Part Two: Forever Doing Everything
Weren't adventures thrilling? Weren't they just so exciting and mysterious? That was what Jenny and Mimi Clarke thought. To be frank, Jenny loved doing them, but Mimi preferred reading about them. Though, the thrilling, exciting and mysterious part they agreed on.
"Go change. Tell Mother we'll be back before afternoon tea. No way I'm missing shortbread again. Come on, quickly, there's a strange treehouse I want to show you."
Mimi obeyed her sixteen minutes and thirty-five seconds elder sister at once. She leapt to her feet and pulled on an old pair of ripped, torn jeans and a suitable long-sleeved, stripy shirt. She tucked her sketchbook under her arm and pulled on a pair of odd socks.
"Excellent!" cried Jenny, pleased. "We can go now. Let's go tell Mother!"
They trooped down the narrow, creaky staircase and spotted their mother in the scullery. She was wearing a crisp white apron and her face was worn-out. She had dark shadows under her eyes and pale skin that gave her the look of a particularly skinny panda. The Clarkes' moving trip to the country had tired her immensely. She was forever washing and drying dishes in the kitchen, heating leftovers and making new lasagna and casseroles, grabbing fistfuls of weeds from the garden, pruning the bushes and watering the plants, making the beds and pulling the curtains, tidying and unpacking, dusting and cleaning on her hands and knees, moving furniture around the sitting room, phoning the electric company to arrange a small colour television...
"Poor old Mother," whispered Mimi, timidly stepping forward and plastering a winning smile on her face.
"We're off to explore!" Jenny told Mother, winking. But Mother would not let them go into the woods until they did a few chores.
"I'm forever doing everything!" she cried, harassed. "It's time you did your chores. Jenny, help me with these dishes, and then dry them on the draining board here. Next, you go and make a nice chocolate cream cake for your hardworking father. Try not to burn it, and ask me for help when you need it. The cookbook is on the second shelf to the right. Mimi, go make the beds, pull up the curtains and then you can start plucking those confunded weeds!"
"Oh-but Mother!" the twins moaned, clasping their hands together and begging.
"I've been reading for ages and need some fresh air!" Mimi squealed, tearfully.
"You'll get your fresh air when you open the windows and start picking weeds, Mia!" Mother flung a child-sized apron at Jenny, whose face was gloomy and miserable, her hands scratched and covered with scars.
"I've been scrambling up trees all morning and I've cut my hands!" she complained, tying the apron around her waist nevertheless. "Those gloves have holes in, and the washing liquid'll harm my hands!"
"That's your own problem," snapped Mother. "Imagine it, a fine young city girl, scurrying up trees for hours on end...it's shameful, how you behave like an uneducated, three-year old boy, Jennifer!"
Jenny flushed, and she bowed her head shamefully. She looked sadly at her hands and reached for the medical kit. Biting her lip to avoid a cry, she sprayed alcohol spray on her wounds, the scratches and scars stinging painfully and making her head swim.
"You won't need a plaster, or a bandage!" Mother snatched the case from Jenny, and undid her own apron. It fluttered to the wooden floorboards. "You'd better get started."
The dishes, it seemed, were absolutely filthy. Jenny even gave a shriek, "Ick! Ow, ow, ow...my hands!" She scrubbed until the dove-and-rose patterned plate was clean, and slipped it onto the drying rack. Wincing as her hands stung terribly, Jenny continued this routine for almost an hour, before sighing and taking off her rubbery yellow, squeaky gloves and picking up a greasy cloth. The hair dryer (yes, a hair dryer in the kitchen) siphoned off most the grease, and she started rubbing like mad at all the bowls and plates and cups and cutlery. After that, she grabbed the recipe book and started her fruitful search for the chocolate cream cake recipe.
Mimi stomped (very quietly, mind!) up the stairs and pulled open all the curtains and opened the windows. She stopped for a moment to feel the soothing, cool soft breeze and then started to make the beds. Afterwards, she resignedly scurried downstairs and into the garden. Aah...the wind was strong and chilly. She loved the feeling of the breeze in her hair. She tugged her hairband from her head and pulled it onto her wrist with her many thread bracelets. It felt good.
"I'd better get started, then!" she muttered under her breath, pulling with some difficulty, up a handful of thick green weeds and throwing them into a already-huge pile of mud-and-soil-covered weeds. She looked up from her work as she heard trees rustling. A lane away, was a deep forest with rich, green oak trees and deep jade-coloured willow and fern trees, green bushes with roses like gleaming rubies embedded in them...it was a green world.
