Ephemera

Ephemera

'Straight to the skip with these?'

Angela came into the kitchen with an armload of sun-faded magazines. Her sister peered round the fridge door and waved a rubber-gloved hand at her.

'Come and look at this. Some new life-form I expect.'

An open jar of unidentified home-made preserves sprouted a crown of bright green mould. Julie brandished it with a flourish, then put it into the rubbish bag beside her.

Nancy, also rubber-gloved, turned from the sink, dripping suds on to the floor. She caught Angela's look. Mum had prided herself on floors clean enough to eat off.

'No worries, it will get a good scrub when we've finished.'

'These?' asked Angela again. 'From beside Dad's chair. Ancient Women's Weeklies and old Listeners.'

'Remember we said we'd go through everything,' said Julie. 'Dad put all the mail on that heap.'

With a sigh Angela lowered the bundle onto a dining chair and, as her sisters carried on with the kitchen, she turned over each magazine. Some envelopes fluttered to the floor: a couple of bills, a bank statement which she read out. It sounded healthy.

'Good to know,' said Nancy.

Further down the pile another envelope with a fancy crest appeared, still sealed. Nancy passed Angela a knife and she slit it open.

'A cheque,' she said, squeaking a little in surprise. Her sisters peered over her shoulder, keeping their gloves at a respectful distance. It was dividends from their mother's investments.

Nancy whistled softly. 'That will help.'

'It's over six months old. Do you think we can still cash it?' asked Julie.

Angela put the cheque back in the envelope and set it aside on the dining table. 'I'll go into the bank with it. They know me from helping Dad this last while.'

Julie tried not to feel guilty. She knew the burden of caring for their aging parents had fallen heavily on Angela for the last few years, not only because she was the eldest but because she lived only a short drive away. Julie and Nancy had flown in from opposite ends of the country for this clean up mission and were sleeping uncomfortably in their narrow childhood beds, arms length from each other. Neither of them had wanted to take the 'master'.

They turned back to their jobs and when Angela reached the bottom of the stack with no more surprises she carried it out and flung it into the skip where it landed with a satisfying thud.

She moved on to a bundle of travel brochures from the recipe bookshelf, mainly to stay near her sisters but also to continue the theme of sorting through the emphera. As a museum curator the concept was familiar but she doubted there would be much that was collectible here.

She shuffled the brochures quickly, shaking them a little in the hope of another envelope. A red vinyl pouch fell out, marked with the travel agent's logo. Open everything, she thought, but without much hope there'd be anything other that old flight tickets in it.

Her gasp drew another sisterly huddle. She held up a wad of American dollars.

'Ones or hundreds?' asked Nancy. 'They all look the same.'

'Twenties, actually.' Angela counted them carefully. It came to nine hundred dollars.

She put them with the cheque, carefully placing a vase on top as if they might fly away.

The sisters pressed on, stopping at lunch time to walk up to the little cafe on the corner, then moving on to the bathroom, unearthing a sponge bag full of old false teeth which Nancy, shuddering, threw straight into the rubbish bag, followed by their childhood potty from the back of the cupboard.

It was mid-afternoon before they tackled their parents' bedroom. Another cup of tea only delayed the inevitable.

Julie looked around. 'Where to start?'

Their mother's much loved lace bedspread looked sad on the empty bed. The furniture was probably only good enough for the op shop.

'Wardrobes,' said Angela firmly, swinging the doors open.

They all groaned. The rails and shelves were packed tight. Their parents, children of the depression and the war, never threw anything away. Julie pulled out an armful of clothes.

'Dad's work shorts!'

The tailored shorts, worn with knee-high socks, were public service summer dress code for most her father's working life and it looked as though he'd saved every pair, each clipped neatly to its hanger. He'd been retired for 35 years.

'Sallies?' she asked.

'Skip!' said her sisters in unison. True, no one wore these any more. They saved the hangers at least.

They were brutal with the wardrobes, then turned to tackle the dressing table. There was little to save there. The last straw was their mother's underwear drawer.

'She never threw a thing out, just layered new ones on top!' exclaimed Nancy. The drawers were deep.

It was almost dusk when they finished and the skip was almost full. The wardrobes, dressing tables and chests of drawers were empty, a small pile of bags for the op shop sat in the corner.

'The lining papers look clean, shall I leave them?' asked Angela.

'Go through everything,' reminded Julie, on her way out with the last armful for the skip.

When she came back her sisters were silently reading letters. Nancy passed her one and kept reading.

'Dear Mrs Connor,' it began, 'I was born on 2^nd October 1942 and given the name Veronica. My adopted parents named me Maureen. I have had a good life with them and I am married now with children of my own. I believe you are my mother. I would love to meet you. Blessings, Maureen.'

The date was over thirty years ago and the second and third letters grew more plaintive. It was clear that their mother hadn't replied, but she had kept the letters.

Julie and Nancy looked at each other in shock.

'She was so strait-laced!' said Julie.

'Perhaps this is why,' said Nancy.

Angela was already on her phone, looking up the address from the top of the letter.

'It looks as though she still lives there.'

She made a few more taps. 'There's a phone number. We could call her.'

Julie was pacing. 'I need a minute. We have another sister!'

'I always wanted an older sister,' said Angela happily.

Nancy scowled. She had enough older sisters.

'There must be so much to know about this,' pondered Julie.

They took the letters into the living room and read them again.

Then, clustered around Angela's phone, they made the call.