Winter 2011

The highest perfection of intellectual nature lies in a careful and constant pursuit of true and solid happiness

– John Locke

One morning at the end of February I look up at the colossal wooden frame mounted above the fireplace and I can see I’ve already used up my Quota Of Joy for the rest of the year.

‘You’re so greedy.’ My mother twists my hair between her fingers. ‘Always wanting more. No sense of self-control.’ She ties the end of the braid with a red ribbon. ‘You get what you deserve; we all do.’

Sulking makes no difference. Under her name, flashing red in the half-gloom, are a couple of spare weeks. She says she’s saving it for August, in case of fine weather.

Since she got the Saturday job in town, my sister has no time for me. She bats my hands away as they pluck at the sleeve of her jacket.

‘You’ll never learn, if I say yes.’ She wraps a long scarf around her neck and I offer her my pocket money until Easter. Until midsummer. Until the leaves turn red again.

‘Money can’t buy you happiness, Daphne. Keep your pennies.’

‘I’m telling Dad.’

‘Just you dare. Go on then. Just you dare.’ She slams the front door and I sit in the hallway and howl..... MORE