OUT! she screams.
I am washing-up.
I wipe my wet hands on my jeans.
What’s happened, Marla?
The house had been quiet,
only the extractor fan
above the hob
whirring.
She points and spits
like a rabid dog.
Out! Out! Out! Out!
For the first time
I am afraid of her,
of what she could do.
I’m leaving.
OUT!
I’m leaving.
OUT! OUT!
I push past her,
kick a chair,
which topples.
Have fun alone, I murmur.
What did you say? she hisses.
It isn’t like you’re inundated with visitors,
is it?
My voice is louder than I want it to be,
louder than I would have raised it with Dad,
and it’s pointless because she
can’t help it.
Who are you? She is genuinely puzzled,
an old woman with an intruder in her home
simply trying to protect herself.
I have no idea, I tell her.
OUT! she shouts. OUT!