by Penny Thomas
Lowri went downstairs and flung open the back door. A fresh breeze rushed in, swirling around the kitchen and stirring the old blue curtains that still hung at the window. Outside there was a wild garden divided by another shingle path edged with shells, leading straight to the beach. She caught the tang of the salt sea air, heard the cry of the gulls and the sound of the waves. A short walk followed by a scramble over some rocks soon brought her to a crescent-shaped sandy beach edged by low grassy cliffs. Pink sea thrift and glossy buttercups bobbed in the gentle breeze. Directly in front of the cliffs were rock pools. Lowri blinked. She had thought she was alone on the beach, but had caught sight of a sudden movement. She rounded a small promontory and saw a child, a girl of about eight years old. The child was gazing into one of the pools, completely absorbed in collecting shells. These she held in the hem of her trailing floral dress. Her face was obscured by long hair and a battered straw hat.
For a second, time seemed to stand still as a cloud moved over, and then the sun came out and illuminated the scene. The girl turned slowly, looked in Lowri’s direction, and smiled. Then she waved. Lowri’s heart lifted and she looked around in surprise, seeking perhaps the girl’s parent, friends…but the beach was deserted and when she turned back to wave, the girl was gone.
Walking back, the sunlight was bright enough to make the raindrops sparkle on the grassy edge of the shingle path. It gleamed on the shells, highlighting their ribbed and whorled shapes and bringing out their delicate pinks and greys and soft beige colours, all glistening and shining with rain. The upstairs windows of the house flashed with gold, and the wet slate roof had turned to silver.
With a light step Lowri hurried back along the shell-lined path to the open door of the cottage. From there she stopped to look at the view before her, then reached for her phone and keyed Sam’s number.
‘Sam!’ she cried, as his cheerful voice answered. ‘The cottage! It’s wonderful! We’re home!’
Convention is the Mother of Reality
or
A Day in the Life of Alexandra Preston
Nic Herriot
‘Oi, is that what you want to call it? Wasn’t it Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn who was in the gulag in Siberia? You don’t think you’re in a Russian prison do you?’
‘No, but I’m being made to do this aren’t I?’
‘Are you? I thought you liked these life story sessions?’
‘Well… It was either this or the art class, colouring in between the lines of children’s pictures.’
‘Yes…well… She was misguided.’
‘Where is she now anyway, have you guided her out the door yet?’
‘Ooo, good one, now stop laughing, the laptop is on and ready to go, so where do you want to start?’
‘Where I always start, with a cup of tea…’
*
‘Morning, Alex, are you awake, would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Oh hello, a cup of tea? Thank you.’
‘A smile, cup of tea and breakfast when you’re up and ready.’
I sit up slowly getting my bearings; I recognise the woman bringing my tea but can’t remember her name. It feels too early in the morning. I feel that I’m on the wrong side of the bed, I never sleep on this side of the bed…and on my own, and where’s Martha gone, why didn’t she wake me?
‘Has Martha gone already? Where is she?’
‘I don’t know love; she’s probably at work and will come and see you this afternoon. Here’s your cup of tea, I’ll put it here on the table and leave you to wake up properly. Give me a bell if you need anything else before you get up.’
An old lady wanders in singing at the top of her voice. ‘Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war…’
Here we go again I think as she sings on. A verse into it someone shouts out, ‘Pass the ammunition.’ We all laugh, the old lady not noticing the kerfuffle continues her singing.
Martha joins me in time for tea break. I pass her a plate and cup and saucer. ‘Have we had breakfast?’
‘Yes, you had breakfast a few hours ago, you had a bacon sandwich, don’t you remember?’ The lady bringing me a cup of tea and biscuits answers before Martha can.
‘Did I have tomato sauce on it?’ I ask.
‘Yes, you did cos I had to go down to the kitchen to ask for another bottle, we had run out.’
‘I don’t remember,’ I whisper to Martha, ‘but I do like tomato sauce on bacon sandwiches so she must be right.’ I sort out the cups and plates of biscuits so she can reach them. ‘Do you remember First Out, that little café we would go to when we arrived in London, before doing anything else? Lovely place, very friendly, shame it had to close down. A mug of tea and then walk down that long bookshop road, what was it called? To the woman’s bookshop, Silver Moon. That’s gone as well.’ I play with my cup, thinking back, the tea too hot to drink.
That wasn’t with me that was with your ex.
‘Oh sorry, it’s all one memory these days, but you have been there with me though haven’t you?’
Yes, a couple of times.
‘So it wasn’t with you I went to that club, Vixens, when I finally knew I was in the right place?’
No, that was her again, but I don’t mind, if you didn’t go to that club you would never have been with me.
I squeeze Martha’s hand. ‘I would have, in the end, eventually, like Sliding Rooms, we always get to where we are going in the end.’
Doors, the film was called Sliding Doors.
I absentmindedly lift off the top layer of my bourbon biscuit, triumphant in the fact that it comes off leaving the chocolate filling intact.
‘Can Charlotte join you?’ I look up from my dislocated biscuit and use it to point to the spare chair so Lottie can join us. I rearrange our cups and plates around to make room for her.
‘Morning Lottie, I haven’t seen you for ages.’
I turn to Martha. ‘We met at the library, didn’t we Lottie, we go there together now cos we both like to read.’
‘And the quiet. I like to read the books and the wassanames. Those and then we do the, the thing.’ Lottie turns imaginary pages with her hands, describing the magazines we read.
A couple walk up to our table. They are holding hands. ‘We would like to book a taxi to Aberystwyth and two hotel rooms please.’
I look at Martha and Lottie confused. ‘We are in Aberystwyth aren’t we?’ I ask.
‘Oh, thank you,’ replies the man. ‘Can we see our hotel rooms please?’
The tea lady comes up. ‘Can I help? Can I show you your rooms, they are this way…’
‘Thank you, shall we pay for them now?’ They walk away with the tea lady to see their rooms.
‘Isn’t he, you know, wassa…wassaname, got a thingy?’ Lottie points to the rings on her hand.
‘I don’t think that’s his wife, is it?’ I know I’ve got a bad memory but…’
The tea lady comes back and sits at our table.
‘Yes, and I hope he has forgotten about his weekend away when his wife comes to visit this afternoon.’
Lottie giggles. ‘There’s going to be trouble.’
‘There’s a call for you, on your iPad, it’s your son, and do you want to chat to him?’
I’m handed a picture of someone waving at me.
‘Hello, Mum.’
‘Is that you, Dad? What’re you doing calling me here?’
‘No, Mum, it’s Simon, your son, Granddad is…’
Martha nudges me up to sit next to me on the sofa. I turn the photo frame slightly so she can see.
That’s Simon, silly, can’t you tell?
‘We thought you would like to see your brand new great-grandson. He’s only three days old.’
The picture swings about as Simon moves his iPad towards a girl waving madly and holding a baby.
‘Oh look, it’s…it’s…’
It’s Rachel, your granddaughter. As usual Martha steps in to give me a name I’ve forgotten for a face that is
not forgotten.
I peer at the screen. ‘He’s lovely, and very small.’
He’s only three days old. She tells me.
A boy appears next to Rachel. ‘Hello Granny Preston. What do you think? Isn’t he lovely? We haven’t got a name yet; we are trying out various ones to see what fits him.’
The images blur as it’s moved. Simon appears again. ‘Mum, I’m coming over to visit next week so I’ll bring some photos for you.’
‘We could go out and get a little present for him.’ I turn to the lady standing near-by. ‘Where is my money kept? Do I have any?’
‘Yes, your money is kept in the office, it’s safe. You can get it if you want to go shopping.’
‘There you go, Simon. We’ll go shopping and get something for him.’
‘OK, Mum, see you next week, I’ll give you a last look at the little fellow before I sign off. Bye.’
I wave at Rachel and her little baby and the other man who is waving back and their faces disappear.
‘Is this yours?’ I ask as I hold up the photo frame to the lady who has stood up. ‘Yes, I’ll put it safe up here for next time you need it. He looks a lovely little baby.’
‘Yes, he’s my grandson,’ I say proudly.
‘Great-grandson.’ Say the lady and Martha at the same time. ‘I’m not old enough to be a great-granny,’ I laugh. ‘I don’t feel that old anyway.’
‘It’s lunchtime now, do you want to come along for some lunch?’ Someone comes up to us. I squint at her badge. Kathy.
‘I haven’t cooked anything? How have I managed to make lunch when I’ve been with Lottie?’
‘When you paid for your room all your food was included, so all your meals get cooked for you. Like if you were staying in a hotel or something.’
‘Oooooo, there’s posh. I get fed-up with cooking all the time so I’m glad it’s not me today. Imagine cooking for this lot.’ I point to some people sitting by the window. I smile at her and take her proffered arm as she walks me to my table.
Martha appears on my other side. You are such a flirt; I saw that, you smiling at Kathy. A big grin on her face, knowing she has caught me out.
‘I don’t know what you mean, and anyway I have three words to say to you, York – Festival – Rona Cameron.’
That’s four words.
‘I have four words to say…’
Whisht now. Martha squeezes my hand, you do go on. I smile in return and take my time to rearrange the table so there is room for her. Lottie sits on my other side. ‘Hello Lottie, are you having lunch with us? You’re in luck, I didn’t cook this. Apparently we have staff who cook for us.’
‘Yes, I know…sometimes they do it in the you know…’ She makes a stirring motion with her hands.
‘We always have lunch cooked for us.’ A big booming voice comes out across the dining room.
‘Shut up,’ shouts someone from another table.
We lean in together, and laugh. ‘Here we go,’ giggles Lottie, ‘Going to be trouble in the, you know, what’saname.’
I sit on the sofa dozing. A lady sits down beside me.
‘She’s nuts, she shouldn’t be here.’ She points her finger at the lady sitting at a table, using her other hand to hide the fact that she is pointing to her.
‘What did she say?’ the marked out lady asks me.
‘She is asking what time lunch is.’ I reply, one eye squinting at the woman who woke me up.
‘What did she say?’ the first lady points at her again.
I get up and go and find Martha. There is going to be trouble in here and I want nothing of it.
Someone I recognise comes up to me, smiling.
‘How do you fancy going shopping this afternoon, I thought you might like to buy some new shirts.’ It’s Emma who is holding a taxi’s card, phone in her other hand.
‘Do I have any money to buy things; I haven’t got any on me.’
‘Don’t worry I have your card here; it’s kept in the office so it doesn’t get lost.’
‘Are you going to carry it for me then, in case I lose it?’
‘Yes, I can keep it in my pocket. We’re going with Charlotte and Zoe.’
‘Can Martha come? Is there room in the car for her?’ I look around for Martha not even sure where she is but not wanting to leave her behind.
‘I’m sure Martha can find her own way there if you tell her where we are going.’
‘Where are we going again?’
‘We’re going to the shopping centre; I thought you would like to see what they have there.’
‘Will you be able to find it?’ I ask Martha. She kisses my cheek. I’ll be there.
I snuggle down into my coat; it’s my favourite, it reminds me of my duvet.
‘I love this coat,’ I zip it up and pull the collar up around my ears. ‘It’s like wearing a duvet, like being in bed.’
‘It looks warm and you’ll need it, it’s cold out today.’
Lottie is rummaging through her handbag and looks up. ‘It’s a lazy…you know…blows all round you.’
‘Wind? Do you mean wind? What’s a lazy wind?’ asks Emma.
‘It’s what my mum used to say. A wind that goes through you, it’s too lazy to go round you.’ Lottie is still searching through her handbag. She pulls out a spare jumper, a dog bowl and some biscuits and a hairbrush and then stuffs them back in.
I peer in. ‘You’ve got everything in there. What do you want a dog’s bowl for?’
‘It’s for…for…the whatshername, you know, the brown thing.’
‘The dog?’
‘Yes, the dog, we’ve got a dog across the hall. Need to have you know…the things.’
‘Have we got everyone now?’ asks Emma.
‘We haven’t got a dog though, I know that much.’ I mutter to Martha. Whisht now, that’s not like you. Why can’t she have a dog…?
We leave the warmth of the hallway to get into the taxi.
Lottie looks up at the clouds, ‘The sky’s all mouldy.’
‘Mouldy?’ queries Emma, looking up. ‘Yes, I guess that’s a good word for it, might even snow.’
‘Wow, it is huge. So much stuff.’
Emma goes off with Lottie who has gone to look at the shoes.
I reach out to the first rail of bright flowery shirts and as I touch a shirt, it falls onto the floor. I pick it up and put it back on the rail but it misses and falls down again. I knock the next one off trying to pick it up. Zoe comes to my rescue and as I move out of her way Martha walks towards me. I watch her and smile, remembering that very first time in that nightclub she walked towards me.
I put my arms out encompassing the store. ‘Have you ever seen so much stuff? Look at the shirts, aren’t they wonderful?’
And bright. Martha puts her arm through mine, bringing us closer.
‘Would you like to try one of these on?’ Zoe is holding up two shirts.
‘Can I? Which one do I want? Can I have both?’
I have a basketful of shirts and I watch a television screen showing me lots of furniture and people sitting on sofas. Martha has wandered off again, probably to look at the kitchen things.
I walk into the sitting room, showing off my new shirt. ‘Very lovely,’ says the lady from lunch time.
‘Too loud,’ shouts the man who looks up from watching the TV, and who is always too loud.
‘How can my shirt be louder than you? This is the height of fashion.’ I shout back, at the same time as doing a twirl to a lady applauding me.
‘Richard, leave the telly alone now and come and have your tea, come and sit over here.’
‘Not near me, I don’t want him sitting at our table.’
‘No, he can sit here, you sit at that table with Sally and Lottie, and at least they are not causing trouble.’ She gives me a wink and I settle down. I look to see where Martha will sit. I sort out her knife, fork and spoon, making sure she can sit next to me.
‘I hope it’s not spaghetti bolognese,�
�� I say. ‘I always make a mess when I wear new shirts and eat spaghetti.’
‘It’s so bright no one will notice. Did you get free sunglasses with it? Anyway, it’s chicken curry. You might be safer with this.’ Carol puts my tea in front of me. ‘Who’s the other place set for? You expecting guests?’
‘Do you remember as a kid wanting to sleep in your Brownie uniform?’
‘What?’ I look at Sally.
‘When I got my first Brownie uniform, I didn’t want to take it off, I was so proud I wanted to sleep in it. Mum wouldn’t let me. Said I had to hang it up, keep it special. The next morning she came in and found me with it on under my pyjamas.’
‘Welly boots. I loved my red wellies when I was little; I wanted to wear them in the wassa…wassaname, when Mum wanted to…me.’ Lottie mimes washing her face. ‘I wanted to wear them to school. She said, “no.”’
‘My daughter wouldn’t take off her new ninja warriors t-shirt when she got one for Christmas last year.’ Carol came over with another plate of curry. ‘Wore it till it could walk by itself. I had to pinch it off her and wash it one night. Here you go, Sally, if you were a Brownie are you prepared for this curry?’
‘Always.’ Sally holds up a spoon ready to eat.
‘What did you want to wear and never take off?’ Carol asks me as she serves Lottie.
‘I dunno really, I was too young to remember…maybe I didn’t wear any clothes.’
‘I’m not having people with no clothes on in here.’ Richard shouts from the other table.
‘Shut up listening,’ shouts back Sally.
I grin at Lottie who giggles. ‘Going to be trouble in the, the…’
In my favourite blue pyjamas I get into bed and watch Carol put a mug of tea on my bedside table.
‘This is very small for a double bed isn’t it?’ I ask.
‘It’s a single bed. Why would you want a bigger one?’
‘I like a bit of room to move about, though. I like a bit of leg room.’
‘I didn’t think you were that big.’ She laughs. ‘See you tomorrow.’ She waves goodnight as she leaves.
Martha settles in next to me. I put my book down and snuggle down next to her.