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The Neighbour
Miss Clarke is never idle. Spying keeps her busy and alert, especially on Sundays when her neighbours share a traditional roast. White net curtains cocoon the family as they move around inside the little cottage like baby spiders in a nest on a gorse bush. Sometimes a breeze blows a curtain out a window. Miss Clarke imagines it is waving at her. She lifts her gardening trowel in the air.
Music flows from her neighbour’s cottage. It comes from a handsome wooden radio. One morning Miss Clarke’s curiosity led her boldly up the neighbours’ path moments after the mother drove off with the baby and the young girl to buy the weekly groceries. She peered in a front window. The radio that stared straight into her soul had one piercing green eye. It had knobs like fat brown nipples. The wood glowed. Miss Clarke could smell polish. The polish smelt like sunlight.
After her meeting with the radio Miss Clarke weeded the pansies near her gate every Sunday at noon. The request session drifted towards her —
The next letter is from Miss Norma Clarke in Mission Bay who writes to say this is the very first time she has sent in a request. It’s good to know you are busy with community activities. And, because you asked, we have chosen a special song. It’s The Flamingos singing I Only Have Eyes for You.
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