When You Know

by Archer, Kiki

  “Ladies, ladies, ladies! What’s the action in here tonight then?” Marcus Ramsbottom was arms up, hanging from the frame of the door. “Nothing’s going on in my block.”

  “Susan’s off to the Black Bear,” said Danielle through the chocolate.

  “Really? Who with? At this time?” Marcus was pulling a face of complete incomprehension.

  “Umm, it’s a bit late actually, I’m not sure if I quite realised the time.”

  “Oh my mon amie, have you been stood up?”

  “No, I—”

  “I’ll come with you. Angel’s always pleased to see me.”

  Martha Adams added to the conversation. “Red Ruby. Angel knows the one.”

  Susan thought about the options. An hour gaining weight with Danielle. An hour in her room obsessing about Jenna. Or an hour at the Black Bear with Marcus. She sighed. At least she’d be able to say she’d been out. “Are we walking?”

  “Take my scooter if you like,” said Martha.

  Marcus snorted. “Angel loves the fact I drive a Punto Sport, there’s no way I’m going up on your old lady’s mobility scooter.”

  “Thank you for the offer,” added Susan.

  “It takes two,” said Martha. “Mary here’s always straddling the back. We hare right up that school drive in no time. She’s always been good with electrics.” Martha raised her voice. “Haven’t you, Mary?”

  Mary cocked her ear. “What?”

  “Good with electrics.”

  “I’m not dyslexic.”

  “No! You’re good with electrics! You’ve tinkered with the motor on our scooter. You’ve sorted out our speed.”

  Mary Llewellyn fiddled with her ears. “Speak up! I think I need new batteries.”

  Marcus lifted his hands to his mouth and made a loudspeaker. “Don’t we wind you up at your age, dear?” He smiled at himself and turned to Susan. “I, on the other hand, am the ultimate Duracell bunny. I’ve got the strength of a rock.”

  “Yes, you’re a cock,” muttered Mary.

  Marcus sniffed and turned around, throwing his arm over Susan’s shoulder. “Come on, my mon amie. A moonlit walk for the young romantics.”

  ****

  Susan stepped closer to the cast iron radiator, warmed by the heat and friendly atmosphere in the old English pub. Marcus was at the bar getting the drinks, and there was a dreadlocked musician playing a ukulele on a makeshift stage. She looked around at the other people in the black and white timber-framed building, all laughing and joking, enjoying each other’s company in the cosy, yet quaint, old-world setting. Susan caught sight of a kissing young couple and felt a pang of emotion. No, not tonight, she thought. Tonight she was out. She was out socialising. Socialising on a Saturday night. She smiled to herself. Yes, the ten minute brisk walk in the cold with Marcus’s claptrap had been worth it, for the simple reason she’d be able to tell Jenna she had a life. She glanced around the bar, eyes drawn, as always, to the low beams and bumpy wattle and daub walls. The Black Bear was a treasure-trove of trinkets and historical character, and Susan wondered why she didn’t spend more time here. It was close. It was welcoming, in a snuggly sort of fashion. She paused her thought as Marcus handed over half a pint of Special Surrey Stout. She thought again. It stocked great local ale. Marcus let out a low belch and chewed something off the corner of his moustache. Susan sighed. She knew the reason why she didn’t spend more time here. The reason was simple. She didn’t have the friends to accompany her.

  “So, mon amie,” said Marcus, “what shall we discuss?”

  Susan looked towards the stage. “Shall we just listen? He seems rather good.”

  “He needs a thorough washing with industrial soap if you ask me.”

  Susan turned back around and looked at Marcus’s greasy moustache and lank ginger hair. “Please, Marcus.”

  “Come on, my mon amie, let’s chat. Let’s set the world to rights. Let’s solve life’s biggest problems. Let’s ponder the world’s greatest questions. Let’s—”

  Susan sighed. “What would you like to talk about, Marcus?”

  “Protocol on a date. The female perspective.”

  “Oh Marcus,” sighed Susan, “this isn’t a date.”

  Marcus sneered. “Oh poor you. How embarrassing. No, sorry to disappoint, but I’m talking about Angel. She’s just agreed to come to lunch with me tomorrow and I’d like some guidance on first date protocol.” He sniggered to himself. “I realise you won’t be much help, but maybe you’ve read something in one of those trashy magazines of yours.”

  “I’m dating Jenna,” said Susan. “I do have some experience, and I don’t read trashy magazines.”

  “Susan, Susan, Susan, let’s discuss this first.” Marcus was displaying his best sympathy face. “She’s gone. She’s had her fun. But now she’s gone.”

  “She’s coming back at the end of April.”

  Marcus shook his head. “No, she’s not.”

  “She’s already sent in her School Direct application form.”

  “Susan, stop. You’re making a fool of yourself.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, time for some tough love. The chances of Jenna James continuing this charade as your girlfriend as she completes her teaching training here at St Wilfred’s are close to zero. The chance of Jenna James remembering how wonderful it is to live the carefree life on the slopes with a multitude of women at her fingertips is almost certainly one hundred percent.” He sighed. “Susan, she’s had her fun. But now she’s gone.”

  “She’s my girlfriend. She’s my partner. We’re a couple.”

  Marcus laughed. “Give her a call. She’ll be out. It’s après ski night every night for instructors like her.”

  “I know she’s out.”

  “So you know what she’ll be up to then.”

  Susan nodded. “Yes, she’ll be socialising with her friends.”

  “No, she’ll be drinking and dancing. She’ll be flirting and kissing, and she’ll be getting up to whatever it is you lesbians get up to with those king-kong sized cocks of yours.”

  “Marcus!”

  “Actually, on that point, do you think a first date is too early to introduce toys like that? I don’t want a worldly woman like Angel to think I’m vanilla.” He scrunched up his face. “Is that the word? I’m sure I read something like that in one of those women’s magazines at the doctors. Anyway, my point is, if someone like you uses toys like that, then maybe it is the norm. Maybe I do need to move with the times and offer my ladies other additional avenues of stimulation.” He grinned. “I’ve always been told my moustache is tantamount to tickling torture when I’m—”

  “Marcus! Stop.” Susan took a huge gulp of ale. She swallowed quickly and shook her head. “Fine. First date protocol. Where are you going?”

  “Sunday lunch.”

  “Where?”

  Marcus lifted a hand to the black and white walls. “Here.”

  “But she works here.”

  “Exactly. She said she’d give me extra gravy.”

  Susan frowned. “She’s working tomorrow?”

  “Yes, but when I said I was coming in for Sunday lunch she said she might be able to sit down and chat for a bit.”

  “So it’s not an actual date.”

  “Yes. I said, ‘So it’s a date,’ and she smiled.”

  “Marcus, she’s a barmaid, she has to smile.”

  “Just because you’re insecure in your relationship doesn’t mean you should project those insecurities elsewhere.” Marcus nodded towards the stage. “This music’s dreadful. Shall I put some money in the jukebox?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t try and drown out the live act.”

  “I can,” said Marcus, rummaging around in his pocket for some change.

  Susan grabbed his arm. “Please, come on.” She glanced around the room. “Look, that table’s free at the back. Shall we sit down?”

  Marcus studied the delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist and smiled. “Of course, my
mon amie. It does look rather secluded back there.”

  Susan released her grip and held out her hand for his glass that was empty. “Take a seat. I’ll get us another.”

  “Decisive as well. This is the Susan I love.”

  Susan tried not to shudder as she made her way to the bar, cursing her own stupidity for scraping the barrel in an attempt to impress Jenna. She paused as an elderly man hobbled in front of her and placed his order first. Why had it been so important to come out? Why had she felt the need to prove she had a social life? What did it matter if she was a habitual hermit? And who was she ultimately trying to impress? Susan sighed to herself, not wanting to admit the truth. Jenna and her were polar opposites. Jenna only had to smile at someone and she gained a new friend for life. She was one of those women who couldn’t go anywhere without bumping into someone who knew her. She was naturally charismatic and it was obvious why people wanted to socialise with her at every given opportunity. She was the life and soul of the party. Susan, however, realised that she was characterised as awkward, unsociable, and not particularly well liked.

  “What’s the face for, honey?” asked Angel, leaning over the bar, bust first.

  “Sorry, nothing, hi, how are you? Two things, please. Could I pick up Martha Adams’ bottle of port? She says she usually collects it on a Sunday. And could I also have two more glasses of the stout ale, please.”

  The buxom blonde brought her piece of well chewed gum to the front of her mouth and started to grind it on her incisors. “You ain’t trying to get your hands on my ginger smoochy pants, are you, honey?”

  Susan looked shocked. “Marcus?”

  “That’s the one. He’s a good old catch what with those letters behind his name and his fancy Professor title.”

  Susan coughed. “Yes, I guess he is. I hear you’re having lunch tomorrow.”

  Angel pushed up a boob and pulled down her dress in one smooth action. “Sure are. Boss will only let me take a twenty minute break though.” She batted her eyelashes and leaned forwards, almost spilling her breasts onto the bar. “He even says he’ll take me up to that big old school of yours one day. Free, isn’t it? For you professors to send your kids there?”

  “Well, I don’t think it’s quite free, but it’s heavily discounted.”

  Angel plumped up her curly blonde hair. “My Tammy and Tanisha would be in their element up there.”

  “You’ve got children?”

  “I know! I don’t look old enough, do I? Anyway, honey, I can’t stop and gas all day. Drinks and port.” Angel lowered her voice. “Does old Martha want a packet of those big long menthol cigarettes of hers as well? I’ve had another shipment.”

  Susan fumbled around in her purse for a twenty pound note. “I’m not sure. I’ll let her know. Maybe you could pass them on to Marcus tomorrow?”

  “Oh no, honey. We both know how anti-smoking that man is.”

  Susan paused. Actually she didn’t. “Do you, umm, do you two spend a lot of time together?”

  Angel pulled the bottle of port from the cabinet under the bar and placed it on the counter. “You do like him, don’t you, honey!”

  “No, no, I just didn’t realise you’d got so close.”

  Angel smoothed down her tight neon dress. “I’m not that kind of girl, honey. And anyway, I’m taking it slowly with this one. This one’s a keeper.”

  “I’m genuinely pleased for you both. I really do hope it works out.”

  “Thanks, honey. Tell my mister smoochy pants I’ll be over in a bit,” said Angel, placing the drinks next to the port.

  Susan reached for a tray and lifted the drinks, walking back to the table with her mouth slightly ajar. “She likes you, Marcus. I think she really likes you.”

  “Angel? Of course she does. They all do.” He sniffed and looked at the tray. “No scratchings?”

  “Pork scratchings? You didn’t ask for any.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Angel always slips me a packet of scratchings. No doubt a ploy to drop them over here herself.”

  “Quite possibly,” said Susan, settling into her seat.

  Marcus used his fingertips to wipe some ale from his moustache. “Actually, there is something I’ve been meaning to mention.”

  “Okay,” said Susan, never knowing quite what to expect.

  “Battle-axe Brown.” Marcus narrowed his eyes. “She’s called a meeting on Monday. Wants to discuss an alleged complaint.”

  “What’s the complaint?”

  “No idea, but that cobwebbed old woman has hated me from the moment I arrived at St Wilfred’s.” He narrowed his eyes. “I think she may be plotting my downfall.”

  Susan took a sip of her drink. “Why? What on earth would be her motive?”

  Marcus lowered his voice. “I rejected her once. Sexually. She couldn’t handle it.”

  Susan almost spluttered. “That’s not true.”

  “It is. I was a new whippersnapper at the school and she asked me if I’d accompany her to her lawn bowls tournament. I politely declined saying I was far too young for her advances, and that was it. My fate was sealed.”

  Susan shook her head. “What about the assembly? You upset her once, didn’t you?”

  “That was years ago! And anyway, wouldn’t you want to know if there was something on your chin?”

  “Yes, but—”

  Marcus tutted. “She was in assembly. She was standing at the front. She was about to start, and I noticed she had something on her chin.” He shrugged. “So I told her.”

  “How did you tell her?”

  “I was at the side of the hall and I just said, ‘Excuse me Vice Principal Brown, you seem to have something on your chin’.” Marcus shrugged. “She started wiping, so I said, ‘No, third one down.’”

  “Oh Marcus.”

  “But it wasn’t that. It was the fact I rejected her.” He smoothed down the sides of his moustache. “But it’s crossed my mind that I’m her final vendetta. She’s got nothing to lose. She’s leaving. Maybe she wants to pull me down with her.”

  “Have you done anything wrong? Is there any truth in the complaint?”

  Marcus gasped. “Susan! Mon amie! You know me. I’m the definition of professionalism.” He shook his head. “She’s just trying to ruffle some feathers before she goes. I know I can count on you to be a character witness though.”

  Susan bit the inside of her lip. “Actually, Marcus, I’ve been asked to write—”

  “Scratchy, scratchy, scratchy.” Angel was seductively dangling a packet of pork scratchings between her breasts. “I’m on a break. Shall we share?”

  Marcus snarled. “Only if you feed me, Angel.”

  “Stick that tongue out then, you bad boy.”

  Susan coughed. “Should I look for another chair?”

  Marcus momentarily allowed his eyes to move from Angel’s breasts. “Don’t be a trike, Susan.”

  “A trike?”

  He lowered his voice. “The third wheel. The fourth beat of a waltz. The gooseberry fool.” He nodded towards the bar. “There’s a spare stool over there. A little space wouldn’t go amiss.”

  Susan looked at her glass of stout. “Right, sorry, I’ll take this with me,” she said, feeling herself flare up with colour.

  “We might be a while,” said Marcus, sticking out his yellow tongue and flicking it upwards, signalling for Angel to start.

  “Right, sorry, I’ll just…” Susan stepped away from the feeding frenzy and looked around the room. Maybe she should just go home. Maybe she should— Natalie! Susan burst into a smile as she spotted Natalie Jakes standing on her tiptoes next to the jukebox. “Natalie!” she shouted far too eagerly.

  The lady turned around and looked at Susan with zero recognition.

  “Natalie! It’s Susan!”

  The lady continued to look blank.

  “From the school! The Christmas Fayre. The baubles!”

  “The fayre?” The lady paused. “The fayre, the fayre, the fayre? Oh ye
s, I think I remember now. Sorry, what was your name again?”

  Susan blushed. “Susan … from the fayre … the school fayre.”

  Natalie Jakes lifted herself back onto her tiptoes and continued her scanning of the room. “Oh right, yes I remember you now. You were wearing a Christmas jumper. A reindeer wasn’t it? Anyway, you won’t believe this, but I’m here with a couple of friends on a stalking stake out mission.” Natalie wafted her long nails. “We were having a girly get together at mine, you know the sort, wine, nail polish, the odd jab of Botox. Anyway I get a strange message asking me to come for a drink. No clue of the sender, and no reply when I asked for their name.” She laughed. “We thought it would be a bit of a giggle. Gloria and Jasmine are sneaking around trying to sniff out the weirdo!”

  Susan finished her drink in one mouthful and laughed loudly. “How strange! Well, my taxi’s waiting. There’s a whole gang of us. We’re off clubbing. I thought I recognised you, so I quickly dashed over, but they’ll be cursing me for holding them up. Giggly girls on a night out, you know how it is!”

  “Have fun, Sophie,” said Natalie, already back on her tiptoes.

  “It’s Susan,” whispered Susan, slipping silently out of the bar.

  Chapter Eight

  Susan let the cold air hit her hard. She kept her jacket unzipped and inhaled sharply as it flapped around her waist. The temperature was low, but nothing could cool the burning fire she felt in her cheeks or the raging humiliation she felt in her heart. She was embarrassed, demeaned, but most of all, she felt worthless. Susan gasped as she threw her head backwards and stared at the stars, feeling as if the whole world was spinning around her. She couldn’t focus. What had just happened? Marcus had told her to do one. Marcus! How utterly mortifying. Marcus Ramsbottom had more of a life than she did. She gasped again. The woman she’d spent a full day with only a couple of months ago had forgotten her completely. The woman was searching for a weirdo. A weirdo with no friends.

  Susan dropped her head back down and resumed her walk, picking up her pace towards the large iron gates that were now closed over the main entrance to St Wilfred’s All-Girls School. She fumbled in her pockets for her bunch of keys and found the one that would unlock the old-fashioned padlock that was securing the chain around the main gates. It was the only thing stopping intruders from entering the school grounds and could easily be cut off if anyone so wished. She pulled it open and pushed through, closing the gates quickly behind her and reattaching the lock. She stepped into the shadows and leaned backwards against the old stone wall that protected the grounds. The grounds where she’d always felt so safe, so normal, and so at home. Who was she trying to kid? She wasn’t a party animal like Jenna. She was an academic, and academics spent their Saturday nights reading, or watching documentaries, or socialising with other academics in a communal, albeit fusty, lounge.