by V. G. Lee
‘I’m not laughing,’ and indeed she isn’t. Have never seen Deirdre’s rosebud lips in such a tiny pinched dot.
‘Can I make amends?’
‘I want you to stop writing letters to the paper. If you don’t I’ll be forced to tell Martin and he will be very angry. He’s built the librarian up into an adversary on the scale of The Riddler in Batman. It’s given him a new lease of life. Instead of just the Corner Coffee Shop he’s spending two hours in the library every day reading the newspapers and making notes of her suspicious behaviour. Finding out that it’s only you would be a huge disappointment.’
‘Couldn’t I start writing with a librarian bias?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘Won’t he be disappointed if A. Oakley disappears?’
‘He’ll get over it. He’s found he rather likes the library. They’ve got a little garden at the back where he can have a coffee and a cigarette.’
‘Are we still friends?’
‘I don’t think I can ever be friends with you again after this.’
‘What about another jam and cream scone washed down with fresh Earl Grey?’
Deirdre folds up the newspaper, appears deep in thought. ‘That might go some way towards mending our rift.’
November 16th
Meet Vera in the street. She wants to know what my opinion is on Deirdre’s newly planted Norwegian Maple? Admit to having no opinion. Vera says, ‘Not even if it grows to eighty foot, blocks out all the light and undermines our foundations?’
Murmur, ‘Surely not?’
Vera says, ‘Morag’s writing to the local paper and the council. She says there are laws.’
‘Indeed there are.’
‘So you’ll back us up?’
Say briskly, ‘At the minute it’s only four foot high, when it reaches twenty feet then I’ll back you up.’
Leave Vera going on about people who sit on fences.
November 18th
LC’s leaving party in Russell’s canteen a damp squib. Twelve people including me, LC, Peter, Noreen and a man from Head Office. Whip-round during previous week produced enough money (with staff discount) to buy catalogue number SLBE/8721 or Side Light in Bronze Effect, 8721. Bronze Effect lamp base in the shape of a golfer wearing plus fours and a flat cap. Could almost have represented Lorraine Carter in plus fours and flat cap, apart from handle bar moustache. Also sufficient cash left over for bunch of forced sunflowers from Morrison’s. LC said she was quite overwhelmed by our generosity. Man from Head Office presented a cheque, a funereal bouquet of lilies and white chrysanthemums, and a kiss. LC bobbed appreciative curtsey as if in presence of a royal personage. We clapped. Then Avis from the canteen directed us to two tables of nibbles. Best part of the evening. As I heaped crab sticks, profiteroles, mini-quiches and pickled onions onto paper plate, LC nudged my elbow and said in a low voice, ‘Can we talk?’ Retrieved pickled onions from fruit salad bowl before replying in truculent tone, ‘What now?’ Suddenly no longer felt the need to kowtow.
‘Perhaps tomorrow? Say nine o’clock in the Felgate Arms.’
‘Past my bed time,’ I quipped, ‘but okay.’
November 19th
Lounge Bar, Felgate Arms. Got there dead on nine. LC already ensconced in curve of horse-shoe shaped cubicle, a bottle of wine poking out of an ice bucket, and two glasses. She was smoking a cigarette and looked...nervous?
Took off jacket and sat down. Left some distance between me and her. Noticed her sharp face looked tired. Suppressed that thought. Not the time to start softening. She rested her cigarette in the ashtray and poured the wine.
‘I hope you don’t mind if I smoke?’
I shrugged. ‘Whatever.’ (Thank you Deirdre for all the casual words and phrases I’ve picked up from you.)
‘Cheers,’ we said and tapped glasses.
‘Margaret I owe you an apology.’
Crumbs! ‘Yes you do.’
‘But first can I tell you a story? I promise to keep it short.’
Shrugged again. No way was Lorraine Carter going to win me over after months of rudeness and intimidation.
‘This happened a long time ago. I was in my late twenties. I lived with a woman who...I loved very much. I thought - I believed she felt the same way about me.’ She took a deep drag on her cigarette before continuing. ‘We’d been together eight years. It seemed like we had something special and long lasting. I could imagine that getting old together stuff happening for us.’ For the first time since I’d arrived she looked directly at me. ‘How long did your relationship last?’
She looked straight into my eyes. Was I seeing the real Lorraine Carter behind the hard bitten bully or was this just another mask?
‘Nearly ten years,’ I said.
‘You did better than I did.’
‘So what happened?’
‘She changed. I can’t quite pinpoint where or when. I thought I was imagining her withdrawal, the way she no longer quite focused on me or our life together. Took her a whole year to absent herself completely. One weekend she stage managed an argument. Brought it out of the blue yet made it my fault and symptomatic of all that was wrong between us. That evening she left and never came back. Some friends who I’d thought were our friends came and took away her stuff.’
‘Was she seeing someone else?’
Lorraine poured herself more wine. My own glass sat still untouched.
‘Of course she was. I saw them together a few times; they didn’t see me. I still can’t quite get over how they could look happy and carefree when they’d just destroyed someone. You see I found out where the woman lived. Had to hire a car to get there. When Georgie left she took my car, said I was lucky...’
‘Georgie?’
‘Georgie. And of course the other woman was you. Our world is quite small isn’t it?’
November 20th
Thinking back to the beginning of me and Georgie. I remember there was a woman called Lorrie. She was giving Georgie a tough time. I recall Georgie saying, ‘Lorrie’s like a clinging vine. If I let her, she’d choke me.’
Had Georgie said that about me to Stella? The awful thing was I could imagine myself metaphorically ‘choking’ Georgie. It’s the obvious reaction when you think someone you love is pulling away from you - to hold them tighter.
Georgie seems to have the ability to move on, leaving distraught partners in her wake...stuck, bewildered. Believing they were inadequate and responsible for Georgie stopping loving them. Except Stella. Stella must have hurt Georgie a lot. She was no clinging vine.
I think about Georgie more analytically now and with curiosity; how she never lied, only withheld the truth, or side stepped it. All those years living with each other, yet I didn’t understand her at all. What did she get out of being the way she was? So cool and aloof. Always seeming to possess the right answers. She must have been special but I can’t remember how she was special.
Georgie, Georgie, Georgie. You’ve caused me so much pain. Oh dear, it is so sore, this hidden thing I know to be my heart.
November 21st
See A4 poster for Miriam’s Clothing Party in the Hospice Shop window. In lilac script it says, Fab Clothing offers YOU a chance to Try and Buy at genuine rock bottom prices! Then a drawing of blonde woman reminiscent of Doris Day at start of comedic film career, marching across A4 with smart carrier bag. Doris Day look-a-like wearing box jacket and knee length skirt. Have Miriam and vicar gone mad?
November 22nd
Janice rang. Speaking very quickly, she said she’d bumped into Deirdre in the shopping precinct and been told that Georgie and I had split up for good. If I wasn’t ready to speak to her she quite understood but she needed to know that I was okay. Speaking equally quickly I said that I was surprisingly okay and very glad to hear her voice. Janice said she was very glad to hear my voice.
November 23rd
Wake up with horrible feeling of panic. Kitten jumps first on bed then on me.
‘In a min
ute, Kitten.’ Kitten, who is proving highly intelligent, immediately understands; she curls up against my knees and purrs.
I’d woken from dreams of Janice. Thinks: there is nothing between us (Janice and me) apart from possibly an imagined (on my part) rapport - but if there was - once again I know nothing about her apart from spurious details. She likes tea not coffee, likes face painting and is a druid party goer, also an excellent landscape gardener. She has a courageous face, can look sullen, which doesn’t mean she is - everything else, that she is kind, sensitive, I’ve taken on trust. Can’t bear to go through a year like this again yet don’t want to spend the rest of my life loveless. Inside I have this miserable certainty that it will always be me that is left behind. Abandoned.
Feed Kitten, ring Laura. Have never cried on the telephone before. Laura appalled. Starts crying as well. Says she is desperately unhappy because Iris has started running for an hour every morning. I stop crying and tell her that running for an hour in the morning doesn’t need to be threatening. Laura says Iris has a running partner who has perfect muscle tone, which she could never aspire to, as it would mean making huge personal sacrifices as in giving up smoking, drinking and late nights. Suddenly says, ‘Oh oh, they’re back,’ and rings off.
November 25th
Its official: Tom and Barry have split up. Tom says more in sorrow than anger. He asks Miriam and I out for a drink. Also vicar but she can’t come as there is a church meeting to discuss forthcoming Carol Service.
We go to pub that is rumoured to be gay. Tom clocks two elderly gentlemen playing Shove Halfpenny and whispers, ‘What do you think?’
Miriam says, ‘Possibly.’
I look unconvinced. However, when one claps the other on the shoulder Tom takes that as incontrovertible proof that they’re a long term couple and there’s hope for him yet. Seem always to be avoiding kill joy accusation - nod agreement. A low key evening.
November 26th
Arrive at small room off St Dunstan’s church hall. Miriam’s mother is seated behind a table of cups and saucers. Mrs Ferguson and the vicar are manhandling a dress rail of brightly coloured garments out of an alcove. Both wear tape measures round their necks. Spot Miriam. She is in charge of video and portable television. There are five other women and one man with a leatherette shopping bag.
We have all paid two pounds to get in, which includes as much tea and biscuits as we can consume. We sit on a row of wooden chairs. Miriam closes the door.
‘Ah, thank you,’ says vicar. ‘Lights please.’
Miriam switches off light and stumbles back to her place at video control. Television screen - perhaps ten inches wide? Assembled audience peers at Fab Clothing sales video. Camera pans across large hall, seemingly packed with women dressed like lady mayoresses, all smiling and clapping gloved hands. Pan back to catwalk. Young women also dressed as lady mayoresses slouch up and down, drawing attention to braiding on cuff, button detail, ingenious kick pleat in back of skirt.
One model in close up demonstrates six different ways with an elasticated flower bracelet - bracelet, necklace, pony tail scrunch, bandeau, belt and hippy head band. Video finishes. Miriam switches light back on. I clap.
In front of us vicar stands beaming confidently, hands clasped in front of her. Will she start the sale with a prayer? No. Says to man with shopping bag, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step outside as us ladies will be trying on.’
‘I’ve come on behalf of my wife,’ man blusters.
‘I’m sure you have and here’s a brochure to take back to her.’
Exit man looking miffed.
Vicar says, ‘The secret to Fab Clothing’s success is versatility, which means to you and me, i.e. women on limited budgets - economy.’
NB. Should have said vicar is wearing black tights and leotard over dog collar. Mrs Ferguson hands vicar a tube of emerald green cloth. Like a magician vicar demonstrates how tube can take her from the office - tube becomes a knee length skirt with useful pockets, to a cocktail bar - pulls tube up to under her armpits and it is a skin tight dress - to a grand ball. Wow! Turns out that tube is double layered. Vicar peels top layer down to make skin tight ankle length skirt again with useful pockets. Miriam’s mother and I clap.
‘Hold it folks,’ says vicar. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.’
Takes off tube. Turns pockets inside out. Undoes two invisible rows of poppers in pockets and hey presto tube has become a hooded short sleeved top ideal to combat light spring showers. Everyone claps.
Vicar shows us more wonders, none as impressive as tube. Vicar could sell ice cubes to eskimos. Everyone buys tube. I buy three in emerald, scarlet and black.
At home find I can make skirt, long skirt and cocktail frock but not hooded top. Almost asphyxiate myself trying to free my head from useful pocket. Realise tubes are made of a horrid polyester jersey which may not breathe. Have spent ninety pounds. Hugely resent Miriam and vicar.
November 27th
Just when I’m thinking that Margaret of Bittlesea Bay must have dropped off the map, Laura rings back re. her running opponent. She’s ringing from her mother’s under-stair cupboard, so her voice is slightly muffled due to winter coats and general lack of oxygen. Conversation interrupted with, ‘Fags Mum. And ashtray. Chop chop.’ Later I hear a burst of the frantic opening music to Hawaii 50. ‘Mum can you turn it down?’ Laura says.
‘Another boxed set?’ I ask.
‘Mum’s given up on jigsaws. She’s gone boxed set mad.’
Laura says the reason she’s stopped worrying about Iris’s running partner is that she’s seen running partner’s romantic partner and the woman’s stupendous.
Ask, ‘Isn’t Iris stupendous?’
Laura pauses then says, ‘Iris is an acquired taste. Now what about you? Still suicidal?’
Explain that I was never suicidal, more very depressed. Also there is someone I rather like who I think might rather like me, but frankly I’m frightened of falling in love and being hurt again.
‘Hmm,’ says Laura. ‘Yes I will have a Guinness. Aren’t you rather jumping the gun - you might get several years happiness in before being hurt again? Thanks Mum. Cheers.’
‘Cheers. But how can I believe that someone really cares about me?’
‘Because nobody’s going to put up with you for several years if they’re not at least fond of you.’
Change tack slightly while I have Laura’s attention. ‘So what am I doing wrong that makes them stop being fond of me?’
‘You’re not doing anything wrong. Anyone can get tired of their favourite meal if they have it every night and Mum says some relationships aren’t meant to last forever. Thank you, Mum.’
‘Is your mum listening in?’
‘She was just dusting the extension.’
November 29th
Spot Janice’s white lorry parked outside my house as I walk up hill. She must have seen me, because she suddenly leaps out of the cab. Janice does not look sullen - she looks happy. Immediately imagine she’s about to tell me that she’s met a fabulous new woman in the last few days. Steel myself for bad news.
However, Janice starts whistling self-consciously and wipes wing mirror with her sleeve as I approach. Just somehow know that, in this instance, I am the reason she looks happy.
Our faces move unfamiliarly together. I kiss her ear; she kisses a strand of my hair. We go indoors and I say, ‘Should we get started, there’s not much daylight left?’
Janice blinks and looks confused. Instantly we both become scarlet faced. Quickly explain that I am talking about digging up sheet metal from Mr Wheeler’s side of the fence. Janice nods and grins. Goes back out to her lorry for her pickaxe. I hear her chuckling to herself. Get two spades from my shed.
Mr Wheeler out on Watch but his back gate was open. It proved very hard job. He’d dug the sheet metal into the ground with a vengeance. It went down at least two foot. Felt sad while digging, thinking of Mr Wheeler, then only middle-age
d, blocking out any reminder of good times. Said as much to Janice.
She said, ‘Never mind Mr Wheeler, what about you Margaret?’
We both paused for a breather. Very cold afternoon but hot work. Told her I was still pretty miserable about myself. Said I’d lost confidence and felt it was hard to look forward to my future. Muttered the word trust. Said it wasn’t easy to believe in a happy future when I seemed to have a prescribed life pattern that started with high hopes and ended with someone (me) feeling like a dropped stitch. Laughed weakly. Janice didn’t laugh at all.
‘You have to take risks sometimes. We all have to,’ she said.
‘I know.’
‘I think we’re there,’ she said. ‘The metal sheets. I can get my pickaxe underneath and lever them up if you hold them steady.’
We worked together. At first the sheets wouldn’t budge, seemed determinedly stuck in the mud. I had a fleeting thought that Georgie would have done this on her own, or got Nic or Mr Wheeler’s help. Where would I have been? Making tea for the workers. On the periphery.
At last they came out. We refilled the deep holes but left a little space between the ground and the bottom of the fence. Just in case.
It was dark, too dark to read Janice’s face. I said, ‘Do you remember us meeting months ago at the Glass Bar?’
Janice bent forward, patting the earth with the back of her spade. ‘Yes.’
‘You made quite an impression on me, I wrote about you in my diary.’
‘Yet you didn’t recognise me when you met me again.’
‘No, but you were familiar.’
‘I recognised you straight away. It was,’ she said, straightening up, ‘like fate.’