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‘I thought I might take you to my local pub,’ said John.
We’d shelved the subject of marriage for the moment. It was already a certainty. It was only the practicalities that needed to be worked out. Like, how to tell my parents.
As before, John drove at speed, but this time it was through tiny twisty lanes with high hedges. We were obviously travelling far from the city.
Alison had borrowed her mother’s car once or twice and we’d explored a little of Devon – Dartmoor and the coast – but I’d not been in this sort of terrain before.
I hung on to the door while John poured out a stream of information. It had been my turn at the party. It was his turn now.
He was a year older than me. He worked at the university as an electronics technician. He came from Bedfordshire – a ‘home’ county (close to London) like Kent where I was brought up - but had moved down here with his girlfriend.
She’d been a student at the university and they’d lived together in a country cottage with a floating population of other males.
At the end of her studies she’d left John and gone off with one of the other men in the house. That had been in September of the year before, which explained a lot.
He still lived in the cottage but he was on his own there now.
We arrived in a village and pulled up outside a thatched building. Up some stone steps and through a studded door and we were in a long room with a wood fire at one end that scented the air. Small tables dotted the room and behind a counter with shiny brass handles stood a man with a beard and blue eyes that bored into me.
‘Richard,’ said John, pushing me forward. ‘This is Belinda.’
I had the impression that John had talked about me to Richard and that this was some sort of test.
‘And what do you do?’ Richard demanded.
What did I do? My mind whirled. My life had turned upside down in the space of twenty-four hours and I struggled to remember anything.
‘I . . . I’m a student,’ I stuttered.
‘I know that,’ said Richard with irritation, as if students were ten a penny. ‘I meant, what subjects do you do?’
I answered automatically. ‘French and Spanish.’
Richard nodded and went to serve another customer. Somehow, I’d passed the test. I was proud. I liked the man.
We left the pub and traversed more lanes that became smaller and smaller before coming to a dead end. We climbed out of the car and my feet squelched in mud. John led me over broken flagstones to a door.
A single lightbulb illuminated a hallway, its floor patched with frayed lino. To the right I could see a large room crammed with stuff. It looked like a junk shop. To the left, was a room with a bath and festoons of grey washing. Ahead were the stairs, under which stood a fridge and a cooker but no other signs of kitchen.
It was so cold I could see my breath.
Upstairs we made our way along a passage, kicking aside clothes as we went.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ said John. ‘It’s not mine. It’s what everybody left behind.’
At the end of a passage he opened the door to a sea of more clothes, a single paraffin heater in the middle of the sea, and a mattress against one wall, on which sat a tortoiseshell cat who was looking at me with deep suspicion.
‘That’s Kitten,’ said John. ‘She likes marzipan.’
I lowered myself on to the edge of the mattress, while Kitten leapt off and stalked out of the door, tail held high.
We’d shelved the subject of marriage for the moment. It was already a certainty. It was only the practicalities that needed to be worked out. Like, how to tell my parents.
As before, John drove at speed, but this time it was through tiny twisty lanes with high hedges. We were obviously travelling far from the city.
Alison had borrowed her mother’s car once or twice and we’d explored a little of Devon – Dartmoor and the coast – but I’d not been in this sort of terrain before.
I hung on to the door while John poured out a stream of information. It had been my turn at the party. It was his turn now.
He was a year older than me. He worked at the university as an electronics technician. He came from Bedfordshire – a ‘home’ county (close to London) like Kent where I was brought up - but had moved down here with his girlfriend.
She’d been a student at the university and they’d lived together in a country cottage with a floating population of other males.
At the end of her studies she’d left John and gone off with one of the other men in the house. That had been in September of the year before, which explained a lot.
He still lived in the cottage but he was on his own there now.
We arrived in a village and pulled up outside a thatched building. Up some stone steps and through a studded door and we were in a long room with a wood fire at one end that scented the air. Small tables dotted the room and behind a counter with shiny brass handles stood a man with a beard and blue eyes that bored into me.
‘Richard,’ said John, pushing me forward. ‘This is Belinda.’
I had the impression that John had talked about me to Richard and that this was some sort of test.
‘And what do you do?’ Richard demanded.
What did I do? My mind whirled. My life had turned upside down in the space of twenty-four hours and I struggled to remember anything.
‘I . . . I’m a student,’ I stuttered.
‘I know that,’ said Richard with irritation, as if students were ten a penny. ‘I meant, what subjects do you do?’
I answered automatically. ‘French and Spanish.’
Richard nodded and went to serve another customer. Somehow, I’d passed the test. I was proud. I liked the man.
We left the pub and traversed more lanes that became smaller and smaller before coming to a dead end. We climbed out of the car and my feet squelched in mud. John led me over broken flagstones to a door.
A single lightbulb illuminated a hallway, its floor patched with frayed lino. To the right I could see a large room crammed with stuff. It looked like a junk shop. To the left, was a room with a bath and festoons of grey washing. Ahead were the stairs, under which stood a fridge and a cooker but no other signs of kitchen.
It was so cold I could see my breath.
Upstairs we made our way along a passage, kicking aside clothes as we went.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ said John. ‘It’s not mine. It’s what everybody left behind.’
At the end of a passage he opened the door to a sea of more clothes, a single paraffin heater in the middle of the sea, and a mattress against one wall, on which sat a tortoiseshell cat who was looking at me with deep suspicion.
‘That’s Kitten,’ said John. ‘She likes marzipan.’
I lowered myself on to the edge of the mattress, while Kitten leapt off and stalked out of the door, tail held high.
Against the wall to one side was a record-player and racks of long-playing records.
John flicked through the LPs before finding one and putting it on the turntable. A man’s voice rang out, strong and clear.
To be any more
Than all I am
Would be a lie.
I’m so full of love
I could burst apart
And start to cry.
I couldn’t breathe.
John flicked through the LPs before finding one and putting it on the turntable. A man’s voice rang out, strong and clear.
To be any more
Than all I am
Would be a lie.
I’m so full of love
I could burst apart
And start to cry.
I couldn’t breathe.
He was singing directly to us, for us, for me.
I too was about to burst apart.
When you look back at the things we did in our youth … generally for love … we were quite reckless. Not sure I would half of what I did then now … nor would I feel comfortable about you going girls I know doing the same kind of thing. I’m not even talking about anything really that bad … just stuff like walking home from a nightclub, half cut in the dark. Certainly wouldn’t do that now x
ReplyDeleteVery true!
ReplyDelete