Mrs Polkinghorne was the intriguing woman from social services that comes to my house every week. She is lean and strong, and her skin looks rough and hard. Her eyes are glassy and small, they don’t show much emotion. She drives a large blue wagonette that rattles like pots in the wind. You never quite know what to expect when Mrs Polkinghorne visits. She is a lonely old woman, she lives alone in her prehistoric cottage with only her two cats. She is never angry but doesn’t show many signs of happiness either. She never laughs but I have also never seen her cry. She reminds me of God. Slow to anger and kind. She is almost like God trapped in a human body, I am not sure why I get this impression though.
She makes my mum happy which is the best thing about her. Mum always cleans up the place for Mrs Polkinghorne and wears her best clothes, which to be honest, are not very flattering. She gets out of our creaking cupboards, her cracked china cups and sets them on a tray in anticipation for her arrival. My mother really tries to impress Mrs Polkinghorne but it is is not necessary because Mrs Polkinghorne never disapproves. It is hard on mum though, having no money and all. All because my dad left us when I was only three, I am not entirely sure why because Mum doesn’t talk about it. It upsets her too much. I think she feels unworthy. That is probably the reason she loves her visits from Mrs Polkinghorne. She makes Mum feel like a human, like she is worth something.
She brings us food to, which is great because we can’t afford much food, we can’t afford anything really because Dad took all of our money when he left with this other lady. I think Mum is prettier than her. But the food is great, Mrs Polkinghorne brings us mutton, it tastes the best when it is roasted on top of the fire out the back. Sometimes I see Mum cry when Mrs Polkinghorne brings us the food, it must be because she feels so bad about not having money to give her for it and she tries to find...
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