Chapter Thirty Three now, after the fiasco with the white plimsolls, I had a back-up strategy and without any hesitation I wrote and asked our mam if she could afford to buy me a pair of cricket flannels, which naturally she did very nearly by return of post. So my immediate cricket season was secured as a most pleasant and enjoyable interlude in my Belle-Vue life. There is a post-script to this little tale. I was about to recognise that above all else Auntie Pat jealously guarded her image of being a caring benefactor. Whether she actually believed this position or wore it as a cloak I’m not sure; I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. The expression of this indulgence would become apparent to me when close family visited the house. Her smile would become warmer towards me and she smiled with her eyes as well as her mouth. She used terms of endearment, which she never used on other occasions, and would give me a passing hug. This subtle transformation both annoyed and confused me; I refused to take part actively in these charades and normally reacted by being even more unapproachable. Unquestionably the result of this stance was that I would be considered ungrateful and unsociable, whereas Auntie Pat appeared even more benevolent and understanding. There were unexpected advantages to be gained from these interludes; with the imminent arrival of our mam my cricket flannels were magically washed and no more was ever said about it; Auntie Pat actually noticed that my shoes were beyond repair and a comic was put on the family news account for me. In these writings I make Auntie Pat sound like an ogre; that’s not completely true: she was only a human being who was probably experiencing trouble of her own making. She had manufactured herself a position in my life, which worked extremely well providing I stuck to the script which had been
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