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           CHILL OUT | FICTION                                                       THIS                        Luce doesn’t answer my question
          Lollipop Park                                                                                        about the rain but then I’ve long given up
                                                                                                               expecting her to. Besides, it’s a grown-up
                                                                                                               question and even I can’t guess the an-
          I prefer to take Lucy to the park when it’s quiet – it’s                                             swer. That’s the trouble with this time of

          better for her not to have others shying away from her                                               year – you can’t be sure of the weather.
                                                                                                                 “Right,” I say, making a sudden deci-
                                                                                                               sion. “Coat and shoes on. We’re going
          BY TESS NILAND KIMBER ILLUSTRATION: MICHAEL DE LUCCHI                                                out.”

                                                                                                                 Hearing that last magic word, she
                           OOKING out of the flat’s          stays dry. There’s a fête at the local com-       perks up – reminding me of the old
                           lounge window I can see           munity centre later this afternoon and            spaniel Beth and I had when we were
                           it’s going to be one of           there’s going to be dancing and all kinds         children, who’d bark the minute I rattled
                           thosegreydayswhenthe              of displays. It should be fun but if Lucy’s       his lead. Dropping her doll, Lucy looks
                           weak sun plays peek-              too tired to go, we should still be able to       at me with pale blue eyes, and a smile,
                           a-boo behind a veil of            hear the music if I leave her bedroom             which is never very distant, dances
                           cloud. I suppose I ought          window open. There might even be fire-            across her lips.
          L to expect it. It’s March –                       works. She loves to watch them.                     “Lollipop?”
          all too soon winter will set in.                     Colours are definitely her “thing”. I             I grin and pretend, by rolling my eyes,
             “What do you think, Luce? Are the               think, hope, she’ll be arty like my sister.       that I’m not pleased with her choice.
          weathermen going to be right for a                 Bethpaintshugeoilpaintingsinthe style               “Okay, Lollipop Park it is.”
          change? Is it going rain?”                         of Jackson Pollock – in myriad splashed             She gives a little cheer and, as I button
             Iturnbacktomydaughter,who’splay-                colours. They have such life to them – I          up her puffer coat and tug on those soft
          marchingherdollalongtheglass-topped                can’t help but be cheered up whenever             pink gloves I bought at the Saturday
          coffee table. I really hope the weather            I view her latest work.                           market, I can’t resist a hug. You see, like


          62 |  6 FEBRUARY 2020 you.co.za
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