The pub was getting crowded. I started looking at the black and white pictures of the 1930s to 1960s actors on the wall. Then I saw Ian, an older colleague of mine, coming in. He came straight over:
‘Do you mind?’ He took a stool and sat in front of me without waiting for my answer. ‘Chilly outside,’ he touched his nose, ‘what’s yours?’
‘Thanks I am OK.’
‘You can have another one, I’ll get you a large one.’ He went to the bar.
He came over with a pint of lager and a glass of white wine for himself. He put the lager next to the one I was drinking.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘My pleasure.’
‘Always wanted a calm life.’ He paused. ‘My in-laws are with me now. They are staying for a month; have come all the way from the back of beyond.’
He had a sip of his wine. I thought for a man of his age, to have in-laws was strange. But he had a young wife. He said, ‘I nearly lost my collection last week; you know; the storm.’
‘What collection?’ I asked.
‘My stamps. I had to keep them in the attic. I had to move them to the attic as the in-laws were coming, small flat you know! And what happens? Of course it had to rain the same night they came. You should have seen me, should have seen us! Thankfully the rain didn’t get to the albums. Only some corners got wet. I had to move the stamps though. It was an all-night job. But some of those in the cardboard box did get wet. I am not sure how damaged they are. And what does she say? She is not supportive you know, has never been. And of course I am rude. An old rude dreamy man! The rude romantic! Hah hah! And I get all these lectures from my wife. Thirty years younger than me! Mind you, the parents were understanding. When she told them, they were embarrassed somehow and they had jet-lag! Couldn’t sleep. I preferred to be alone rearranging all those stamps but I was worried about them in the other room where they were sleeping. And of course she would tell me that I was very rude not to let her parents have a good rest on their first night after arrival. You fidget too much, she said!’
‘I had told her I was a man of principles. I told her at the first opportunity I had, that is, when we were alone. And that was that. I told her from the outset.’ I made it clear from the start what I expected from us being together, that is if she was happy with it.’
He had a round-neck maroon jumper on and was fidgeting awkwardly on the stool, sitting in front of me.
He went silent. I was surprised. I didn’t know him that well for him to talk to me about his personal, family life; and it was very sudden. I had thought there would be no-one to talk to until getting back to the flat where Carol would be on the phone. I started thinking, did I like a calm and quiet life? How would it feel if I remained alone with minimal relation with people around me?
9
As I had imagined, Carol was on the phone. She continued for a while. As she put the phone down, she said, ‘are you back darling?’ I said, ‘Darling is back and darling is very hungry.’
‘We have to do something about it then. Where are we going tonight?’
‘Nowhere, we have something in the fridge.’
‘I thought you’d love to go out.’
‘Not really.’
We ate at home. It was a cold supper but I preferred the cold food to going out in that cold weather. She said, ‘I saw Fabrizio today, he has put on so much weight I nearly didn’t recognise him.’
‘How is he?’
‘Fit as a fiddle, apart from the weight.’
‘And Gail?’
‘She was on good form too, in control. He does adore her. He told me quietly he was going to buy her something nice.’
‘Oh! And what would that be? What is the occasion?’
‘For him, there is no need for an occasion. He is so thoughtful. But didn’t want to divulge! He is such a lovely man, such a lovable man.’
‘And did you have time to check the estate agents?’ It was a full month now that she had been staying with me.
‘You don’t want me to make a wrong choice do you? You don’t want me to feel miserable. It is hardly a month since I came here. Don’t worry, before you know it I’ll be gone. You can have the whole mansion to yourself! Do you know? I don’t know what I have done to you to deserve this.’
She started to prepare herself to cry. Had I ever believed a woman crying? I am sure I did. I must have, the glance, the movements, the silent moments between the tears. But, then, when did I start to doubt it? She had the paper napkin in her hand tearing it only with one hand into small pieces. Then took what was left to her nose. Her red nail varnish was intact.
‘You never loved me,’ she said.
I thought, we never had any conversations like this before. Where did that come from? We were never on those terms. Now she was bringing in a new element. I felt tired and wanted to go to bed. She continued:
‘You know, I thought I had a friend in you. How wrong could I be? They are together from yonks ago and Fabrizio still is prepared to leave his office to go and buy a present for her, he thinks about her for no particular reason. And us? How long have we been together? Can you say? I bet you don’t know, it is hardly a year. And all you think about is to throw me out in the street, and that, when I have changed all my plans and come back to you, cancelled my flight just for you.’
She paused and I thought it was the right time for a full throttle crying, a loud cry. But no! She came over to me, went behind me and leaned towards me from behind my head. She brought her mouth to my ear and said, very calmly, ‘but I don’t care. You are like that and I like you the way you are.’
Then she went back to her seat, poured herself some wine and started looking at me with a loving expression.
Next day, I woke up early. Persistent rain was hitting the window. It was windy. Carol was asleep next to me with her mouth semi-open. Her skin was warm. Her shoulder looked fresh out of the duvet. It was cold. I made myself a strong coffee and left the flat. It was Thursday and I wanted to do as much as I could before lunch time. At the corner of the street I saw the Polish woman in the bistro. She was looking out. Saw me walking fast under the rain and waved. I waved back at her and went faster; I jumped on the bus that took me straight to the university. I was determined to clear my desk. The corridor was dark. I was the first one to arrive. Decided not to look at e-mails and by 11 a.m. I had managed to send off two reports and see two of my researchers. I had discussed and sympathised with them on their equipment failure and family issues. I made another coffee in the office and started reading my e-mails. There was an e-mail from Michael: ‘Richard was here and made sure I missed my train. I had to get the timetable for him. He said you ignore him all the time. I thought I should draw a line under this ridiculous situation. He still might file a complaint against us. I tried to be accommodating. Anyway, as I have missed my train and there is no other for another hour, I thought I would share the intrigue with you.’
I started to compose a reply. Then I deleted it and phoned Elizabeth. ‘I know it is a bit too early but if you like we can go earlier.’
‘Not really. I am struggling to finish my errands here before 12:30. Is it OK?’
‘Oh yes. I just wondered.’
‘So see you at half twelve then.’ She put the phone down.
We had a hasty sandwich lunch and did not talk much. Elizabeth’s mind seemed to be somewhere else. I wasn’t particularly interested to have lunch with her like that. I hoped to take the opportunity to discuss the new library facilities with her but this wasn’t going to happen. As she continued with her sandwich I started looking at the students coming in to buy sandwiches; in groups, alone, most of them with their mobiles. I still had a residual cold and this was a good time to feel it again. One of the students came towards me:
‘I haven’t seen you for some time,’ he said.
He had a baseball cap on, reversed, with a tiny earring pierced into his left ear.
‘So I have been unlucky!’ I said.
&n
bsp; He laughed.
‘Perhaps it’s because you haven’t been around,’ I said.
‘Yes, my mum got a divorce. I helped her move out.’
‘Oh, I am sorry.’
‘Not necessary. I will have a larger room in the new flat.’ He was chewing and laughing.
‘So you have a better place to study.’
‘Whatever!’
‘Good luck.’
‘Yeah, I need it.’ He left.
Elizabeth had finished her sandwich and we were ready to go too. Outside, I called a cab.
10
Elizabeth brought a key-ring out of her large black plastic handbag. On it, there were perhaps eight keys. She paused and carefully chose one and put it in the chipped blue door. The door opened easily. We walked up two floors I had gone through with Kate a couple of times and passed the narrow staircase with the old red flower-patterned carpet. Then there was the new pine-look door. Elizabeth paused again and chose another key from the key- ring which she had kept in her hand. Her fingers looked older than her face, with cracks on the skin around the nails. The door opened with a push and we entered. There was the short entrance opening into a sitting-room with the raised step leading onto the open kitchen.
The curtains were open in the small sitting-room and there was a faint light coming in from a hazy sun. A beige dress was lying tidily on the back of a chair. On one side of the sitting-room there were four rows of simple shelves, all filled up with books. I remembered the shelves faintly. A couple of magazines were placed on the coffee table. Under the window pane in the small kitchen there was a pot of herbs, dried up. An ironing table was leaning against the wall in a corner of the kitchen.
Elizabeth was standing between the corridor and the sitting room: ‘I suggest we start here. There is only one other room and it shouldn’t take long, really.’ ‘Yes,’ I said.
She walked to the other side of the room, pensive.
‘The sofa and the chair and the knickk-nacks here can go to charity, unless…’
‘That is fine,’ I said.
She came over to the kitchen and started opening the lower cabinets. ‘The pots and pans can go too.’ I looked at her standing with her hands holding some. They looked as if they had come straight from a shop. Then she opened the top cabinets, looking through sets of plates, bowls, cups and mugs. One would think that a family lived there. I recognised the plates and cups with delicate flower patterns. I had eaten there twice over the six-month period that I had known her more intimately. It was getting cloudy outside judging by the light coming from the window.
‘Do you mind if I took the plates?’
I wondered why she asked me that.
‘Not at all,’ I said.
‘I will organise for all the things to be taken away. We might spend a bit longer in the other room. She couldn’t say bedroom. I wondered what she thought about Kate and me.
The bedroom hadn’t changed; a single but large bed with a pale bed-cover, slippers tidily sitting on the floor by the bed, a small bed-side table with a lamp and a book. I couldn’t recognise the book: The life and times of an Andes flower. The South American author was unknown to me. She had a bookmark on page 202. The book had 231 pages. I started flicking through it. The telephone rang. It was Elizabeth’s mobile. She moved her hand into her bag and took the phone out immediately as if there was a particular, well known, easy-to-access place for it. She listened, but in silence. Then she said, ‘it is rather awkward but I will be there, OK.’ She looked at me with disappointment. ‘My daughter has had an accident in the school, apparently not serious but she is in Casualty. I have to go. I am so sorry for this.’
‘Oh, no! Is there something I can do?’
‘No, no. I’m sure it is OK; one of those things and of course it had to happen now. Do you mind continuing here without me? Just shut the door behind you as you go. Of course take whatever you think you have a need for. I am sure she wouldn’t mind.’ I stood there: ‘But perhaps I should come with you.’
‘What for? ... No need, really. It will be a great help if you could look through the whole stuff and get this business over and done with.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll do my best.’
She took her handbag and left.
I had the book in my hand, looking at the window the other side of the room. It had started to drizzle. Suddenly I had the urge to leave the place. What was I doing there? Why did I agree to go there, to look at someone else’s personal belongings, and more than that, to decide what to do with them? I sat on the bed. The book was still semi-open with my finger as a bookmark. I opened it again. I had no wish to read it but started to flick through the pages. There was a white piece of cut paper in it, with something written. It was Kate’s handwriting. I read: ‘to include in my diary.’ I closed the book and closed my eyes. I wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere. There was some noise, two people quarrelling in the top flat. I left the book on the bed and began looking, starting from the large cupboard with sliding doors and two drawers at the bottom – perhaps the biggest item in the flat. Inside it there were six or seven items of clothing hanging, five jumpers stacked on top of each other and three ironed and stacked shirts. Three pairs of shoes were sitting on the floor of the wardrobe. On the other side of the wardrobe there were perhaps 200-300 books stacked and arranged carefully by authors’ names. I thought perhaps she would like these to be donated to the university library. It was easy to do. I felt I was somewhere miles away not know how to get back. I told myself I’d better be out of this place soon. I should catch a taxi to my office, see people moving around me, do a bit of filing…then go for a relaxed drink.
I wouldn’t need to look in the bathroom. Here would be a glass with a pink toothbrush and toothpaste, a bottle of liquid soap, a longish white towel, a hand towel, the shampoo…the usual. All those items would have a different meaning for me now.
I opened one of the drawers in the cupboard. It was for her underwear, white, light colours, blue, pink, yellow. The other drawer was untidy, the only untidy place in the whole flat. There were loads of pictures of all sorts in it: family pictures, pictures taken in studios with her father and herself alone when she was six or seven, an old picture of a young woman I assumed to be her mother, and a picture of a young man with a safety hat, taken in front of a factory, perhaps that of her brother who was working somewhere up north. Under the pictures, there was a notebook with a dark brown leather cover. I opened it. Only one third of it was used. I could recognise her handwriting, tidy, meticulous and feminine. Each page had a date on the top left-hand corner and a line was drawn after each day’s entry. I read the first page:
‘It is such a nice day today! What joy! It is sunny. Sun shines through the small window. A sunny Saturday. I shall always remember this day. Such a nice day to start my diary. I’ve always wanted to keep a diary since I was a child. I wonder why I haven’t done it earlier. Perhaps I was waiting for a good start, for a truly sunny start. And today it is. But I am still shy. I feel embarrassed that I am writing this at this stage. Is it not too late? I tell myself that I have started writing because I have started seeing him. It gives a false picture of me. This is not a youngster’s writing, excited after her first date. I hope it is not that. It is… how can I put it? It is about what happens in the air when I see him. All those talks of Nietzsche, Woolf, Schopenhauer! I smell the nostalgia hidden in the pages of dusty books. The way the conversations move! The way he moves his hands and I laugh. There is so much to read and then to talk about.
I will be seeing him this afternoon, a sunny restful afternoon with coffee and Danish pastry. I have a bunch of narcissus in the pot in front of me. The room smells of sunshine. I am happy after a long time. I am lucky!’
I continued reading. It was another date:
‘Today, it is exactly one week since I started seeing him and he told me he is going to be away for a couple of days… a research meeting; I do like that sort of life. I think he has everything,
so why would he like to continue to see me? I am sure he has healthy liaisons of an intriguing nature; a man alone and well off financially, he travels, he sees people and reads books (thankfully not the best sellers!). So he has to be content with his life. I think those who read best sellers are sad lonely people who have given up. Given up thinking, they go for cheap emotions to keep themselves satisfied with a sense of goodness, of sympathy, of lousy adventures and phoney imaginations. Romantic science fictions about an amazing stone in a far away planet that attracts emotions with a speed five times the speed of light! A humane serial killer, never to be captured, who sacrifices himself to save an unruly youth from dying under a high speed train, a young girl and her mobile phone experiences…well I see this one everyday, not only a young girl, but businessmen too with their Friday evening bunches of flowers going to their wives talking of their unyielding love. Sometimes I think I don’t belong to this decade, or century, not that I like period costumes but I cannot see myself fit for any of these things. Ah, and that reminds me of our shared dislike, passionate dislike of period movies! This, I must say, I have to add to the list of best sellers. Now, this goes for those women with dilemmas about their chastity and those men with questions of honour too! This is the time we are living in, and what do I like? Yes, I like slow-pace books and I read them slowly. And I like him. More than like, I respect him for what he is. I hope to keep, to continue seeing him more, even if for expressing our shared dislike of the best sellers! And it seems that it is going to be so. He asked me about my degree. ‘History?’ he guessed. And he was right. I suppose he was pleased with himself. He was correct in his first attempt. Oh, he wants to know about me. ‘What are you doing in the science section?’ I looked at him as if he had asked a silly question. ‘Not that you shouldn’t be,’ he added. I suppose he is a charmer. I am in two minds about charmers! They attract you but then they overdo it all the time. They get so involved with their own image that they forget why they started to be charming! I have talked too much. Better sleep now!’
Between Cups of Coffee Page 5
