Doing her Sums by Mari Phillips, port and lemon

Jill did her sums and wrote in her best handwriting. She played hopscotch and French skipping in the school yard until the other girls wouldn't play with her anymore. She did more sums and helped the teacher, filling the inkwells and handing out the books. ‘Teacher’s pet,’ they whispered behind her back.

She took a job in an accountant’s office and did more sums. The figures danced in front of her eyes, but she always made them stand up straight. Friday nights were pub nights with the other girls from the office. She propped them up after a few too many port and lemons and listened to their slurred stories until they didn't invite her again. She did bigger sums and helped the boss. ‘Boss’s floozie,’ they whispered behind their typewriters.

Months and years passed. Other girls came and went. Jill still did the sums and managed the team. ‘I love my work,’ she said, when she faced the mirror to fix her greying hair and touched up the orange lipstick.

 When she was fifty, they ‘let her go.’ ‘Such a treasure,’ they said. ‘We’ll miss you.’ But no-one stayed in touch.

‘She loved her work,’ they said after the funeral. 

‘Such a shame.’

‘Another port and lemon?’

About the author

 Mari lives in Leeds, writes mostly flash fiction, with several published in Café Lit, and is working on a couple of ‘longer’ short stories. She also occasionally dabbles in poetry. She is a keen singer and sometime traveller. 

 

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