Flying Under Bridges

by Sandi Toksvig

  There were several charity shops in Edenford, of course, but Susan Lithgood was the most prestigious. Well, obviously she wasn’t the charity shop. It was named after her. She was not anything now. She was dead. It had been the Susan Lithgood Shop for Lepers when it first opened but there was a big storm in ‘86 and the leprosy part of the sign fell off. Which seemed appropriate somehow. Susan Lithgood was a local woman who had made leprosy her life. She had never actually met anyone with the disease, as she never left Edenford, but she raised thousands for the afflicted in Africa. Eve had only met her when she was very old and not the woman she once was. By then leprosy had lost its focus for Susan and her main preoccupation became incontinence, which can be a terrible trial.

  Mrs Hoddle, wife of Horace Hoddle of Hogart, Hoddle and Hooper, gave the address at her funeral: ‘I know that we are all indebted to the vision of Susan Lithgood and I know she would have said “Rejoice Rejoice”, and we can rejoice for how glad she would have been to have died in one piece and not in dribs and drabs with bits falling off like those poor black people in the hot countries.’ Then everyone shook collecting tins from the shop in time to ‘Abide With Me’.

  For any self-respecting member of the community, the Lithgood shop was the only one to work in. Started by a local woman and run by local women ever since. No men. Not ever. Just women. It’s what women do. Eve was very aware that not all the women did it just to be nice. It was more like every hour spent there deposited a bit more in their ‘good member of the community’ account. Emma Milton was typical of the shop staff volunteers. She was at least fifty-five, the mainstay of the shop and devoted to knitting blanket squares. She had never married. She had too much selfless giving to do with her needles. Maybe all the women were gathering up points for the afterlife but it was also in the back of everyone’s minds that Mrs Lithgood had received an OBE just before she died. That was an ambition. Such a reward would make life worthwhile. Eve didn’t know why she needed the shop but she did. She didn’t particularly want an OBE but the shop was what she did on a Wednesday. She always knew that she would never die on a Wednesday because she had too much to do.

  That morning, while Adam limped and moaned around the kitchen, Eve had been watching the news. They kept showing some terrible war that was raging in Africa. Children with guns. Then there was a man, a foreign man, one of those Romanians, who’d been arrested in Glasgow for begging or something and he was looking so cross and upset and his wife was crying.

  Eve kept thinking, Why does all that news come into our houses unless we’re supposed to do something about it?

  She arrived at the shop carrying a stuffed stoat that Tom had made for the window display. He had donated quite a lot of animals over the years. Eve didn’t like to tell him that they never sold but they did make a nice display for the scarves and necklaces.

  The meeting had been called to determine the future. Now that Mrs Lithgood was gone, no one was quite sure what to do with the shop.

  It was an odd collection of women. They were mostly older than Eve and it suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t belong. Didn’t really belong anywhere. She was too old for the speculumshoving women of Martha’s classes and too young for the do-gooders of the High Street. Most of the charity-shop women were well into their fifties and beyond. Old women, used souls with bodies worn at the edges. It was as if several families had dropped them off in black bin liners, no longer wanted. There was Emma Milton, knitting as usual, Doris Turton, representing the Women’s Institute (an organisation it was hard to fathom still existed), Helen Richler, wearing something from a long-out-of-print catalogue, Betty Hoddle, who always wore a hat, and Eve.

  Doris had WI business. She came straight up to Eve and said, ‘Eve! We’re having a competition and you must enter.’ She said it as if Eve had some remote chance of winning, which, of course, she knew she hadn’t. ‘It’s for the best flower arrangement involving a candlestick.’ Immediately lots of possible designs flashed through Eve’s mind but none of them were really suitable. Perhaps another use for the abandoned speculum? Betty Hoddle called the charity shop meeting to order.

  ‘Ladies, we are gathered to determine the future.’ This seemed unlikely but ever since the funeral Betty had enjoyed speeches. ‘The Susan Lithgood Shop for Lepers has been a vital part of this community for over twenty years but it is time to move on. The fact is that there isn’t the call for leper work that there once was.

  Emma Milton looked up from a row of plain knitting. ‘Really?’ The idea that they might have actually raised enough money to have solved the problem had never occurred to her.

  ‘Really,’ replied Mrs Hoddle. ‘We may be doing fine work collecting for the lepers but there are no longer the lepers in the world who need our assistance.’

  ‘I don’t know if that’s true,’ Eve began. ‘I was reading about—’

  The intervention went unheeded. Mrs Hoddle was on a roll. ‘The charity shop must move forward. Find a new cause that we can sustain.’

  There was a long silence while everyone thought about this. The truth was that no one had ever really been comfortable about lepers and now that Susan was gone they fancied a change. Maybe something a bit more.., well, endearing.

  ‘What about the Kurds?’ said Doris. ‘Aren’t they having a horrid time? I’ve seen it on the television.’

  Television or not, Mrs Hoddle was adamant. ‘I’m afraid not. We couldn’t possibly do the Kurds. We don’t want to upset Mr Ozbal.’

  ‘Mr Ozbal?’ Eve said, confused.

  ‘Yes. We don’t want to upset him.’

  Emma Milton was also confused. ‘Why would collecting for the Kurds upset Mr Ozbal?’

  ‘He’s Turkish,’ explained Helen.

  Doris looked shocked. ‘Oh, I thought he was Greek.’ There was a moment’s pause.

  ‘It could be Greek,’ conceded Mrs Hoddle.

  ‘I don’t think we should take the risk,’ declared Emma. Everyone agreed. Mr Ozbal ran the little grocery shop on Church Street. Greek or Turkish, he didn’t mind what time he stayed open and no one wanted to annoy him.

  ‘He’s so useful,’ said Doris.

  ‘What about Aids?’ suggested Helen but no one took it seriously. She was only saying it to get at Emma whose brother had become HIV positive on holiday in Goa but absolutely refused to discuss it. Helen was something of a stirrer. She tried once more with, ‘Leprosy was the Aids of Jesus’s time, you know,’ but she was on a hiding to nothing. Then Betty Hoddle asked if Eve had an opinion and she was rather surprised to find that she did. Have an opinion.

  ‘We ought to collect for all those poor people from Romania we keep hearing about,’ Eve said straight out and possibly rather too loud. ‘The refugees with nowhere to go. We could get clothes and books and toys for the children and then…’ she paused for effect… ‘we could bring them here to Edenford.’

  The Milton needles went mad. The potential for blankets had never seemed so enormous.

  ‘Where would we put them?’ asked Doris, who did have a spare room but liked to use it for her ironing.

  Eve was ready. ‘The old swimming baths. They’re for sale. We shall put them in the old swimming baths.’

  Everyone seemed really excited by the end of the meeting. Eve was thrilled. The old swimming baths were perfect. They were unoccupied, they had plenty of shower and toilet facilities and the empty pool itself would make a wonderful big dormitory. All the women loved children, or at least the idea of children. The thought of saving grateful little wretches with big eyes was very appealing. Mrs Hoddle and Eve were nominated to do the logistics and find out how much money they needed to raise.

  Martha’s next class for women was on the following Tuesday evening. It was the same crowd — Theresa Baker, Mrs Batik (who turned out to be called Fran), ferret woman, two women in matching tracksuits and the woman from the fish shop. Eve went partly because she wanted to find out if everyone had done the speculum thing and partly because Martha had ask
ed if she could do some light snacks. Everyone had decided to make the whole thing more social, so each woman was to provide some snack or drink for the class. Martha didn’t cook so it was left to Eve. Martha was in a temper when her older sister got there.

  ‘Have you seen this?’ She slapped one of Adam’s leaflets down on the table. The terrified woman in the black and white photograph looked up at the assembled study group.

  Don’t let Eden ford become a nightmare.

  Vote Marshall. Sleep safe at night.

  ‘It’s not right. It’s just not right,’ muttered ferret woman.

  ‘Pandering,’ snorted Fran Batik. ‘It’s just pandering to women’s fears.’

  ‘Women shouldn’t have to live in fear all the time,’ declared a tracksuit.

  Martha was very clear. ‘This, ladies, is a clever plot to keep women off the streets of Edenford.’

  Eve thought it unlikely. It was only Adam trying to get back on Radio 4. It wasn’t that clever.

  ‘But we won’t submit to it,’ declaimed Theresa.

  ‘No,’ said Martha quietly, ‘we won’t, but that doesn’t mean we won’t be ready. Right, let’s get started. Now, this appalling leaflet is just part of a calculated campaign in the media to tell all women that you can’t walk safely anywhere any more.’

  This seemed a bit rich. It had only been the one mugging on a Saturday night. ‘I don’t know, Martha. This is Edenford not Bangkok.’

  Martha looked at her sister, suddenly sorry she had asked for the snacks.

  ‘All right, Eve, let’s start with you. Could you defend yourself?’

  ‘Well, it would depend what someone said about me.’

  Martha sighed. ‘In the street, Eve. Come on, I can help protect you.’

  Eve giggled. ‘You used to say that when we were kids but at least you had a Captain Marvel ring then.’ Martha turned away in disgust.

  ‘Fran, let’s imagine — if someone came at you what would you do?’

  Fran looked apprehensive. Everyone in the room was a little unsure where this was heading.

  ‘How good-looking is this person?’ giggled Fran.

  Martha ignored this. ‘Come on, Fran, have a go at being attacked by me. Don’t worry about me. I’m trained so I know what to do. I’ll come at you and you defend yourself.’

  ‘Now, Martha, be careful,’ warned ferret woman, who had brought the punch bowl and didn’t want an accident.

  Martha stood up and planted her feet firmly on the hearthrug. ‘Right, Fran, you pretend you’re just walking down the street.’

  Everyone looked at her and, really, she had no choice but to get up. Fran stood opposite Martha and tried to be helpful.

  ‘I’m just walking down the street?’ Martha nodded. ‘Okay.’ Fran started walking and then stopped.

  ‘Sorry, Martha, where am I going?’

  ‘I don’t think it matters.’

  ‘No, it’s just that I walk different paces depending on where I’m going. You know, fast to the coffee shop but slow to the dentist, that sort of thing.’

  Everyone started to agree and contribute their own paces in relation to location until Martha couldn’t stand any more.

  ‘All right, all right.’ The room settled down. ‘You’re going shopping.’

  Fran set off again across the carpet and Martha began to move towards her. Fran stopped again.

  ‘Sorry, Martha, what am I going to buy?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  This made her cross. ‘Look, you may know all about attacking people in the street and all that but I do know about shopping and—’

  ‘Shoes, you’re going to buy shoes.’ Fran was a sport and held her hands up to accept this.

  ‘Fine. I don’t need shoes but it’s fine.’ Fran began to walk again while Martha snuck up behind her. Just as Martha was about to strike, her potential victim turned to face her and began speaking very loudly.

  ‘Six ounces of cheese, three celery sticks, one onion finely chopped and two pints of chicken stock.’

  ‘What the hell is that?’

  Fran looked hurt that no one had recognised it. ‘It’s part of a soup recipe.’

  Martha was incredulous. ‘Someone is going to attack you in the street and you defend yourself by quoting a soup recipe?’

  Fran was indignant. ‘It’s Jamie Oliver and it worked, didn’t it?’

  Martha was losing it. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Eve, what would you do if a man came at you?’

  Eve thought about it for a minute. She really did want to be helpful.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I think I’d probably comment on his hair.’

  ‘Why?’ exploded Martha, exasperated.

  ‘Well, men are funny about their hair. He comes at me and I say, “Your hair’s looking a bit funny at the front.” He goes like that,’ Eve reached up with both hands to brush her hair back, ‘and I knee him in the groin while he’s got his hands up.’ There was general murmuring of approval at this idea but Martha was having none of it.

  ‘This is disastrous. Now let’s just try some basic self-defence techniques, okay? Fran, I’m going to attack you from behind.’ Martha was impatient now and didn’t wait for anyone to agree. She simply leapt behind Fran and grabbed her. ‘Got you,’ she yelled menacingly.

  Fran leant back in Martha’s arms and sniffed. ‘What is that perfume? It’s lovely.’

  Everyone sniggered, which was a mistake because Martha was now beside herself. ‘Will you take this seriously? This is important. It could save your life.’

  There was a silence. Everything had gone too far for a decent women’s study group.

  ‘Look, Martha,’ Eve said, feeling some responsibility as a family member. ‘I know it’s important. I just don’t want to think about it. It makes me so furious. Why should we walk around thinking we have to defend ourselves at every minute?’

  Martha nodded. ‘That’s good, Eve, get mad. Come on.’

  ‘I’m not angry,’ continued Eve, ‘I just want to know why I can’t simply walk in the park and enjoy it without looking over my shoulder.’

  Martha began bobbing up and down close to her sister. ‘And it makes you furious.’ Martha reached out and jabbed Eve on the arm. Eve spun round. She was beginning to get drawn. ‘Why does it happen, Eve, huh? Huh?’ Martha poked her again.

  Eve clenched her jaw in irritation. ‘I’ll tell you what I think,’ she said. ‘I think a lot of it is a conspiracy. I think it’s a load of men who write newspapers, blowing these stories up out of all proportion to make us frightened and keep us in the house. Well I’m not having it. I will not be afraid.’

  ‘So come at me! Come at me!’ shouted her sister, punching at Eve and then spinning round behind her. Eve was mad now. Eve was mad about a lot of things. She didn’t stop to think. She spun round, took one single punch and knocked Martha clean out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  18 January

  Holloway Prison for Women

  London

  My dear Inge,

  The Joys of Sex

  But I say, walk by the Spirit, and do not gratify

  the desires of the flesh.

  (GALATIANS 5.16)

  I think the psychiatrist believes that we are getting down to the nitty gritty.

  ‘Do you and Adam have a good sex life?’ asks Big Nose, who thinks nothing of poking his big nose in anywhere, willy-nilly, as it were.

  ‘I don’t know,’ was my answer. ‘I think so. I mean, till his… accident.’

  We seem endlessly to stray on to the subject. I don’t know if I had a good sex life. I never had sex with anyone except Adam. He wasn’t very demanding after the children came along. I think he was happy. I mean, he made all the moves.

  ‘I suppose it must be hard for him to take all the responsibility for sex in your relationship.’

  ‘Yes, well, I just never really thought of it. I mean, it was always up to him. It’s like that with men, isn’t it? You sort of thi
nk they can’t help themselves, don’t you? That’s what everyone tells you. That it’s not their fault. They’re driven. That’s why they have all those magazines, even in petrol stations where the most I’m ever looking for is a mini Scotch egg from the cold cabinet.’

  ‘And what did you want?’

  What did I want? It was a question that never came up. I wanted to sleep alone in clean, white sheets. Egyptian cotton ones from the linen specialist. Anyway, I knew he wanted to … have an early night… ever since the big party. You know, because of Pe Pe looking so splendid and him not getting the job from the mall and his injury and then him getting ready to save Edenford and everything. He had a lot to prove to himself.

  It’s a funny business, sex, isn’t it? Maybe not for you. I mean, I wouldn’t know. Perhaps it was all more … sympathetic for you. You were with someone who must have felt what you felt. I mean, I imagine. I sometimes think the worst thing that ever happened to us is that Adam read an article about foreplay in Cosmopolitan while he was waiting at the dentist’s. He brought it home and put it on the kitchen table.

  ‘This business here, Eve,’ he said, poking a finger at the magazine article. ‘I do work at making you…’ Well, he could hardly say it,’… satisfied?’ Of course, I nodded. I mean he does work at it. Endlessly.

  He’s absolutely scrupulous about the entire operation. Starts at the top, kneading and twiddling my breasts like he’s tuning the radio and keeps it up until I give a moan that suggests he’s found the right frequency. Then he works his way down as if he were visiting the stations of the cross until finally he can’t stand it any more.

  ‘Here comes the train into the tunnel!’ he shouts, as if I might not have expected it and then there’s two short blasts of the whistle and he passes on into the night, leaving me still standing on the platform.