It’s just down here, past the drum shop. Can you imagine: a shop that sells only drums? Quite extraordinary.
You know I prefer stringed instruments. Did I tell you there was the most wonderful orchestral harp at the concert Harry and I went to on Saturday? Oh, and one of those huge kettle drums – is that what they’re called? They only used it once the whole night! I was watching and watching for the strike and got such a thrill when it happened.
(They continue walking arm-in-arm, not speaking. Suddenly, Lucy stumbles on a jutting footpath tile and she pitches forward. Pearl grabs at her, but Lucy slips from her grasp and lands face-first on the ground. Pearl screams. Several people run towards them.)
Oh, Lucy! Oh! Please, can someone help us?
(A smooth-faced man in his early 30s speaks) I have first-aid training. I’ll see what I can do.
Oh, thank you!
(The man gently assesses Lucy who looks stunned and has not spoken. He quietly asks her some questions and she answers him in a subdued voice. At last, he addresses Pearl.)
She’s going to need to see a doctor. For now, the bleeding has stopped.
Oh, a doctor. We took a bus here. What shall we do? I suppose I’ll call a taxi.
I’m happy to give the two of you a lift, if you feel comfortable with that.
(Pearl looks at Lucy)
What do you think, dear? Would you like this man to take us to the doctor’s, now?
(Lucy does not speak but nods gingerly. The man looks at Pearl.)
I’d better tell you my name: Liam Golightly. You’re welcome to send my name and photo to someone, if that will make you feel safer with me. (He smiles.)
(Pearl smiles somewhat weakly) Yes, I’ll do that, just to put Lucy at ease. (She hastily and somewhat apologetically takes a photo of Liam and sends it to Lucy’s boyfriend, Harry with a short note about where they’re going.)
(Liam and Pearl, one each side of Lucy, lift her to her feet and help her to Liam’s car, which is parked nearby. An hour later, the three of them are seated in the waiting room, Liam having offered to keep them company. Suddenly, a man enters through the waiting room doors in an abrupt fashion. He moves his gaze quickly over the waiting people.)
Lucy! What the hell is going on? (His voice is too loud for the quiet room. The three of them turn their heads towards him, faces slightly shocked. He storms over. Pearl speaks.)
Harry? What’s wrong?
What’s wrong? Who is this man? And what happened to Lucy’s face?
She tripped, Harry. I told you in the message.
You sent me a photo of a strange man and said something about bleeding and the emergency clinic. Is this your doing? (He glares at Liam. Liam stands up, obviously heated.)
(Liam, who is half a foot taller than Harry, looks down at him unsmilingly.) Let’s go and talk outside.
(Harry is obviously about to refuse but, after glancing at an approaching security guard, changes his mind.)
Okay then.
(The two of them leave via the entrance doors. The security guard doesn’t speak but stands a couple of metres from the women, obviously prepared to step in if the men return and cause trouble. Pearl takes Lucy’s hand and strokes it gently.)
I suppose it would be out of place for me to mention the black cat?
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It was Outlander day. She felt it in her bones when she woke up that morning.
She leapt out of bed, showered at top speed, dressed, and grabbed a slice of toast as she headed out the door.
She walked quickly to the bus stop that would take her to the city centre.
She glimpsed the orange of the bus rounding the bend towards her. That was her cue to take her bus card out of her back right pocket where she always kept it.
She held it in her gloved hand and waited till the bus was opposite the physiotherapy centre then raised her left hand to signal the driver. The bus’s indicator did not come on so she raised her hand again and gave a small wave. The bus was close enough now that she could see the driver looking at her.
She stepped back slightly as she always did. Perhaps it was the memory of her great-grandmother’s early death, brought on by being struck in the head by a departing train. Or perhaps it was just her cautious nature.
The bus stopped and the doors opened slowly. She cast an eye over the front half of the bus’s interior to see if anyone was alighting. Seeing no movement, she raised her foot and stepped into the bus.
“Good morning,” she said, glancing at the driver. He did not smile or return her greeting. She tagged on and walked smoothly and quickly down the aisle until she found an empty double seat.
The bus pulled away and began purring down the street. She went into a daydream. She thought of the enjoyable feeling she had experienced at the supermarket yesterday morning when an attractive man, about 30, had done a double take at her in the produce department. She had caught him looking at her in the bakery section later on.
Her mind came back to the present as the bus jerked to a stop. A couple of large, warmly-dressed women pushed down the aisle and tagged off at the front. The bus continued. She was nearly at her stop. She reached up and pushed the button. She moved slightly to make sure that her backpack was centred on her back; it was overly-heavy as usual.
The bus slowed and stopped. A couple of people from the back of the bus were approaching the rear door so she decided to leave by the front. She tagged off, turned slightly, and said thank you to the driver.
“Have a good day,” he said.
That was nice. The bus door closed and the bus moved away. She began striding down the footpath, heading for the pedestrian crossing. She crossed then walked through the deserted back streets to the library – her favourite place.
She returned the books and DVDs she had brought with her, then checked the holds section but found that none of her requested items had arrived. She went and browsed the DVD shelves but found nothing that interested her. She had been hoping that they would have the latest season of Outlander.
That show! The first season had made her so hot and bothered that she’d started fancying half the single men at work, swearing to herself that she could see a Jamie-like nobility and erotic energy in them. Fortunately, once she finished watching Season One and a couple of weeks had passed, she had returned to her normal settings.
She approached the help desk. A friendly young man with an American accent greeted her: “How can I help you today?”
“Hello. I was wondering if you have Season Eight of Outlander or if you have any plans to start stocking it?”
“Outlander? That’s a good one. Let me have a look for you.” Quite a lot of key-tapping and scrolling happened while she waited, willing herself not to start blushing.
Eventually, the young man looked up and said, “I’m afraid we don’t have it and I can’t see any sign of it being on its way. Sorry about that.”
“No problem,” she lied, “thanks anyway.”
What a shitter. She was itching to see how things would end. Yes, she could read the books, but she didn’t have the patience to sit down and read much nowadays. She used to when she was a child but now if it wasn’t onscreen, she usually wasn’t interested.
She left the library and sat down on a bench which caught some of the wintry sunshine. She thought of getting out her phone and scrolling social media but decided not to. She looked around the shopping area and idly watched the few people who entered and left the various shops.
She sat there for twenty minutes, feeling quite peaceful. She wasn’t sure how to spend the rest of her day off, now that she had no Outlander to hurry home with. She knew that Megan had Wednesdays off too, but she didn’t want to bother her.
She wasn’t quite sure where she stood with Megan. They had a lot of laughs at work, but Megan had never suggested meeting up outside of work hours.
She decided to walk back towards home and stop in at the art gallery on her way. It had been ages since she went in there, which was stupid as she loved art.
When she arrived and started wandering the galleries, she saw that there was a special exhibition of British art. She was particularly struck by the portrait of a tall, handsome British officer wearing a red coat. She was really quite mesmerised by him.
Approaching voices shook her out of her trance.
“You have to see this one!” one voice said.
“Okay, okay. God, Charly, you’re so pushy,” replied another.
Two women in their mid 20s appeared.
“Look!” said the first one, pointing at the officer.
“Yeah,” said the second, appreciatively, “I see what you mean.”
The first woman laughed. “I knew you’d like him when you saw him.”
The second woman moved on after a minute, but the first – Charly, wasn’t it? – continued to stand in front of the painting and look up at the officer’s face.
“He’s very impressive, isn’t he?”
Charly looked round. “He sure is. This is the third time I’ve been here to look at him. I guess that sounds a bit stalkerish.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh, but she didn’t sound sorry.
“I don’t blame you. He …” was she going to go there? “… he looks like he belongs in Outlander.” She’d gone there.
Charly’s face lit up and she looked her full in the face, “Yes! Exactly! I love that show.”
“So do I. In fact, I was just at the library asking if they have the latest season.”
“I guess they don’t?”
“Unfortunately not, and they have no plans to get it in. I can’t afford to stream it. I’m on a super-tight budget right now.”
“I know the feeling. Actually – this might sound silly, but – I own Season Eight on DVD, if that’s the season you’re after.”
“It is. It’s the only one I haven’t seen.”
“You’re welcome to borrow it. I guess you live around here. You can return it when you’re ready – any time in the next month really, although I will need it back then because I’m bound to be dying for a rewatch.” She grinned.
“That is so kind of you! I’d love that.”
“Okay, how shall I get it to you? Do you want to come and pick it up this afternoon? If you give me your number, I’ll text you when I get home.”
“Sure, that works for me. It’s my day off and I’m free all afternoon.”
They swapped numbers and said goodbye, smiling as they did so.
She was elated. How amazing was that? Seeing a gorgeous painting, meeting another Outlander fan, and getting a copy of Season Eight. Wow!
She was full of energy now. She decided to skip the rest of the gallery and head straight home. She’d have an early lunch and be ready to go as soon as Charly texted.
She spent hours sometimes, reading about promising strategies.
Her weight wasn’t out of control or anything. It was actually very close to her ideal. She was just like that: always striving for better.
She had a great husband. He loved her body.
She loved being touched by him. They’d had almost twenty years of great sex together. She had never been with anyone else. Their love and desire was all she needed.
More money would be nice though. She loved beauty and wished she could afford to increase hers. Don’t get me wrong, she is beautiful, but as I said, always striving for better.
She believed in beauty. Beauty of any kind. She believed that it enriched the human soul. She knew for a fact that it could make life feel worth living.
Yes, she had suffered. Mentally mostly, but there had been some physical suffering in the past.
But now was a season of particular happiness and health for her and her beloved.
They had moved to a small, warm, close-knit town not far from a beautiful coast. They were surrounded by greenery.
Every school day morning as he ate his cornflakes, he looked forward to seeing her. He tried to think of things he could say to her that day.
He had started putting gel in his hair and he never forgot to use deodorant now. His mother had noticed the change and teased him for a while, but he didn’t react and she’d dropped it. His sister just rolled her eyes when he came out of the bathroom in the mornings. His father was oblivious.
William was now saving up his pocket money so he could buy a new soccer ball. He’d seen Mary watching the other boys playing at lunchtime sometimes. He thought that if he had his own ball – and not the shabby one he’d been using for the past two years – he could do some dribbling and other tricks that might get her attention.
His best friend at school was Paul. Paul was a real joker and wasn’t interested in love at all. He just liked to think up jokes and pranks. Most of his jokes weren’t funny, but William liked him anyway.
William walked to school by himself every day. Paul lived on the other side of the school so they couldn’t walk together. William knew that Mary took the bus to school. He had seen her getting off it outside the school.
One morning as he emerged from his front gate, he heard a voice calling his name. He swung around. It was Mary.
“Hi, William.” She was smiling.
“Hi.” He felt his face getting hot. Damn!
He kept his face turned away from her to give his cheeks time to cool. He tried to be casual. “What are you doing here?” Oh no, that sounded rude.
“I live here now!”
“Where?” Why did he sound so abrupt?
“Just along Pinforth Crescent. We moved on the weekend.”
This was amazing news, but his head was spinning. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. They walked in silence for several minutes. William felt like his neck was frozen in a forward-facing position. This was so awkward. He could only have dreamed of walking to school with Mary and now he was mute.
“So, what is there to do around here?”
Thank God, Mary had started the conversation. William felt himself relax a bit.
“There’s not a lot to do really, but I like to ride my bike up this road. It’s flat and there’s not much traffic. And there’s a good park on the block behind my house. It has a playground and a skate park.”
“That sounds good.”
“Yeah.” What should he say next? He didn’t want the conversation to drop, and besides, it was his turn to start a topic. This was stressful.
Somehow William managed to keep up some small talk until they reached school. As they turned the final corner and entered the school gates, several of their classmates saw them entering together and made “Ooh” sounds. William held his breath, hoping to stop heat rising into his cheeks.
The rest of the day, William felt excited and nervous. He wondered if Mary was planning on walking home. It turned out that she was.
Punch is his name. Paul is his name. He doesn’t know which to choose. His eyes are frighteningly blue. He talks constantly. She wishes he’d shut up and kiss her. His face is too small and pixie-like to look manly. He looks good in a white long-sleeved tee with black horizontal stripes. His teeth are crooked. His voice is somewhat nasal. He looked amazing when wearing a cloak and turban. His amber lamp with the golden stand is mesmerising; she could look at it for hours. Is he married?
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His earring is a large diamond which contrasts beautifully with his dark brown skin and black hair. His face is round, his teeth white. His voice is clear and moderately strong. I could listen to him singing all day.
His brother has lighter skin and a moustache that looks drawn-on. His voice is not as steady but still pleasing.
Their favourite performing outfit is a stark white uniform with golden epaulettes.
Being around them makes me happy. Those silky voices…
Trinity wore her rainbow tights today. You'd think they'd look good but by the end of the day they had twisted themselves around until her legs looked like corkscrews.
The sun is bright – no, strong. Almost unbearably strong. My little eyes daren’t even look up to check if there are any clouds, though I wonder if there are any and what shapes they might be.
Mum is sitting at the top of the beach in front of the rock wall and the grassy bank. She is wearing her brown togs. Her unshaven legs are stretched out in front of her. I think she is happy. At least, she is quiet.
My brother is engrossed, as he has been for the past half hour, in sculpting a complicated sand building. I don’t think castle is the right word for it. It has no turrets and he isn’t using the bucket Mum brought. He smooths it, he dampens it, he shapes it, he peers down the tunnels he has made inside it. He builds closer and closer to the water’s edge so that the tiny incoming waves will send water into the subterranean basement he has created.
I am lonely.
I am enjoying the beach – immensely.
But my mother is on a different wavelength to me, as always. It’s not her fault, I guess. We’re just very different people.
I wish I had a sister. A big sister. She would be kind to me. She would teach me how to become a big girl like her. She would smile and show me how to do things. She would be a playmate who never grew tired of my company.
I sit down in the warm, pale sand. I stretch out my legs in the sunshine. I start to feel drowsy. No! That won’t do!
I leap up. I run to the water’s edge. I want to ask my brother if he’ll come swimming with me – but he’s bound to say no.
I wade out into the water. I’m wearing the floppy hat that Mum insists on me wearing.
The water is so cool. Not cold – it is mid-summer.
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Her father said they were too expensive, and her mother didn’t really say anything.
Victoria was overjoyed when the couple next door, the Maxteds, bought a sturdy dark grey kitten named Maggie. Maggie wasn’t the most friendly cat. Rather like her mistress, Mrs Maxted, she thought well of herself and carried herself with dignity.
Victoria would often linger near the border of the two properties hoping to see Maggie. Whenever she did see her, she would crouch down and softly call the standoffish little cat. Maggie would come over slowly, sniff Victoria’s hand, purr lightly, and rub her haunches on Victoria before moving off.
One Friday when Victoria’s mother picked her up after school, she said to Victoria, “Maggie is going to be staying with us this weekend.”
“Really?!”
“Mrs Maxted brought over her food and a bed this afternoon.”
“Can she sleep in my room?!”
“As long as Dad doesn’t mind.”
As soon as they reached home, Victoria grabbed her backpack and ran up the stairs to the living room.
“Where’s Maggie?!”
Mum’s voice came up the stairs. “She was in the living room when I left.”
Victoria lay down on the floor and looked under the sofas. There she was!
“Maggie. Come here, honey. Maggie. Tsk-tsk-tsk.”
Maggie unfroze and squeezed her eyes shut a little when she recognised Victoria. She lowered her neck and started crawling out from under the furniture.
“Maggie!”
Maggie looked a little nervous, her pupils slightly dilated, but Victoria didn’t blame her for that. Maggie had never been in Victoria’s house before.
Victoria picked up her schoolbag and took a couple of steps towards her bedroom. She looked back at Maggie: “Maggie. Come on.”
She walked a little more and glanced back to make sure that Maggie was following.
The two of them reached Victoria’s door. Victoria waited for Maggie to catch up and then opened the door. Maggie froze, her eyes widened, she craned her neck to see what was in the room.
Victoria stood still, giving Maggie time to become comfortable. As soon as she felt safe, Maggie lifted a paw and moved gingerly through the doorway.
Victoria was thrilled to have her beloved Maggie in her own room. She gently put away her school bag and changed into her home clothes. Then she gingerly picked Maggie up in her arms. Maggie pushed against Victoria’s arms a little but when Victoria softly stroked Maggie’s back, Maggie relaxed.
Victoria carried Maggie out to the kitchen. Mum was cutting up vegetables for dinner.
“What is Maggie having for dinner, Mum?”
“Mrs Maxted brought over some cubed meat. It’s the fanciest cat food I’ve ever seen.”
“Can I feed her?”
“As long as you’re careful.”
Victoria’s mother took Maggie’s food bowl out of a small bag and told Victoria to put it on the kitchen floor on a sheet of newspaper. Victoria wasn’t allowed to measure out the food herself, at least not this time, but she watched keenly as her mother spooned the meat into the bowl.
As soon as Victoria put the bowl on the paper, Maggie approached it. Victoria had never seen Maggie move so quickly! Victoria went and crouched by her darling Maggie. As soon as she did, Maggie stopped eating, lowered her head over the food in a guarding motion, and looked at Victoria out of the corner of her eye.
“Move back, Victoria.”
Victoria was shocked at Maggie’s behaviour. Didn’t she trust her and know that she would never hurt her or take her food?
---
At bedtime, Victoria convinced her father to let Maggie sleep in her bedroom.
Victoria’s mother set up Maggie’s bed in a corner of Victoria’s room.
“Can she sleep on my bed, Mum?”
“As long as you don’t tell Dad. He wouldn’t like it.”
Victoria’s mother said good-night and closed the door.
Maggie was curled at the foot of the bed. She was purring but didn’t look ready to sleep.
“Come up here, Maggie,” said Victoria, and patted the bed beside her.
Maggie stood up and stalked up the bed and settled inside Victoria’s arm. Victoria smiled and settled her head on the pillow. Within minutes, Victoria was asleep.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Victoria woke feeling heavy movement beside her. For a moment, she was confused and frightened. Then she remembered: Maggie!
“What are you doing, Maggie?” she whispered.
Maggie was trying to push her head under the blanket.
“Maggie?”
Victoria lifted the blanket. Maybe Maggie was cold. Maggie crouched and crept under the blanket. Victoria smiled, feeling warm and maternal. But Maggie kept going, all the way down to Victoria’s feet and then beyond them to the empty space at the bottom. Maybe she was just exploring and would come back up and put her face next to Victoria’s. But no, she was settling down there! She started purring more loudly than ever and turned around twice before lying down curled up below Victoria’s feet. Victoria was worried; she remembered a story her mother had told her about a couple who woke one morning to find their baby dead of suffocation at the bottom of her bed. Oh dear. Victoria couldn’t let that happen to Maggie. Victoria held up the blanket to allow air to reach Maggie. She tried to figure out how to keep holding up the blanket while she was asleep. Eventually she couldn’t stay awake any longer and sank into sleep.
Sometime later – was it half an hour, an hour, two hours? – Victoria came suddenly awake. Maggie! She jerked the blanket up. With relief, she felt a small movement from Maggie. She was still alive!
The night continued in the same vein: being unable to stay awake any longer, groggily wafting air to the foot of the bed, worrying, sleeping again, all the way to dawn. But joy of joys, Maggie was alive come morning.
It certainly was a difficult job, looking after a cat.
