Onwards Flows the River

by Caroline Windsor

  Satisfied with her afternoon’s work, Kate glanced at her watch. It was eight o’clock. Unable to ward off her hunger pangs any longer she headed downstairs to the dining room. The cook had Saturday and Sunday off, so a cold supper of salad, sweet, fruit and cheese was provided for residents at Harrison House at the weekends. Kate took a covered plate from the side table in the dining room and took it through to the kitchen, where she put the kettle on. It seemed a little sad to be eating her first meal at the hostel in such solitary splendour, but she pushed the thought away. Some of the residents would, she imagined, have gone home for the weekend; Esme, she knew, was out at a meeting, and Jo’s evening stint as waitress was already underway. As for Hannah, no doubt she would roll up in her own good time, full of regrets for having missed Kate’s arrival, and overflowing with enthusiasm for her new life at college.

  A well-thumbed copy of The Guardian lay abandoned on a chair. She pulled it towards her and started to read.

  By ten Kate had finished the paper, washed up her dishes and returned to her room. A hot bath took up the next half-hour by which time she was more than ready to collapse into bed with a book. At eleven-thirty she switched off the light, too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

  o0o

  She awoke with a start from a deep sleep. Someone or something was attempting to batter down her door, rattling the handle in a frenzy of frustration.

  “Hannah – is that you?” Reluctantly, she pulled her blue towelling dressing gown around her shoulders, struggled out of bed and unlocked the door. “Isn’t it a bit late to be paying calls?”

  “Schnever too late to shee a friend.” Failing to take into account the swirling folds of her red maxi skirt, Hannah stumbled over the threshold, crashed into the desk and sent the blue dolphin mug flying. Pens and pencils shot across the floor. “Shod it!” She collapsed onto the bed and buried her head in the pillow. She sat up again immediately. “Feel shick – can’t lie down.”

  “If you want to throw up go and do it in your own room,” Kate told her unsympathetically. “Better still, try the loo.”

  “Shawl right if I shit up.” Hannah gazed at her bleary-eyed.

  Resignedly, Kate put her dressing gown on properly and stuffed her feet into her slippers. “What you need is some coffee.”

  She heaved the reluctant Hannah onto her feet and steered her down the stairs to the kitchen. Orlando, startled awake, glared at them disdainfully and vacated the Windsor chair. Hannah collapsed into his place.

  “Here, drink this.” Kate guided her friend’s hands till they clasped the mug securely. “I’m glad you’re having such a good time at college, but I hope you’re not going to make a habit of this sort of thing.”

  “She already has.” Jo’s silent footsteps had gone unnoticed by either of them. “I’ve already cleaned up after her once, not that she’d remember, and I have no intention of doing so again.” She shrugged off her raincoat to reveal her black waitress’s outfit. “I don’t think Esme would be terribly impressed to see the daughter of her beloved Quaker friends in such a state.”

  “Ish that a threat?” Hannah banged down her mug, sending coffee splashing across the table. She turned to Kate, enunciating with difficulty. “I call her the black widow – always dreshed as if she’s on her way to the morgue.”

  Jo’s face was white with anger. She leaned on the table, thrusting her face towards Hannah who recoiled visibly. “You want to know why I always dress in black? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s to save money – something I doubt if you’ve ever had to do in your whole life. Here’s what I have in my wardrobe: two black skirts, two pairs of black trousers, two black tee shirts, two black sweaters, two black dresses – one smart and one everyday – and two pairs of black shoes. My raincoat is black, as is my overcoat. And I’m sure even someone with your limited intelligence can guess what colour my only handbag is? You’re right – it’s black.” She stood upright, hands on hips. Hannah gazed at her stupefied. “I’m lucky, I know exactly what’s in my wardrobe – I have something suitable for every occasion. I don’t have to think about it, let alone worry about it. And, even though some may call it boring, I know I’ll always look presentable. I may not be glamorous, but I can always look smart.” She leaned forward again, her blazing eyes holding Hannah transfixed. “Which is more than can be said for you, despite your well-heeled family. I’ve known shop-girls in Woolworths with more taste. You have absolutely no sense of colour – and those ridiculous skirts you slop around in make your hips look twice the size they are... and that’s too big for comfort.”

  She paused for breath. Kate watched them, numb with horror. A tear hovered on Hannah’s eyelid, spilt over and ran down her cheek. Another followed. Blindly she rose from the table and stumbled from the room. Kate couldn’t help noticing that the back of her red maxi skirt was coated with Orlando’s hairs.

  “Did you have to be so cruel?” Rows, whether verbal or physical, always made Kate feel sick. She sank down on to a chair.

  “I’m sorry if it upset you, but it had to be said. That girl is a complete pain in the butt.” Jo slammed the coffee cups into the sink. Kate opened her mouth to protest but Jo forestalled her. “If you really want to be a friend to her, get her off the drink. Believe me, I’ve seen what alcohol can do to people – and it ain’t pretty.”

  Kate sighed. “I’ve known her for seven years and I’ve never seen her drunk before. Come to that, she’s never had much alcohol before. The occasional glass of wine, but that’s about it.”

  “Well, I’ve only had the dubious privilege of knowing Hannah for two weeks and I’ve seen her drunk on at least five occasions. I can only assume she’s making up for lost time.” Jo rinsed the cups under the hot tap and turned them face down on the draining board.

  “Did you really have to clean up after her?”

  “Only once,” Jo admitted, “but it was quite enough after a day’s work followed by an evening’s waitressing. And needless to say, Hannah knew absolutely nothing about it... she probably thought she managed to undress and get herself into bed – that is, if she ever thinks at all.”

  “You did that for her as well?”

  “Yep.” Jo leaned against the sink. “Grappling with drunks certainly doesn’t appear in my job description, but I imagine it’s all part and parcel of a deputy warden’s varied life. Besides, Esme’s really too old to have to cope with that sort of thing and I know she’d have worried about whether or not to tell Hannah’s parents.”

  “Thanks for keeping it to yourself. I appreciate that and I’m sure Hannah will too once she comes to herself again.” Kate frowned. “I’ll have a good talk to her tomorrow. There must be something wrong for her to be drinking like this. It’s not like Hannah at all.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Jo gave her a wry smile. “And now I think we could both do with some sleep.”

  o0o

  “O come let us sing out to the Lord:

  let us shout in triumph to the rock of our salvation.”

  Glad that St Andrew’s favoured a lively tune for the Venite, Kate joined in with enthusiasm. Despite having had a poor night’s sleep, she was pleased that she had forced herself out of bed and across the square to the local church. As the nearest Quaker meeting was several miles away, and the parish church so near, she had decided to continue to worship with the Anglicans but treat herself to silent Quaker worship once a month. If she was going to be doing voluntary work with the local community, she felt that she should worship locally too and St Andrew’s was proving to be a pleasant surprise.

  She had expected a sparse, mainly elderly congregation with an ageing vicar and a tuneless choir. What she had found was a gleaming church, crammed to capacity with a lively multicultural congregation consisting largely of young families, with a fair sprinkling of older and middle-aged members too. The choir, whose ages seemed to rang
e from eight to eighty, were smartly gowned in royal blue and sang as if they meant it.

  Kate turned her attention to the vicar, an attractive fair-haired man in his early thirties who conducted the service with genuine enthusiasm. It was amazing what a difference a charismatic priest could make to a parish, she reflected. This was what the Anglican church should be like – vibrant and outgoing – not, as was so often the case, drearily going through the motions until the service had stumbled to a conclusion. Even Hannah might have had a good word to say for St Andrew’s, though she would probably have complained, as usual, that there was too much singing, praying and reading of lessons for God to get a word in edgeways. In vain Kate would point out that it was through the hymns, prayers and readings that one could hear the voice of God, but she knew what Hannah meant. To anyone brought up with the silent form of Quaker worship, the Anglicans, Methodists, Catholics or whatever were all going to seem too wordy. It was one of the few things on which Hannah and Daniel disagreed. A passionate lover of music, the Anglican church with its wonderful choral tradition meant everything to him. And sometimes, during her holidays in Devon, Kate had gone to the Quaker meeting with the Mathesons in the morning and accompanied Daniel to Evensong in the evening. Overkill, that was how Hannah had described it. But for Kate, it was a way of combining her two favourite forms of worship and giving thanks for what she regarded as her second home with Hannah’s family.

  o0o

  Hannah’s alarm erupted with a piercing shriek.

  “Sod it!” She thrust her arm out from beneath the bedclothes and gave it a vicious thump. The clock shot off the bedside table, rolled across the floor and came to a halt, still clanging, near the door.

  “Oh hell!” She rolled out of bed, grabbed the clock and silenced it. Seven o’clock. Her head throbbed and the back of her throat felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. She pushed her arms, which seemed strangely reluctant to co-operate, into the sleeves of her dressing gown and grabbed her washbag. Halfway down the corridor to the bathroom she remembered it was Sunday.

  Groaning, she staggered back to her room, pulled the bedclothes over her head and fell into a deep sleep.

  A gentle but persistent tapping at the door roused her from a delightfully erotic dream about Daniel, who was making passionate love to her in the unlikely setting of the meeting house at Westermouth.

  “Go away,” she murmured, “it’s far too early.”

  The door opened and closed quietly. Through half-closed eyes she saw Kate, looking irritatingly elegant in a navy-blue dress, sitting in her armchair.

  “I’ve brought you some coffee,” she said. “It’s time we had a talk.”

  Hannah groaned. “Can’t it wait till later? I need some more sleep. Come back this afternoon.” She turned over and closed her eyes, hoping to recapture the warmth of Daniel’s body as it moulded itself to hers.

  “This afternoon arrived two hours ago.” She felt a blast of cold air as the bedclothes were ripped off her with none of Kate’s usual gentleness. “It’s two o’clock and I want to go to the exhibition at the Tate. What I don’t want is to come back to a repeat performance of last night. So, talk to me, Hannah, talk to me.”

  “All right, all right. God, you’re in a bad mood today.” Hannah struggled into a sitting position and pulled her dressing gown around her shoulders.

  “Drink this.” Kate handed her the coffee.

  Hannah sipped it gingerly, trying to dispel the fogginess which hung like a shroud over the place where her brain should be. Kate had removed a pile of clothes from the only armchair and proceeded to make herself comfortable. As her gaze travelled around the room, Hannah felt a moment’s regret for the heap of books lying higgledy-piggledy on the floor, the overflowing dirty clothes basket, and the dust gathering on the windowsill. It really was a bit of a tip, but after all, she was a student. She was only behaving as students normally did. Comforted, she returned to her coffee.

  “So? What gives? Why have you suddenly taken to the bottle like a sailor deprived of his rum ration?”

  Despite herself, Hannah smiled. “No need to exaggerate.”

  “According to Jo, I’m not exaggerating at all. She says she’s seen you drunk at least five times in the past two weeks.”

  “That cow! Don’t tell me she’s won you over to her side?”

  “Hannah, I’m not on anybody’s side.” She saw the exasperation on Kate’s face. “Though having seen the state you were in last night, and knowing that Jo has had the unpleasant job of mopping up your vomit and putting you to bed, I have to say my sympathies tend to be with her.”

  “It’s not true!”

  “Hannah, it is true.”

  “I couldn’t have forgotten that, surely.”

  “You obviously have.”

  “Oh God!” Hannah buried her head in her hands. Suddenly the future seemed unbearable. She could never face that Jo with her scornful eyes and mouth pursed like a prune ever again. She felt Kate’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Look, it’s not that bad. I mean, everyone gets drunk every now and then, especially when they’re not used to alcohol. But five times in a fortnight does seem a bit excessive even for someone as prone to extremes as you. I just want to know why you’re drinking so much. Is it that you’re unhappy, or do you just lose count of the number of drinks you’ve had?”

  Hannah shrugged. “I drink to forget, I suppose. And then I forget how much I’ve drunk.”

  “But what do you want to forget?”

  She sighed. “That I’ve got to spend the next three years in a place I hate, with people I’ve nothing in common with, doing a degree which will get me nowhere. How about that for starters?” She drained her coffee and glared defiantly at her friend.

  “But it’s what you wanted. You were desperate to come to London to study for a degree.” Kate was obviously totally flummoxed.

  “I was desperate to come to London to study for a degree at university.” Hannah tried to spell it out. “Not some crummy poly miles away from anywhere of interest. I wanted the real thing – the ancient ivy-clad buildings, panelled libraries, a real sense of being part of the academic tradition... even if I didn’t really know what subject I wanted to be academic in!” She closed her eyes, struggling to find the right words. “I wanted clubs and societies and like-minded people that I could have fun with. I wanted to be in the heart of London with all the theatres and cinemas and galleries, not stuck out here on the poverty-stricken fringes of Brixton.” She paused for breath. “I know that sounds awful and snobby and if I was a really good Quaker I’d be thrilled to have the opportunity to work with the poor and all that... but what I wanted was fun. I didn’t want to be constantly reminded of other people’s grinding poverty. I know it exists, and one day I hope I’ll be able to do something positive to help people – but not now. Not for these three years. This was going to be my time. But I blew it, didn’t I? I didn’t get the grades. And now I’ve got three years’ penal servitude in the college from hell.”

  Kate, she couldn’t help noticing, didn’t look particularly sympathetic. “Honestly, Hannah, even university wouldn’t have turned out to be the utopia you had in mind. There’s no pleasing you sometimes. Something is either wonderful or it’s ghastly – nothing’s ever in between. If it’s that appalling, then re-sit your A levels and try for university next year.”

  “I couldn’t do that.” Hannah was emphatic.

  “Then you’ve either got to make the best of what you’ve got, or give up the idea of a degree altogether and get a job. And I don’t suppose you fancy entering the real world of work just yet, do you?”

  Hannah shook her head.

  “So now we’ve agreed that you’re going to make the best of life at the poly, try telling me exactly what it is that you hate about the place. I mean, I appreciate that not having ivy on the walls i
s a serious deficiency in any building, but surely students are students wherever they are. They can’t all be awful.”

  “They are!” Hannah heard the petulance in her voice and hated herself for it. “They’re just a bunch of spotty left-wing intellectuals who talk about politics all the time.”

  “Left wing?” She could see that Kate was puzzled. “But your whole family votes Labour – surely you wouldn’t have wanted to spend three years with a bunch of Tories?”

  “No, of course not! But at least my family doesn’t talk about politics all the time.” Hannah frowned. “Though, come to think of it, when they’re not talking about politics they seem to be talking about religion which isn’t much better.”

  “Perhaps you’d prefer them to talk about fashion, soap operas and women’s magazines. You know – the really important things of life.”

  “Sarcasm really doesn’t suit you, you know.” Hannah struggled to express herself in words which might elicit some sympathy. “Well, I suppose part of the problem is that a lot of the students still live at home, miles out in the suburbs, so they’re not much cop when it comes to a social life. And, because there aren’t any halls of residence or anything, most of the others just live in grotty digs in hideous places like Balham. And it takes them so long to get back there every evening that they don’t have much time for a social life either. And because we’re all such a distance away from theatres and cinemas and anything that might be remotely interesting – we just end up in the pub.”