Chameleon 7

Chris got dressed and went downstairs. Then came back up and got changed. Granny was cool, Chris liked her. Mum would have lectured her for hours but gran just said " I thought you might like to feed the chickens while I make breakfast. Those are lovely shoes, dear, but they might get a bit muddy, don't you think ? " Taking off her stilettos Chris had to agree she was probably right, and anyway the country girl look was fashionable at the moment, even Kate Moss was wearing it. Fashion was Chris's thing, her passion. But not that stupid teenage girly stuff, real fashion. Stylishly eclectic she thought, with influences from wartime retro through classic black to post modern disposable. (In her spare moments Chris liked to compose her publicity bio.). She came back down into the kitchen again, a perfect vision of fifties postwar country girl. Gran looked up and smiled through crinkly eyes. " You know where everything is, hen ? " The kitchen smelt of bread, Granny was surrounded by chopped vegetables and behind her rising steam gently danced in the sunlight. " And could you have a look at Polly for me, she was dragging a wing yesterday. " " The gingery brown one ? will do " As she stood outside throwing handfulls of corn amongst the squabbling birds Chris looked around, shading her eyes against the sharp wintery sun. Gran's cottage was surrounded by green, sheltered and quiet in a slight dip. In front, over the road rose tall beech trees marking the edge of a country estate. You could walk in the woods, the owners didn't mind, just so long as you didn't go too close to the big house. Behind, beyond the rasberry canes and wire fence, green fields rose up to a high horizon. Chris could hear the grass tearing as the distant black and white heifers quietly munched away. An unseen rabbit thumped the ground and rustled away in the undergrowth, a blackbird came to join the chickens for a late breakfast. Polly was fine, pecking away happily but keeping her distance, Chris noticed, from Lara the big white one.
An elderly man came walking down the road, and as Chris came into view he was stopped in his tracks, instantly transported back to his wartime childhood by the sight of Chris in her floral prints and head scarf. She returned his wave and he continued on smiling happily to himself. Chris was a people person. She would never have said so, but she was. There was just something . . . if she walked past people would pause to look. If she spoke, people listened.
Back in the kitchen the bread was ready and they sat at the table together eating, the big brown tea pot under its cat cosy between them. " So what are your plans for today, dear ? " From behind the rim of her blue striped mug Chris looked out of the window, " I think as the weather is so good I'll take my sketchbook up the hill, natural images are going to be the next big thing you know. " " what about you gran ? " " I'll be outside as well, there is always of weeding to do. " Chris looked at her brightly " hey, I could do some as well " "That would be lovely, but no rush, you have the whole of the holidays ahead " Clouds crossed Chris's features as she frowned. The holidays, yeah, eight more weeks stuck down here. Alone. "You'll be missing your friends I suppose." " A bit gran, but it's Ok, I'll catch up when I get back " " Not the same as being there though, is it ? " Chris looked at her sharply, gran was smiling across the table she's teasing me. " You know I've been meaning to get up to town for ages, it would be nice to have company " The clouds suddenly cleared " Really ? " " Yes, really. " said Gran, " As long as you don't spend all day outside Karen Millen with your mouth open " " Gran ! I do not ! ", " Oh yes you do ! " . . . . . . " don't " . . . . "do"
They both started laughing at the same time.