Pumpkin Soup

This knife's blunt. I swear you can tell a woman lives alone by the state of her knives. Poor old Bill, he was a bit of a chocolate teapot, but he'd have had the steel out by now. Could have done with it, this pumpkin's a big, tough, old bugger. I remember when Burnley Asda first had 'em, must have been late seventies, early eighties. Nasty American things, I thought. No taste to 'em. And I thought it were the thin end - they'd have us doing all that treat or tricking next. Which they did. But Sandra were fascinated. She was into all that witches and wizards malarkey. So Madam stamped her little foot, and we had to get one, didn't we? No matter that the nights were cold, and Bill were laid off, and I didn't know where the money for the meter was coming from.

Not that her brother's any better. Whiny little brat, I'd have said, if he weren't me own. Look at me now, still sweating over this bloody soup, every flamin' year for more than twenty years. They sell it in cans now, I said to him. Fresh in packets, even. "But it's not like yours, Mum," he says, all smarmy like. Plenty of side to our Darren.

Put the lid on and, keeping the heat low, allow the pumpkin to sweat gently and release its juices. This should take about 10 minutes.

Ten minutes my arse. Nearer twenty, more like. I've not written it on, or anything, though Bill used to tell me to. You can't deface a book, though can you? Proper printing. "You're too meek, Abby," he'd say.

Pour in the milk and stock, and simmer for about 20 minutes.

I'll put the kettle on now, have a brew. He were right though, Bill. I'm under the kids' thumbs now. I didn't leave Burnley - they wouldn't hear of it. Didn't ever pack up and go to Italy like I wanted - and I had the money too, after the accident. "Who would make us our pumpkin soup, Mum?" our Sandra said, and laughed. Little Madam.

Pour the contents of the pan into a liquidiser and blend to a purée. Season and serve. You can stir in a little cream to garnish the soup if you like.

Course, I never add the cream no more. Not since that Halloween. 1982, it was. I'd forgotten to get the bloody stuff at Asda, so I sent Bill out for it - to the all night garage on All Saints' Road. Course, the kids went too, hoping to cadge a treat off him.

He did get the cream. The police found it rolling around in the foot well, after they'd dragged the car out from under the lorry. Car were a right old mess, apparently. Took them three hours to get the bodies out. They were all dead, all three of 'em. My Bill, and my babies too.

There's the bell. Sandra and Darren. I don't need to open the door to them, of course, but they like to let me know they're here. I jumped fair out of me skin the first year. Eee, but they do look forward to Halloween, those two.

© 2004 Jane Sales