No sooner had Mavis entered the door than Marco hurled himself at her and threw his arms around her neck.
'Oh Nonna we've got a film to watch and mamma has made us popcorn and there's coca cola for me and wine for you.'
Mavis hugged him back. Her grandson's enthusiasm never ceased to fill her heart with deep love and a fierce desire to protect him from harm. She smiled at him.
'What film shall we watch Marco, you choose.'
Marco went into the sitting room. It was set out with the sofa pulled up close in front of the television. the lights were turned down low and the small table was laid with plates and glasses, a big bowl of popcorn and some chocolates. Marco picked up some DVDs.
'Mamma got us Shrek, but if you prefer there's Planes.'
' I'd love to see Shrek Marco, it's got lots of songs that I liked when I was young.'
Mavis's son Fabio and his wife Federica came in and kissed her.
Federica hugged Marco and Fabio stroked his hair.
'Be good for Nonna and go to bed as soon as the film has finished.'
Mavis and Marco settled together on the sofa and switched on the television. There was a loud noise of shooting and a picture of lots of smoke and people running about in tears.
'Oh Nonna I'm sacred, that's the News, put the film on quick.'
He buried his head in Mavis's lap and she pushed all the buttons on the remote until the reassuring sounds of Shrek started.
'It's alright Marco. I'm here, come on let's try this popcorn that mamma's made. It smells delicious.'
With a bowl of popcorn and some coca cola to sip Marco was soon laughing at the film and cuddling up against Mavis.
A memory appeared before her of watching the News when she was just a bit older than Marco. The journalist was called Sandy Gall and he was dodging bullets in Vietnam. Her mother kept on saying how brave he was and how frightening it must be.
Last year Fabio and Federica had gone on holiday to Vietnam and said it was a wonderful place. The people were gentle and kind and their photographs told of a country with spectacular scenery and magnificent temples.
She sighed thinking of one of her father's favourite remarks when watching the news . 'Man's inhumanity to man' and her mother quoting one of her favourite folk songs, 'When will they ever learn, when will they ever learn.'
Mavis ruffled Marco's curls and he snuggled up closer to her.
'Do you think Fiona is going to end up beautiful or turn ugly like Shrek, Nonna?'
'Gosh Marco let's just hope they love each other whatever happens. Shrek's not ugly though is he? He's just different, I like big strong men, like your grandpa.'
Marco laughed.' I'll tell grandpa that he looks like Shrek.'
Mavis tickled him and they looked at each other laughing together.
She thought about the news and how frightening it always was, and always had been. When she was twelve about 1966 she had got a job on Sunday mornings delivering the Sunday papers. It was her friend Eileen's idea. She wanted to save up to buy a Beatles LP. They had delivered papers for a year and by the end of it they had both grown up and acquired a home spun philosophy of life's lessons learnt delivering the papers.
At home her father only had serious sort of papers delivered with articles about finance and politics. The papers that she and Eileen delivered were called 'The People, The Sun and The News of the World.'
They would surreptitiously open up the papers and giggle at the photographs of the large busty women, it seemed impossible that they could ever resemble those voluptuous creatures. They understood then how much power and also a sort of danger there was in a woman's body and how carefully it should be used.
Marco grabbed a large handful of popcorn.
' Nonna I don't want Fiona to be fat and green like Shrek. I want her to be slim and pretty.'
'Oh Marco if she's nice and kind it won't matter what she looks like, as long as they love each other.'
Mavis had to smother a giggle. It was as though he'd read her thoughts.
She tried to think of all the main news in the papers that she had delivered all those years ago. There had been a horrible tragic disaster in a Welsh mining village: a coal slag heap had fallen onto a school. At home her parents were horrified and deeply saddened, they had talked about it for days in hushed whispers, her mother had cried. 'It could have been Mavis', she kept repeating.
Mavis had read some of the accounts in the papers on her round. Her heart had broken when she had read about a mother who had sent her child off to school in a bad mood. Mavis had vowed then to always hug and kiss her parents every morning, always and forever.
She'd also learnt from those papers that children should never go around on their own in lonely places and be wary of strangers. There were photos of children the same age as her or even younger that had disappeared. Until then she had often gone to the common on her bike on her own, she loved the beech woods that were near her home, especially in Spring time, but after reading things in the paper she had stopped. Tears came to her eyes, how fragile we all are and how vulnerable.
Her childhood and teenage years had been such a happy time for her really. Mavis adored her parents and loved spending time with them. Eileen was the best friend she could wish for and lots of nice things were happening around them. Mavis's dad had bought their first colour television. He had always admired technology and gadgets. Once he'd bought a machine especially to peel their roast potatoes on Sundays and it had taken pride of place in their kitchen. Mavis's mother hadn't had the heart to tell him that she could have peeled them quicker and better with her old trusty potato peeler.
After the film she'd tell Marco about that. He'd think it was funny with all the amazing technology that he was used too even at his tender age.
Then there was their music, all the new exciting pop groups especially for them it seemed. There were the Beatles of course, then the Pink Floyd and David Bowie. Eileen and she even liked Sandy Shaw singing 'Puppet on a String' and were thrilled when it won The Eurovision Song Contest.
Mavis's dad had taken them all up to London to see a James Bond film, 'Thunderball' and it had seemed very daring and grown up. Mavis often thought how lucky she was to have been young in the Swinging Sixties, with Mary Quant and the mini skirt and all that wonderful music. Eileen's dad had taken them to see 'West Side story' and they'd giggled all the way through it at the thought of a boy breaking into song as he was about to kiss you.
The film was drawing to a close, Fiona had turned into a female Shrek and they were playing 'I'm a Believer.' How Mavis and Eileen had danced to that, round and round the sitting room and collapsing in a heap, all buoyed up with dreams of romance.
Mavis picked up the bowl of popcorn and handed it to Marco so he could finish it.
'Come on Marco I'll show you how to twist. I did this when I was ten, not much older than you.'
When Marco was tucked up in bed, smelling of tooth paste and soap, clutching his panda his favourite soft toy, Mavis lay down near him and held his hand.
'Once upon a time Marco there was a panda called Chi Chi who lived at London Zoo. He was taken all the way to Moscow in an aeroplane to meet a female panda called An An.'
'My panda is called 'Pickles', papa chose it because he says that it's a funny name.'
Hearing the name Pickles one more memory came to Mavis from her paper round days. She dropped her voice so Marco would start to feel sleepy.
'When I was about twelve England won the World cup, it was wonderful, my brother and I knew all the names of the players and it was very exciting. England won the trophy and then one day it got lost. No-one knew where it had gone. Then would you believe it? A dog called Pickles, just like your panda found it in someone's garden in London.'
Mavis saw Marco's eyes close and he turned over holding onto his panda, his breathing was soft and peaceful. Mavis kissed him gently and sat for a moment longer watching him her heart swelling with love. Life had taken her from the place where she was born but it would always be within her giving her love to pass on.
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