She checks the Closed sign is clearly visible, the locks still in place. No matter how piteous the plea for a container of milk or a loaf of bread, she is not opening for anyone today. This year, she thinks as she prepares her early morning cuppa, she has so much to be thankful for. She takes the first hot sip with a sigh of pleasure before going outside to the deck. She picks a spot in the eastern corner, where the sun will hit in a while, and puts her feet on the rails. The peace, she sighs. The pleasure of not rushing. Ten waifs and strays will gather at her table on the top deck for lunch: Marcus, Kate, Sam, Fast Freddy, Artie, the Misses Skettle, Big Julie, Jimmy. And his mum, Amelia, who has already told Ettie that she had so much time in minimum security she became an expert patchwork quilt maker. She hopes everyone is fond of the style. Ettie drains her cup and checks her watch automatically, finding it difficult to set aside the daily muffin-baking timetable. She gazes into water that’s picking up thin strands of light now.
