NESH by Martha Williams

She had the ache of an arse upon her face again, that Mrs Riley, cuz the dog got out and fouled her path and she only went out in her slippers to shout at the boys in the field again, what with her having a greenhouse and them having a ball, and they were good slippers but even if they were boiled to hell, she’d not want them on her toes again for her feet to smell of dog… and even thinking on it reminded her, her corn needed doing. It should’ve been done before Christmas but the croppodist, she couldn’t come, cuz of the snow, wannit. As if anyone should call it snow, she’s seen bigger drifts of dust in church, pitiful it is, how down here they can’t cope with the smallest bit of ice or cold — they’d be called ‘nesh’ up north, tho’ doubt anyone knows what that even means down here, being as soft in the head as they are with the cold. So her corn’s all big and her foot’s all smelly and what with thinking about it all and trying to see where the dog went and the flying balls and expensive greenhouse, whose plants are all burned brown now anyway on account of the open window and the frost – soft, that gardener – well, that’s how she didn’t see the step and so she fell head-over and now she’s dead.

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