Not in front of Charlie

Aunty Dora wasn't allowed to wear curlers or do the ironing in front
of Uncle Charlie. My job was to stand at the street corner watching for
him cycling home from work.

As soon as I spied him I would run into the house. As he wheeled into
the road Dora would be slamming the ironing board shut and throwing it
,and the ironing, into the pantry.

Then she'd stand in front of the mirror ripping outnher curlers.
Flinging them to the floor. I'd be at her heels trying to catch them.
She'd tell me to be quick and pick them up. I'd gather a whole bunch,
squirming as the bristles pricked my arms, and drop them into the
biscuit tin. She'd see me in the mirror. I'd catch her looking and we'd
both laugh.

Plucking stray ones from my cardi I'd throw them in on top. I liked how
they bunched together, like giant spiny caterpillars.

Come on she'd say grabbing the tin and shoving that into the pantry.
Hearing the click of the wheels in the passage I'd push the iron under
the kitchen table.

Uncle Charlie would appear at the parlour door. He'd remove his clips,
take off his cap, walk over to the table and eat his tea.

I never let her down. He didn't once kick the iron.