Adelaide had changed the sheets, dusted the dresser and as the Sunday shadows grew long, she was enjoying the sound – the tinkling, crinkling, most satisfying sound – of the things in the vacuum tube. Until she realised that last was a worry doll. A Guatemalan one.
‘Oh dear,’ she thought. ‘That can’t be good.’ And in anticipation, she opened a bottle of wine. Giving it time to breathe.
That Adelaide… she’s my kind of girl!
Well, that’s all those worries the Guatemalan doll was holding gone – sucked into the vacuum cleaner of life.
Mikehela, I hadn’t thought of it that way. So hopefully, the doll had picked up my worries by osmosis because I didn’t directly tell her any of them. Mind you, this isn’t the kind of house where too much goes unsaid, so there’s a good chance she was aware of them.