Dreamaticus

I looked up and saw that two jolly pensioners had joined me at the bench. They introduced themselves as Mr and Mrs A, giving the impression that I should already know this. When Cousin S appeared, and then Cousin N and wife J with their six children, I understood why this couple in their sixties was so friendly. Cousin N, in particular, looked very like his paternal grandparents.

My sister J was still confused so Cousin S made formal introductions. He labelled us his “brainy cousins”, making reference to our “Professor” and “Dr” titles. Then we learnt the names of the children, both of us in awe of N’s wife J, the slimmest and most glamorous veteran of six pregnancies. We discovered that the second youngest girl had changed her name to Mark, and that one of the boys was so dark because J drank gallons of coffee during her pregnancy.

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It was my birthday. Inside the carrier bag from my parents I found chocolates, bubble bath and white silk underwear. My sister J came into my bedroom to examine my presents, but was distracted by the tidiness. “This is nothing, wait until you see the bathroom”, I said. Something very dramatic had turned our parents’ cluttered house into a show home. When I asked J when we would see her children P and A she explained that it would be later in the day after their afternoon of woodwork lessons with Mr Cob.

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FM exclaimed how alike were the two eldest sisters, commenting in particular on our voices and accents. The only word that my sister J had uttered so far was “Hello” – hardly an adequate data set on which to make such a judgement.