Words required:
bargain, category, communicate, conscious, convenience, definite, occupy, programme, relevant, sacrifice, variety, twelfth, privilege.
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Jean sauntered through the market, in no hurry to return home. There was no surgery and Lucien was out at a crime scene. It was too warm a day to rush around anyway. She was standing by the fruit stall, this year had been particularly good for soft fruits and there was a large amount of strawberries there. At the very back of the stall there was a box of the fruit slightly past it's best, at a bargain price. They would be good for making jam, she thought.
'Those strawberries,' she pointed, 'how much for the whole box?'
'Those, missus?' the stallholder queried. 'They're a bit over.'
'I can see that, they'll be good for jam.' She confirmed. She was conscious that Susan was watching her, down her nose as usual. Susan couldn't understand why Jean still did the housework and cooking for Lucien now she was married to him. Why hadn't they engaged a housekeeper, surely they could afford it? But Jean had been definite when Lucien had suggested it, she didn't want to change anything, she was happy to continue to keep house and run the surgery, be more of a partner in the business. Lucien had agreed, why argue, as long as she was happy he was happy. And now the doctor's wife was buying substandard, cheap fruit to make her own jam!
Susan Tyneman would happily admit she didn't know one end of the kitchen from the other, if Patrick fell on hard times she'd be stuck.
Jean got the strawberries for a most acceptable price and went home. She knew that making the preserve would occupy most of the afternoon and if it turned out well she might even enter it in the relevant category at the next Agricultural Show, that'd show Susan! Jean got a great deal of pleasure out of making her own jams and preserves, almost as much as Lucien got out of eating them!
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She put the fruit down on the table in the kitchen and put the rest of the shopping away. Making herself a quick sandwich she mentally prepared her afternoon. There was cold meat and salad for dinner, a convenience, she knew, but all in the household agreed in was too hot for a roast or stew or some such hearty meal.
She washed her plate and glass and set them on the draining board, then started to sort the fruit out into too far gone to use, even in jam and a few that were still good enough to eat with some cream or ice-cream. A treat for dessert. The rest of the strawberries were a variety of shapes and sizes, but whatever they looked like, as long as they hadn't bruised too much they went in to the colander to be rinsed before she put them in her preserving pan.
She had just turned the stove on when there was a knock at the door, turning the ring down low she went to answer it; there stood two of the Evans' boys, Li'l Al, smiling as ever, and John.
'Hullo, Mrs Blake,' John smiled, 'any jobs need doin'?'
'Some weeding,' she laughed, 'a shilling if you weed the bottom border, and a pot of freshly made jam.' She felt she could sacrifice one jar of jam for the Evans'.
'Deal!' John smiled, then looking at Li'l Al, signed Jean's offer. Li'l Al was deaf and the whole family had learned sign language in order to communicate with him. Jean had learned a few signs, but generally Al settled for a hug from Mrs Blake.
The boys went round to the garden shed to get the tools they needed and started tidying up for Jean and Jean went back to her jam making. While the fruit cooked she washed her jars and put them ready to go into the oven to be sterilised. She stirred the fruit and started to add the sugar. Jean made jam the way her grandmother did, by sight and taste and whether it set in time or not, with a basic nod to an actual recipe.
John and Li'l Al knocked and came in through the sun room, wiping their feet on the mat.
'Hello, boys,' Jean turned and smiled, 'finished already?'
'Yes, Mrs Blake,' John nodded, 'and we've cleaned and put the tools away.'
'Thank you, now wash your hands,' she instructed them, 'and I'll pour you some juice. Would you like some shortbread?'
Li'l Al nodded enthusiastically as she showed him the tin, then went to give her a hug. Jean felt it was a privilege to be in his life, he was such a dear little soul, no trouble and didn't let his deafness get in the way of enjoying life.
The boys sat at the table and drank their juice and ate the shortbread. They watched Jean put the jars in the oven and test the jam for setting, Li'l Al watched particularly closely, it always fascinated him, the way she cooked, turning fruit into jam or eggs, sugar, butter and flour into cakes. One day he'd like to be able to do that, he thought.
'Now, stay out of the way, boys, please,' she warned them as she put the preserving pan on a mat on the table and took the jars out of the over.
They watched eagerly as she poured the hot jam into the jars and sealed them. she put the twelfth jar to one side,
'That one's yours, boys.' She told them, 'but you'll have to wait until it's cool enough to handle.'
'Thank you, Mrs Blake,' John grinned, 'it's really kind of you.'
'Less for the doctor to eat,' she whispered, conspiratorially. They laughed.
'Mrs Blake,' John pulled out a leaflet from his pocket, 'we are having a fundraising evening at school. Would you and the doctor come? It's to raise money for a new classroom, for the little ones.' He handed her the leaflet, it was a programme for the evening.
'Why, John, that's a lovely idea. I will make sure that Dr Blake keeps that evening free. Would you like an extra pot of jam for the raffle?' Jean smiled, the both liked to support causes such as this, and anything they could do to help...
'Really?' John's eyes widened.
'I'm sure I can spare another.' She grinned.
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Poor Lucien, one less pot of jam. Well there we go, another challenge completed. I'm trying to keep the slush out of these stories, most of my pupils are boys! And before you say anything, I know I don't always succeed!