Notwithstanding
“Over.’ ‘I’m digging potatoes,’ I said to my mother, sighing as I held the walkie-talkie to my ear with my right hand, and gave up turning the heavy ochre clay. I thrust the spade into the ground. ‘What do you want now? Can’t it wait ’til lunchtime? Over.’ ‘I wanted to talk to you urgently,’ she replied, ‘while I remembered. Over.’ ‘Well, what is it? Over.’ There was a long pause, and then she said, ‘Bless me, I’ve forgotten what it was. Over.’ ‘Tell me at lunchtime then, when you’ve remembered.... What’s for lunch? Over.’ ‘Steak and kidney pie with mashed neeps with a fried egg on top. It’ll be half an hour. I’ll be ringing you when it’s ready. Over and out.’ I looked at the walkie-talkie. ‘Bloody thing,’ I said to myself, and hooked it on to the trellis. It had been a curse ever since my mother gave it to me for Christmas, because it meant that she could get hold of me wherever I was. Nowadays she did not even see fit to come the fifty yards to the vegetable patch, and I could clearly see her through the kitchen window, putting the walkie-talkie down and wiping the steam from her spectacles.MoreLess
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