Monday 24 June 2019

Sophie Jenkins - A Random Act of Kindness

It only takes a moment, to change a life for ever…

Fern is too busy making sure other people feel good about themselves to give much thought to her own happiness. But somehow, without her noticing, life has run away from her.

Suddenly, Fern realises her vintage clothes business is struggling, and the casual relationship she’d always thought she was happy in doesn’t look so appealing.

But sometimes, karma really does come through. And when Fern goes out of her way to help 85-year-old Dinah, little does she realise their new friendship will change her life.

Dinah may have troubles in her past, but she’s lived and loved to the full. Can Dinah show Fern that even the smallest acts of kindness can make the world a better place?


Extract:

There’s a picture of Fern Banks in the Camden Journal. She’s surrounded by billowing smoke and hugging her saved frocks to her heart, and she has that look in her eyes that I recognise from the couple of times I’ve met her; the look that says she knows me better than I know myself.

Staring at Fern in the paper, I’m trying to avoid seeing the hearse through the window.

The undertakers have come to take Enid. She went quietly in the night with no fuss and no last words. But when she didn’t say good morning to me, I knew.

They’re moving about upstairs. There’s no point in me getting in the way. That’s that, then. I am eighty-five and a widower.

I’m frightened of being alone. I’m a widower and I’ve lost my wife. What I need to do is, I need to get a new one. I know a lot of widows. All of Enid’s friends are widows. I don’t mind which one it is. I’m not looking for love or looks or even conversation, I just want someone in the house, moving about, someone to put the kettle on for. I do my own laundry. I don’t need looking after.

What the bloody hell is all that bumping?

Aye, the stairs are narrow, I should have told them about that. Didn’t think to. They can see it for themselves.

‘Kim?’

Kim, is it now?

The lad comes into the sitting room. Young enough to be my grandson; bright, healthy-looking, and he’s working in the undertakers. Says cheerfully, ‘Sorry to trouble you, but we might have to take that door off the bottom of the stairs to get her out. It’s that right-angled bend.’



If it’s not one thing, it’s another.





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