2. Nosy Neighbours

"Mrs. Maiskevent!" Viola exclaimed as she turned around. "What a pleasure to meet you!"

It was of course, as you can guess, not a pleasure to meet her. If you were reading carefully, you would remember from before that there were 'nosy, nasty, neighbours' who had borrowed the carriage. Mrs Maiskevent was one of those nosy, nasty neighbours.

She and Mr.Maiskevent were a ratty, moley, winkled, hunchbacked couple bent on annoying others. Mr.Maiskevent was always poking his cane into everybody's business, and looking at them with the disdain with which he should have looked down upon himself. Mrs.Maiskevent with her oddly paired trench coats and floral frocks, and her unusual trademark of saying "C-luck!C-luck!" when she entered a room was equally if not more unnerving.

"Viola dear!Oh you see I was just here to ap-o-l-ogise for borrowing your carriage, and if it caused you problems, I swear, I am terribly sorry, you see three weeks bac-"began Mrs.Maiskevent.

"Hallo! What's this?"The sharp, high pitched voice of Lady Kertesque interrupted.

Viola let out a sigh of relief. Once Mrs.Maiskevent started talking, she rarely stopped except to stutter, and Viola had no idea how to draw the conversation to an end. Needless to say, she was getting late.

Click-Clack.Click-Clack.Click-Clack. Lady Kertesque walked from the guest room into the living room. "Mrs.Maiskevent, it's you! My Lord, what a horrible fuss with the carriage wasn't it?"

"Yes, It has been a long mor-ning. In fact, I've been rather-"

"Stressed out? Yes, I completely understand. It happens. Happens a lot."

"No I wou-"

"I would suggest you take up a relaxing hobby to drive it away. From personal experience, I would say knitting is the best option. What a great stress buster! And you get a lovely end product to treasure too," cut off Viola's mother as she started to cleverly walk their neighbour to the door, who fortunately for them, had no choice but to follow.

Lady Kertesque rambled on and on about knitting before she drew the conversation to an end with a final flourish and a graceful stroke, and then politely slammed the door on her face, politely being the key word here.

Click-Clack. Click-Clack. She walked over to Viola.

"My God. What a dreadful woman. She 'accidentally' makes so many mistakes and then takes the trouble to come over and apologise, hoping we would call her in and give her food and say, "Oh but you must stay a little longer Mrs.Maiskevent!" All for free cookies I tell you. I'm so glad my little darling is going to a recognised finishing school. You dear, must NOT go down her path."

"Never mother. I promise you when I grow old and become an old woman, I will not be an annoying one. I shall be a good one, who everybody likes to call over, and who doesn't make it awkward, and all the little kids call a 'Cool Grandma' , and the one with the best cookies and stories, and yells along to the songs instead of telling everyone to shut it off. I shall never ever come over wagging a plump finger and a dull brown frilly umbrella complaining about this and that and the weather and the generation and the noise," Viola said.

"Oh, she complains so much about the noise dear, as if her silly old chickens don't keep clucking all day long."

Apart from entering like a chicken, Mrs.Maiskevent brood dozens of them and their constant clucking was perhaps the only noise she dared to withstand.

Lady Kertesque seemed to notice Viola's hair as the topic of conversation on Mrs.Maiskevent soon died down, and as the final laughs and words of disgust were shared, she ushered for Viola to turn back, as she tucked the loose strands into her bun, making a twisted, beautiful hairstyle.

She, to Viola's surprise, did not comment on the disgraceful state of her hair. Her words would hurt, but her silence killed. All the bubbles of lightness that had been floating around soon popped and the atmosphere became a little heavy. Viola knew that her mother was all about making yourself presentable to society, and the fact that her daughter couldn't make her own hair dissatisfied her.

For you it may be a small thing, but for her it was certainly not. Viola was slightly mad at herself, and was waiting for her mother's harsh words at the same time. She was bursting with anxiety, bracing herself for an outburst from her mother's end that might happen any second, excuses bubbling up in her head and then fizzing down, words taking birth in her tongue and then dying at the tip. Ideas swirling around, grasping on to anything that made sense. And above all rose fear. What would her mother say?

It sometimes angered her that her mother had this much control over her. And what seemed to anger her more was her mother thought that this anger was unladylike. What do emotions and gender have in common after all? She wanted to be a lady, not a machine.

It would have been awfully silent if it wasn't for the trumpets blaring in the near distance, that seemed to light the way for both mother and daughter to come out of their many layers of thoughts. Somewhere, Bowram the butler called for the mother.

Lady Kertesque sighed.

"Go and ask Chucky Chevre if he would be as kind as to ask the band to stop playing. He would be in the kitchen. I need to tend to Bowram. Wonder what in the world he's done this time," she ordered.

Viola nodded her head, and slid off. The awkwardness was still swimming around in the air, like it always is after any small misunderstanding or argument, direct or indirect. But there was no need to apologise. Often, something would happen and it would swim away, and everything would be back to normal, more or less. It happened a lot. Far more than usual.

As she was heading towards the kitchen, she bumped into Naydia, the maid, who had finally managed to close the suitcase. Well, after emptying most of it.

Naydia bowed. "Mees, you sootcase ees readee. Eet ees weeth Molliee, Polliee, and Dolliee. They have also chewed your ankee."

"They..ate my hankerchief?" Viola asked, wondering how it must have tasted.