by Robert Ward
I’ll go now, Rich. I’m becoming maudlin. Besides, I think I can hear my milk boiling over. Write soon. You’re increasingly becoming my only lifeline.
Liz.
Elizabeth carefully copied the inordinately long address onto the envelope and propped it up on the mantelpiece next to the clock, which was where all outgoing mail was placed. Otherwise nothing would ever get posted.
It was a beautifully warm summer afternoon and she sat in the armchair nearest to the open window and breathed-in the tasty air from the breeze that blew down from the street above and into the room. The thin lace curtains billowed out and a couple of little insects were caught in the close intricate web of the material.
It was the sixth week of a heat wave when not a drop of rain had fallen and hardly a cloud had been spotted in the blazingly hot blue sky. A hosepipe ban had been introduced of course, which was always a source of amusement, as it was often wondered what happened to all the rain which seemed to fall for the other forty-odd weeks of the year. It was also wondered how in places with genuinely continuous hot weather, people managed to survive at all. It was the same in winter of course, when two weeks of snow brought the country to a standstill. How did they manage in Canada, or Russia? Maybe they didn’t, manage, that is.
Elizabeth blew the smoke from her cigarette across the room and watched as the tiny particles turned blue in the streaming sunlight, forming quite beautiful patterns of thin layers and thicker clouds. Chiaroscuro. There was so much of it from one exhalation, she thought. She reached down to the floor for her glass of orange juice and took a long drink. The ice cubes had almost melted and she swallowed a thin cold sliver of one and ran her tongue around her teeth in an effort to warm them. She then closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift off somewhere in the hot comfort of the day.
Bettina, known as Bunty to everyone who knew her, had put on what for her was a light summer dress, though in fact it was very high-necked and far too long. It was a lovely dark pink colour though and she did feel cooler in it than in her usual tweed suit. She knew that she dressed in a way that reinforced people’s view of her as an eccentric old maid and that she was seen as a classic stereotype, but that was the way she was, and she had enough self-esteem not to let it bother her, and in some ways she even revelled in her perceived role. People like her did exist.
In the matter of personal hygiene however, she did leave rather a lot to be desired. Being a large person, fat in fact, she did tend to perspire more than was usual, especially in hot weather of course, and despite frequent washing and the application of deodorants, within an hour or so her smell was pungent and acrid. Indeed, it was unfair to suggest that she neglected her own hygiene, because she didn’t. It was just something she couldn’t do anything about. Fifty years ago, at boarding school, she had been known as smelly Cunliffe, though often a T was inserted, and eventually it had become something like, Cuntwhiff. The pattern had been set for her, it seemed, at an early age. Girls at boarding school in those days being quite as awful as their male counterparts.
Bathed, dressed and perfumed, Bunty, a name which she well knew categorised her again, left her nice little mews house in a leafy suburb where she lived alone and got into her old but reliable Citroen. In a moment she was driving towards Elizabeth’s flat along the baking hot roads where it seemed amazing that the tarmac hadn’t melted.
They had met at the photograph library where Bunty worked, when Elizabeth was doing some research for a documentary on social history in inner cities. Bunty had been engaged by this beautiful young woman from the start, though, contrary to popular belief, she had no sexual designs on her whatsoever. In fact, Bunty couldn’t ever remember having sexual designs on anyone. She was one of those asexual people she had just learned existed from a late night discussion programme on the television. It was something she perhaps regretted, or rather thought that she should regret, but, being honest with herself, she had enjoyed her life even though she seemed to have missed out on what to so many other people seemed so important.
She knew also, that despite her unprepossessing physical form, she could have had lovers, as was evident from the many women who were like her and had husbands and lovers and children. It was simply something that she had never wanted to do. That was not to say however that she had never felt the need for friendship or companionship or for someone simply to listen to what she had to say. That was quite another matter. Even though she didn’t conform to the norm, Bunty still needed some kind of human contact to keep herself sane. That was why she was going to see Elizabeth. To take her out somewhere on this glorious summer day, for the company.
Bunty parked the car in the street outside and descended the steps to the flat and rang the bell. The insistent ring brought Elizabeth out of her trance, and after automatically reaching for a drink, she realised that it was the front door and that she was expecting someone.
“Hi, Bunty. Come in. Gosh, it’s sweltering, isn’t it? Do you want a drink? I’ve been drinking gallons.”
Elizabeth was wearing white shorts and blue canvas shoes, with a beige cotton shirt with a lace-up neck which she had open.
“Ginger beer would be nice,” Bunty said. “If you’ve got any, of course.”
“Ginger ale. Will that do?”
“Yes, fine.”
“I’ll get you some. Go in and make yourself comfortable.”
Elizabeth wondered what she had let herself in for as she broke open a tray of ice cubes at the sink. Bunty seemed like a nice old bird though, if a little odd, and she had nothing better to do. She couldn’t actually remember how they had come to arrange their day out. She supposed she hadn’t been listening properly and before realising it had agreed. She was normally good at making excuses, as she was a convincing liar and could make the most outlandish story seem plausible. It appeared that her lack of concentration had on this occasion cost her the day.
Bunty drank thirstily from her tall glass of ginger ale.
“My goodness, that was welcome,” she said. “I was quite dehydrated. The heat is almost Mediterranean.”
“I don’t think I could stand it all the time. But we tend to complain about the weather, whatever it is, don’t we.”
“That and make tea,” Bunty said, and they both laughed.
The heat inside the car was tremendous even with all the windows open, until they had driven a little way and the breeze and their speed cooled them a little. Even so, the heat of the leather seat under Elizabeth’s legs made it uncomfortable to sit on.
Elizabeth was wearing very dark, shiny sunglasses which made it impossible to see her eyes and was sitting with her head tilted back over the top of the headrest on the seat. Her skin felt moist and clammy all over, but especially at her temples and the hollow of her neck. She sighed and drew in a deep breath of warm air.
Bunty, doing the driving of course, was more or less sitting in a pool of sweat and her dark pink dress had turned a much darker shade still in various places. Her straight fringe of almost completely grey hair was stuck to her forehead like some kind of close fitting helmet and she frequently had to draw the back of her hand over her eyebrows to prevent the sweat from running down and blinding her.
A dragonfly flew in through the window and Elizabeth swatted it against the windscreen with a road map that was lying on top of the dashboard.
“Now that was a big mistake,” she said to its squashed remains. “Is there a tissue paper somewhere? To wipe away the carcass?”
“In the glove compartment,” Bunty said. “There should be some there.”
“Nope,” Elizabeth said, peering into it and rummaging about. “Just a sec, I’ve got one in my bag of course. Yuk, the insides of bodies are disgusting aren’t they, all bodies. It is truly amazing how they work though. All of this mess was alive a moment ago.”
They were going to a place on the river where there was a marina and a pavilion and lawns leading down from a couple of hotels. They had both been there before, indepe
ndently of course, and it seemed as good a place as any to spend a summer afternoon. They would probably have tea there and sit in the sunshine.
“It’s odd the way we feel we have to go places, isn’t it,” Elizabeth said, leaning back again with her eyes closed. “Like we always have to do something. I suppose because life is so essentially boring. Being in a place with other people, where they have gone to do things, seems to make you feel you’re not wasting your time. But all you do is talk and eat and drink and watch other people doing the same. There’s work of course, and some people find that satisfying, if it’s creative or constructive, you know, like making a film or a bridge, or something, if you’ve got talent or ability that is. It’s difficult if you haven’t though. Most people just work for the money of course, and even then, most people’s jobs seem to be pointless. I don’t understand economics at all. Where does the money actually come from? Does what you do actually create the money you earn? I can’t see it for most people, in most jobs. I suppose it must do though, unless we’re all being subsidised by something else, just to keep most of us occupied. What is it they say? Part of society?”
Elizabeth opened her eyes and leaned forward a little and looked across at Bunty.
“God, sorry. Have I been rambling? I must have been boring you to death.”
“Not at all,” Bunty said, looking back at her for a second. “You’re very interesting.”
“How kind.”
“No, truly.”
“You might want to qualify that by the end of the day.”
“I don’t think so, somehow,” Bunty said, smiling.
Elizabeth took some chewy mints from her bag and offered one to Bunty.
“Do you like driving? I hate it. I can’t concentrate you see, at least, not for long enough. I drift off. I’m amazed I haven’t killed anyone. I’d offer to take over but we’re much safer as we are. You look like you’ve been in a sauna, are you okay?”
Bunty, who was sweating from every pore and breathing heavily, nodded her head.
“Yes, we’re almost there, thank goodness. If we weren’t, I’d have to take a break. It is tremendously hot in here.”
“I’m afraid it is out there too. I should have put some blockers on, but I can never be bothered. It hardly seems worth it. Not when we usually have so few days like this. Though this year has been exceptional.”
“Your skin is very fair,” Bunty said. “You should be careful.”
They arrived at the riverside and found a parking space. They then walked up the gentle slope towards one of the hotels which had a tearoom facing one of the lawns, with tables set out on it.
There were many people at the riverside, as they had expected, walking and milling and sitting and talking and eating and drinking. They created a quiet hum in accompaniment to the sounds of oar-blades and engines in the water. There was even a small paddle steamer called the Mississippi Gambler that plied up and down the river, though it was doubtful whether any plantations were won or lost on the turn of a card.
Elizabeth and Bunty sat at one of the white tables at the farthest end of the lawn from the hotel, nearest to the river, and ordered a pot of tea with ham sandwiches and cream cakes. The table had an umbrella-shade, and that, together with being in the open air, made them feel a little cooler.
“I take it from what you were saying in the car that you don’t like your job, Elizabeth,” Bunty said while they were waiting for their tea to arrive.
“No, I don’t really. Not that I particularly hate it. It isn’t bad as jobs go, I suppose. I’ve thought about this before and come to that conclusion. But I don’t think I’d like any job, really. You see, like I was saying. It’s okay if you have some talent or ability to exploit, but I haven’t either. So any job I do, is rather meaningless.”
“I’m sure you’re both talented and able,” Bunty said.
“Now you really are trying to flatter me. If I was, what you say, I’m sure I would have discovered it by now. No, I’m afraid I’m one of those people who simply has nothing to contribute. It doesn’t sadden me too much. It’s simply a fact. And anyway, what about yourself? Are you happy at the photograph library? You give the impression that you are. You’re good at what you do, if that’s an indication.”
“I’ve always been interested in photography,” Bunty said as their tea arrived, served to them by a girl in a neat black and white uniform. “My father was a photographer you see, since before the war. He used to let me help him with the business. He taught me everything about the process and he had quite a valuable collection himself, going right back to the old daguerreotypes. He thought photography was an art form, just as much as any other, though of course most of his work was portrait, or technical, for the government. During the war though, he was an official photographer with the army. He took some of the photos at Belsen. That shook him. He said that some of the photos were so horrific that they were never publicly shown. When he died he donated his collection to the library where I work now.”
“Wow,” Elizabeth said. “So it’s in the blood. And you do enjoy it. What you do, I mean. That must be a great joy in your life.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Bunty said. “I suppose in that way, I’m very lucky.”
“I’ve always been fascinated by old photographs,” Elizabeth said. “They’re like time capsules, aren’t they? To think that that person, or thing, or scene, or whatever, was captured in an image at that precise moment, is unnerving in a sense, and… wonderful too. It makes you think that maybe all things are recorded somehow. You know, if we can do it with film or tape, or disc, with our limited abilities, surely there must be something else, outside us, that can do it? Some kind of record of everything? But saying that, I’m not sure that I would want everything that I’ve ever done to be recorded. You know, the horrible little things that you do. And what about thought, as well? God, no, that would be a nightmare.”
Their tea was hot and strong and refreshing and the ham sandwiches were delicious, the ham being cut thick and obviously from the bone, in that it wasn’t too sweet or watery. They then began on the cream cakes and asked for another pot of tea.
“I really can’t have any more,” Bunty said, after her fourth cake. “I’m as big as a bus as it is, and you really do feel your weight in the hot weather.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Elizabeth said. “All this nonsense about cholesterol and animal fat and whatever. I’ve always eaten and drunk exactly what I liked and I don’t intend to change. After all, you’ve got to die of something. Here, Bunty, that chocolate éclair looks especially delicious, have it.”
Bunty couldn’t resist, and ate it in three large, sensuous mouthfuls, enjoying the sweet texture of it, and laughing as some cream escaped from the corner of her mouth.
“That’s all right for you to say,” she said to Elizabeth after she’d finished her cake and wiped the cream from her cheek with a napkin. “You’re so young and don’t have to worry about these things. Wait until you’re my age and can’t move because you’re so fat. Not that it’ll happen to you. You’re one of those infuriating people who can eat like a horse and not put on an ounce, aren’t you.”
“What do you mean, so young?” Elizabeth asked. “How old do you think I am?”
“About twenty five?” Bunty said, giving an honest opinion.
“Ha, if only,” Elizabeth said. “Let me put it this way. Remember when you were a teenager and you made pacts with your friends that you’d kill yourselves before you were thirty? Well, I’m going to have to kill myself before very long.”
“That’s still so young,” Bunty said. “If only you knew.”
“I feel like, Methuselah. I seem to have lived since the last dinosaur turned up its toes, or whatever they had instead of toes.”
“Think of it this way,” Bunty said. “Whatever you’ve done with your life so far, or has happened in your life, you’ve got time enough to do it or experience it all over again, two or even three time
s. You’re still only a baby.”
“God, no, Bunty. Don’t say that. I couldn’t stand it.”
“You will, and you’ll enjoy it. Someone as beautiful as you.”
Elizabeth looked across the table at her and saw her square dull face with its heavy dark features and her broad shoulders that made her look, in shape, more like a man. She also noticed how after her last statement she had lowered her eyes.
“It isn’t quite so hot now, is it?” Elizabeth said, just for something to say.
“No, I’m more comfortable with it, now. It must be the river, I think. It’s strange how water, however little there is of it, makes things cooler.”
A small child who had been sitting with its parents and numerous siblings at a table near to theirs, toddled over to them and patted Bunty on the knee, calling her, Nana. Bunty smiled at it and gently turned it around, pointing it back in the direction of its parents.
“I hate children,” Elizabeth said.
“I try not to hate,” Bunty said.
After their tea, Elizabeth and Bunty went for a walk along the riverside. Bunty was splayfooted and her cork soled shoes thudded on the pavement. She was quite tall, Elizabeth noticed, as they walked side by side, and her pace was purposeful.
A cool breeze blew along the river and rippled the dark water, which had thick moss on its surface close to the banks, away from the traffic of boats and the paddle steamer. A faint smell of vegetation emanated from it, and hundreds of little insects flitted about just above the surface. The grassy banks had been closely cut, and here and there, willow trees wept their leafy branches into the river. The sky above was still a beautiful clear blue, and the Sun, though now on its downwards curve, was merciless in its unobstructed glare.
“If it wasn’t for the breeze, it would be unbearable,” Elizabeth said.