Moving house
Reading B2
Moving house
A few days later, Lyn’s mother told her to spend her evening sorting out and packing her belongings. ‘I’ll see to your clothes,’ she said. ‘I want you to do your books and paints and things. I’ve put some cardboard boxes in your room.’
‘You should’ve asked me,’ said Lyn, following her into the bedroom and seeing the assorted boxes. ‘I would’ve got some. There’s lots outside the supermarket near school.’
‘These came from the local shop. Oh it’s all right, I’ve shaken out all the dirt,’ she said as Lyn tipped up the nearest one, checking that it was empty.
‘OK. I’ll do it,’ said Lyn. ‘We’re ready to move then, are we?’ (line 8)
‘Yes, the day after tomorrow. You’re going to miss the end of school term, but you won’t mind that, will you?
‘You mean Friday’s my last day at school?’ Lyn pushed the boxes aside with her foot to clear a path to her bed so that she could sit down. ‘You could’ve told me,’ she said. ‘I have got people to say goodbye to, you know.’
‘I am telling you,’ said her mother reasonably. ‘It doesn’t take two days to say goodbye, does it? You’ll only get upset.’
‘Why are we doing my things first?’ Lyn asked. ‘I haven’t got much. There’s all the other stuff in the house – shouldn’t we start on that first?’
‘Don’t worry about that. Mrs Wilson’s coming to help me tomorrow.’
Lyn remembered what Mandy Wilson had said all those days ago. ‘My mum’s coming round to help you pack.’ She felt angry with herself for not having said something straightaway – it was probably too late now. But worth a try. ‘I can help you,’ she said. ‘We can do it together.’
‘You’ll be at school – you want to say goodbye.’
‘I’ll go in at lunchtime for that. Mum, we can do it together. I don’t want that Mrs Wilson touching our things.’ Mandy Wilson’s mother – picking things over – telling Mandy what they’d found – Mandy at school announcing importantly, ‘My mother says they’ve got cheap plates and half of them are cracked and none of their towels match.’ The image was intolerable.
Lyn’s mother moved over to sit beside her on the bed. She was wearing her harassed expression. She was clearly feeling the pressure too, but managed to keep her patience. ‘Nothing’s ever straightforward with you, is it?’ she said. ‘It’s been agreed for a long time and it’s extremely kind of her to help. Everything’s got to be wrapped up carefully so it doesn’t get broken, then put in storage boxes in the right order – I don’t doubt you’d do your best, but there’s not room for anyone else – and she offered first.’
Lyn said no more and got on with the job she’d agreed to do. Her bedroom looked odd when she’d finished, but not as odd as the rest of the house when she got home from school next day. It was so sad. There were no curtains at the windows and no ornaments on the shelves, and in the middle of the room stood four large wooden boxes, full of objects wrapped in newspaper. But what really struck Lyn most were the rectangles of lighter-coloured paint on the wall where pictures had once hung. It was as if they had been atomised by a ray gun. Moving into the kitchen, she saw empty cupboards, their doors wide open. Somebody had done a thorough job.