by Sandy Taylor
Friday evenings became quite an event at Oriental Place. Mum and Aunty Brenda would arrive with sandwiches and home-made scones. Matthew and Millie would turn up with flowers for Rose, and Stephen and Tristan would come downstairs with bottles of wine. Sometimes Tom would come too. I loved those evenings. Rose would light a fire in the big marble grate and lighted candles were dotted about the room. She would wind up the old gramophone and play music. The old songs that she loved were the songs that Mum and Aunty Brenda loved as well. Sometimes Rose would play the piano, and we would all sing along. Those evenings were magical.
One evening I sat quietly watching everyone. Rose and Aunty Brenda were sitting at a little table beside the fireplace, both of them looking very serious as Rose introduced Aunty Brenda to Tarot cards. Their faces glowed in the light of the burning coals. Mum was happily chatting to Stephen and Tristan, and Millie was lying on her tummy on the floor playing with Colin. Matthew was standing by the fireplace. Sometimes I found it hard to believe how lucky I was to have found this place and these people. After Mary died I never dreamed that I could ever be happy again. In fact I can remember thinking that it would be some kind of betrayal to Mary if I let myself. As it happened life had other plans for me. I’d met Polly and Joe and allowed myself to smile again, and of course I would always have my lovely mad family, but somehow this was different. It was a feeling of belonging. Oriental Place had wrapped its arms around me and given me a new home and strangers that had become another kind of family. I wondered whether Ralph had found the same peace that I had. The mirror above the fireplace reflected the faces of these dear people, some of their features blurred by the candlelight. I caught Matthew’s eye, and he smiled at me.
I found myself thinking about Matthew a lot. I liked everything about him. I knew by the way he looked at me sometimes that perhaps he was falling a little in love with me, and that was okay – his gentle flirting made me feel wanted and cherished. I think he knew that I would never feel the same way, but we didn’t talk about it, and I was glad. I wondered what my one year with Matthew would bring, but there was one thing I knew for certain: it wouldn’t bring me pain.
47
It was hard returning to work. The mornings were getting darker, and I had a job dragging myself out of bed. Rose and the boys had spoiled me, and now it was time to get back to reality. Once there though I loved it, even though my pile of manuscripts almost covered my desk.
‘I’ve been trying to do some of them for you,’ said Millie, ‘but we seem to be getting more and more every day. It looks like everyone in Brighton wants to be a writer.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m back now, and I’m beginning to realise that you only have to read a few pages to know whether it’s going to be any good or not. I knew Matthew’s book was a winner after the first few lines.’
‘Are Friday evenings going to stop now that you’re better?’
‘I hope not. I’ve really enjoyed them, and I think Rose has too, but I can’t just presume that we can go on meeting at her flat.’
‘I hope she says we can. Everyone is so lovely. I even like all the old songs. Your mum and your aunty are really cool, and I love Rose and Stephen and Tristan. Are they… you know?’
‘No one has ever said as much, but yes, I believe that they are.’
‘Well I think they’re lovely.’
‘So do I. There’s a bit of a mystery there though.’
‘Oh I love a good mystery! Tell me all.’
‘When I first visited Oriental Place, Rose said that Stephen and Tristan were theatrical people, but they don’t seem to work, or even go to the theatre for that matter. They go to the pictures but only during the day.’
‘Why don’t you ask them?’
‘I have a feeling it’s not to be talked about. I don’t know why – it’s just a feeling I’ve got.’
‘And how about the lovely Matthew?’
‘How about him?’
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that he can’t take his eyes off you.’
‘We’re just friends, Millie.’
‘You might be his friend, but I get the feeling that he’s got more than friendship on his mind.’
‘I know.’
‘And you’re okay with that?’
‘As long as Matthew is, then so am I. I really like him, but that’s all.’
I passed the morning happily going through my pile of manuscripts. There was much sighing coming from Millie’s desk.
‘This is bloody mind-numbing.’
‘Worse than usual?’
‘I could do better and I have trouble writing a birthday card. I mean who told these people that they could write? They must have shown the stuff to someone.’
‘Their mums I expect.’
‘Well all I can say is that their mums aren’t doing them any favours.’
‘Who has been your best find?’
‘Who do you think? Celeste-up-her-own-rear-end Partington-bloody-Spencer.’
‘Whoops,’
‘I found a Malcolm once.’
‘What was the book about?’
‘Bathing huts, you know the old-fashioned ones on wheels that used to be on Brighton beach.’
‘Odd subject to write about.’
‘Odd bloke – not like your Matthew.’
Just then Tom came out of his office looking very pleased with himself. ‘Go fetch copious amounts of doughnuts, Millie.’
‘What have you sold?’ asked Millie, getting up from her desk.
‘You will be delighted to hear that I have just sold A Place Beyond the Mountain.’
‘You’ve sold Matthew’s book?’ I said, smiling.
‘I have indeed. Small publisher, small advance, but they love it as much as we do. I really think that your wonderful find will be in the right hands.’
‘That’s brilliant news,’ I said.
‘When are you seeing him, Dottie?’
‘Probably not till Friday, and I’m not really sure about that.’
‘That’s a week away,’ said Millie. ‘He has to be told sooner than that.’
‘A letter’s not going to be that much quicker,’ said Tom.
‘I suppose I could go up to the college, if I knew where it was.’
‘Good idea, go, go, go. Leave now.’
‘Really?’
‘Take some bus fare out of the petty cash.’
Millie got the petty-cash tin out of the drawer. ‘Go by train, Dottie – it’s only two stops.’
‘Where do I get off?’
‘Moulsecoomb, then ask.’
‘Bring him back with you if you can,’ said Tom. ‘We’ll take him round the pub.’
I grabbed my coat and headed towards Brighton station. I got there just as the train pulled in. I settled myself into a seat and imagined Matthew’s reaction when he heard the news. I couldn’t have been more pleased for my friend. What if he wasn’t there? Well at least I could leave a note – it would still be quicker than sending one. I stared out of the window as the train gathered speed. In no time at all we were pulling into the village of Moulsecoomb. I asked the man behind the ticket desk for directions and was pleased to find it was only a short distance from the station. Once outside I could actually see the college buildings.
I walked up the drive towards the main entrance. There were lots of young people milling around carrying books and bags. Everyone seemed to have a purpose, hurrying here and there. I had never considered going to college; it was never something that was talked about in our house. Seeing it now though, I think I would have liked it. I think it could have been fun, but I’d always thought that college and university weren’t for the likes of me, which Mary said was bonkers – I could be whatever I wanted to be.
It was a big red building with steps leading up to the entrance. I had just started walking up them when I heard my name being called. I turned around and there, sitting on a wall, was Matthew. I couldn’t believe my luck! I wouldn’t have to go looking
for him. He jumped down from the wall and walked towards me, grinning.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ he asked.
I was just about to answer him when he was joined by a young girl.
‘This is Danica,’ he said.
The girl was tiny and very pretty. She was dark like Matthew with beautiful brown eyes. So Matthew had a girlfriend. I don’t know why I was so surprised. He was a good-looking man – of course he had a girlfriend. I wondered why he had never mentioned her. Just then another boy joined us. ‘And this,’ said Matthew, ‘is my good friend Taji.’
‘My fiancé,’ said Danica, smiling.
So it wasn’t Matthew’s girlfriend at all.
Taji smiled. ‘Is this your Dottie?’ he said.
Matthew put his arm around my shoulder. ‘Yes, Taji, this is my Dottie.’
‘We’ve heard so much about you,’ said Danica. ‘You are the very clever girl who found his book. He sings your praises day and night.’
‘Someone would have found it – it’s wonderful.’
‘Come and meet the rest of my friends, Dottie.’
I wanted to be alone with him when I told him the good news about his book, but he was happy and smiling. and I could see that he wanted me to meet them.
We walked towards the wall where I'd seen Matthew sitting. A group of young people smiled at us as we apprached. ‘These are my good friends, Dottie. Ekine, Talib, Nala, Ada and Akira.’ They were all dark-skinned just like Matthew.
They were so chatty and welcoming. I was happy that Matthew had such nice friends. Then I noticed people staring at us and whispering.
‘What are they staring at, Matthew?’
‘I’m afraid, darling girl, that they are staring at you.’
‘But why? Aren’t I allowed here?’
The girl called Ada smiled at me. ‘It’s not you, Dottie – not you personally anyway.’
‘What then?’ I didn’t have a clue what she was on about.
‘They’re all idiots,’ said Talib angrily.
‘Not idiots, Talib,’ said Ada softly. ‘Just ignorant.’
I didn’t understand. Then I looked around the group and realised that mine was the only white face amongst them. ‘Oh, I see.’
‘Idiots,’ said Talib again. ‘I’ve a good mind to go over to them.’
Ada put her hand on his arm. ‘And what good will that do, Talib? It will only make it worse for us.’
‘You can leave us if you like, Dottie,’ she said.
‘I didn’t come all this way to get intimidated by a bunch of small-minded people.’
‘Good for you,’ said Talib.
‘Why did you come?’ said Matthew.
I grinned at him. ‘Tom has found a publisher for your book. You’re going to be a published author, Matthew. A proper published author.’
Everyone started screaming and patting his back and shaking my hand – it was brilliant. Matthew stood up and walked a little way away from the group. I followed him. He was looking out across the green.
‘Are you happy, Matthew?’ I asked, standing beside him.
‘Oh, my Dottie. I can’t put into words just how happy.’ He looked down at me, his eyes full of tears. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me, Matthew – you’re the clever boy that wrote it.’
‘And you’re the clever girl that found it.’
‘Well aren’t we the clever ones then?’
‘I’m sorry about those people.’
‘Well I’m not. They mean nothing to me.’
‘Do you still want to be my friend? Because there will be plenty of that.’
‘Of course I want to be your friend. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with a soon-to-be-famous author? Even that lot of idiots will be queuing up for your autograph.’
‘I like you very much, Dottie Perks.’
‘And I like you, Matthew Smith.’
And so began the year of Matthew and I. Sweet times with this sweet man. There was no future for us beyond a wonderful friendship and therefore no expectations.
It wasn’t always easy. Matthew pretended not to notice the looks and the whispers. I didn’t mind so much for myself, but I got really angry for him. I couldn’t see why people had such strong opinions about seeing us together. I mean we weren’t doing anyone any harm; we weren’t hurting anyone, were we? I was proud to be seen with this beautiful man, and I was determined that we shouldn’t hide away. What frightened me most was that someone might take the name calling further and actually hurt us, hurt Matthew. That really scared me.
One evening on my way home from work I stopped off at the open-all-hours to get some milk. I paid for it and was leaving the shop when a young girl came in. I stepped aside to let her pass when she said, or at least I thought she said, ‘Slag.’
I stared at her retreating back as she went up to the counter. ‘Did you just say what I thought you said?’
She didn’t even turn round to face me. ‘If the cap fits.’
Mr Raji the shopkeeper came flying round the counter and confronted the girl. ‘Well, I heard what you said, and you can get out of my shop, and don’t bother to come back!’
‘Hold yer hair on, old man. I don’t come into your shop out of bloody choice you know – in fact you’re lucky I come in at all.’
Poor Mr Raji had gone bright red in the face. ‘Out, out, out! Get out of my shop!’
Mrs Raji must have heard the rumpus and came running out from the back.
‘What is happening? What is all this noise?’
‘It was a customer, Mrs Raji,’ I said. ‘She was saying bad things about me. Your husband got angry.’
‘Bloody girl,’ he said, wiping his forehead.
‘Come, Basu,’ said Mrs Raji, helping her husband to sit down. ‘How many times have I told you to ignore these things? You can think what you like but laugh with the customer as if you think that what they are saying is the funniest thing you have ever heard.’
‘There was nothing funny about what she called this young lady, and I would like to remind you, Mrs Raji, that this young lady is one of our regulars.’
‘You think that I don’t know that, Basu? But you must think of your health. You are no good to me or this young lady when your ashes are floating down the Ganges river. Now go and sit down in the back, and I will take over.’
‘Thank you, Mr Raji,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry about. Girls like that one are not worth your spit.’
‘Mr Raji!’ exclaimed his wife.
I ran up the stairs to my flat, put the bottle of milk in a bowl of cold water to keep from going sour and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. I stood waiting for it to boil and thought about what the girl had said. She must have seen me with Matthew. There could be no other reason for her to call me that awful name – she was a complete stranger to me. Why did people have to be like that? I felt quite shaken up by the incident. The kettle boiled, I unscrewed the lid of the tea caddy and found that it was empty – something else I had meant to get at the shop.
I left the door on the latch and ran downstairs. I tapped on the door and Tristan answered.
‘I’ve come begging.’
‘Sugar? Milk?’
‘Tea.’
‘Tea I can do. In fact I have just this minute made one. Join me, darling, and we shall sup together. I don’t like drinking on my own.’
‘Where’s Stephen?’
‘Downstairs with Rose, visiting Colin.’
‘Does Colin live downstairs now?’
‘It makes more sense. Stephen retains visiting rights.’
Tristan poured my tea, and we sat side by side on the couch.
He stared at me and then said, ‘Something is bothering you, am I right?’
‘Well it shouldn’t bother me. It’s just something someone said.’
‘Biscuits, we need biscuits,’ said Tristan, jumping up.
Tristan opened the cupboard
, took out a packet of custard creams and brought them back to the table. ‘Now tell me all.’
‘A complete stranger just called me the S word.’
‘Sweet?’
‘No,’ I said, grinning.
‘Sugar lips?’
Now I was starting to giggle. ‘No.’
‘Sensitive soul?’
‘Is that what I am?’
‘Isn’t that what we all are?’ said Tristan, reaching across the table and holding my hand.
‘She called me a slag. I don’t understand why people think they can judge me when they don’t even know me.’
‘Because they are idiots with very small brains.’
‘But they’re not all idiots, are they? The students and even some of the tutors at Matthew’s college give us funny looks, and they’re educated.’
‘I don’t know, my darling. Sometimes I question myself. Do I judge people because they don’t think like I do? I hope not, but I fear I might. Now have a custard cream and forget about her. Dunk, darling, dunk.’
I dipped my biscuit into the hot tea. The cream melted on my tongue, and the sweetness filled my mouth.’
‘Better?’
I nodded, took a deep breath and said, ‘Tell me to mind my own business, but you and Stephen intrigue me.’
‘What, boring old us?’
‘You’re far from that, and you jolly well know it.’
‘I think that Stephen would like the idea of being called intriguing.’
‘It’s just that when I first came here Rose said that you were both in the theatre, but you don’t seem to be.’
‘Our theatre days are behind us.’
‘You retired?’
‘We ran away.’
‘From the theatre?’
‘From the world, darling. We ran away from the world.’
‘Someone must have hurt you very badly. I’m sorry.’
Tristan stood up and walked across to the window. He was silent for a moment then he said,
‘They didn’t hurt me, not really. I wish they had. It was Stephen those bastards hurt.’
