharpe

#94 -The most terrible poverty

This episode is told from Maggie’s point of view. My mother, rest her soul, copiously littered her speech with quotations. I’m not sure why. Perhaps because she didn’t have many original thoughts of her own, or because she wanted people … Continue reading

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#92 – Help me if you can…

The new Maggie twists slightly on her unforgiving sofa, and asks in a too-bright tone if I would like some tea. The old Maggie would have simply put the kettle on with nothing being said. Her Miss Manners style of … Continue reading

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#91 – The Stepfordization of Maggie

Maggie’s house used to feel like my second home. Every part of it was an extension of her, my “other” mother: the black wood-stove, the teapot-cats she didn’t have the heart to throw away, the colourful patchwork quilts draped over … Continue reading

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#84 – Stages of youth

“No. For the last time, she can’t come to school with us,” I say to Jack, as I lock the front door behind us and start to hustle the three children into the car. “We’re already late. You want to … Continue reading

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#83 – Letters from afar

From: Libby Patrick To: Maggie Sharpe Subject: Having a good holiday? Date: August 1, 2013 Hi Maggie! Sorry to interrupt your holiday – or should I say “vacation”? – but I thought I’d better drop you an email. Fergus wasn’t … Continue reading

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#82 – A chilly reception

Well, here we are. After all the trials, tribulations, tears, and tantrums, Oliver and I — and Jack, George, and Beth, of course — are finally in Our House. Our house.  How wonderful to be able to say that again. … Continue reading

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#81 – Send the past packing

The best thing about moving to a house only a mile and a half away is that you can do your own packing and take the boxes there yourself. And the worst thing about moving to a house only a … Continue reading

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#80 – A place of our own

Melissa stands in our hallway and jabs at her clipboard with a purple pen. I feel my upper lip curl into a sneer; I don’t trust anyone who uses purple ink. “So,” she says, prodding the clipboard and tapping her … Continue reading

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#79 – Gladiator games

June. Summertime. Crickets, cicadas. Long evenings, hot days. Or, back on Planet Earth in 2013: June. Thunderstorms. Hailstones, lightning. Flood warnings, incessant rain. Central heating returning for another encore, and cabin fever causing small children to ricochet off walls and … Continue reading

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#78 – Trust no agent

There is nothing better than spending a sultry, summer afternoon in the cool darkness of the Maxwell Plum. We’re the only customers here, Jack is at nursery, and the twins are napping in their double pushchair beside our table. If … Continue reading

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