Campari for Breakfast (9 page)

Joe’s just been such a nice guy to me, helping me re-butter and distracting Mrs Fry, and I felt so grateful that I asked him to come to Green Place for a bite this afternoon after his shift.

As soon as I got back home, in an unexpected move, I went straight up to my room and transferred Icarus’s eye from my pillow to my sock drawer, which felt like progress emotionally.

When Aunt Coral and Delia came back from shopping I told them Joe was coming over, which sent them both into a spin. They dashed to get doilies and put them on the table and selected some crisps and, after lengthy talks, Delia went to bake brownies. Before Joe arrived at 4.00pm they both went to their rooms and changed, Aunt Coral into a chiff-en-chiff dress and Delia into a kaftan. Their combined scent was of roses, lilacs and musk all mixed together in a blooming fusion. You could have smelt them in Addlestone – it wasn’t so much a waft as a punch in the face.

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I tried to tell them, a pro-po their great efforts. But it didn’t make any difference. A young man coming to the house was all the excuse they needed to turn up the volume.

When Joe arrived he had changed too, into a specialist floral shirt and turn-ups. This was spiralling from a casual on-the-cuff arrangement to a formal date with clean clothes. I took him into the conservatory and Aunt Coral kept coming in to check the temperature, trailing clouds of scent behind her. Even her shadow smelled nice.

‘Come and join us in the drawing room soon,’ she said, imposing her utmost knowing on me.

‘She’s your Nana?’ asked Joe.

‘No, she’s my Aunt,’ I said. ‘Actually, Great Aunt. My mother’s mother’s sister.’

All was peaceful in the conservatory, apart from the sounds from outside of the Admiral hacking at the rampage of climbing ivy. It was just between daylight and twilight because the days are battling to be longer. We sat in awkward silence for a while and talk was hard to find. Then as so often happens in such circumstances we both started speaking together.

‘I’m glad you’re better, Sue,’ said Joe, ‘from your cold.’

‘Would you like a crisp?’ I said.

Then I salvaged. ‘Yes, I have been practically living in a pot of medicinal honey.’

‘Then I wouldn’t mind being a bee,’ he replied, which provoked us into more silence.

‘What an amazing house,’ he said into the emptiness of the conservatory. But I couldn’t find my patter.

‘Yes,’ I said, before I dried up again.

‘We don’t have to talk about it, not if you don’t want to,’ said Joe.

But I felt like I owed him an explanation for the morning’s sandwiches. ‘My Dad is marrying his girlfriend,’ I said, ‘but my Mum hasn’t even been gone a year.’

Joe was quiet again, neither of us knew what to say, and then he shook his head and just said my name: ‘Sue’.

There was something about the way he said it that held the meaning of who I was to him, and who I was to him was someone to be cherished. I noticed that I liked that. It was all rather adult.

He patted my hand on the seat of my chair, and of course at that precise moment, with perfection timing, Aunt Coral burst in with the brownies. She just couldn’t help herself, or Delia either, and next minute they had both joined us in the conservatory, because they couldn’t wait for us to join them in the drawing room. I almost guessed what was coming next, because I was getting used to the way they operate under high excitement levels.

‘We thought we’d hold Group this evening. We were wondering if your young man would join us?’

Egham Hirsute Group

Wordplay

Our Favourite Words:

First we discussed our favourite words and then Aunt Coral set us to incorporate them into a short poem. She had promised to keep off emotional work to prevent embarrassment.

‘Has anyone seen Loudolle?’ said Delia, ‘she was supposed to be home for tea.’

Joe looked apprehensive. ‘She went to have tea with my brother I think,’ he said. It didn’t wash well with me.

I still didn’t know how she happened to be at Sandy’s party. They aren’t the sort of family Loudolle would normally be interested in mingling in.

‘Right,’ said Aunt Coral, ‘without further ado, I’d like you to get into twos, and using the favourite words of your partner, I’d like you to write short poems for each other.’

She was, as ever, being cunning in her lesson plans, which usually led us head-long into romance. I was just wondering what I could do with Joe’s words, when the Egham Hirsute Group as I had known it ceased to exist, because Loudolle walked in with Icarus.

‘Sorry we’re late mom,’ she said, ‘what are you guys doing?’

‘We’re having Group,’ said Delia. ‘Would you like to join in?’

‘Cool,’ said Loudolle. ‘It won’t take long will it?’

Is there to be nowhere sacred any more? She is everywhere; my home, my work, my love life, and now at my core at Group.

Aunt Coral did her best to be polite and recapped the plan for them. I was working with Joe, Delia had the Admiral, and of course Loudolle had Icarus.

‘But Icarus can only think of one word,’ Loudolle said, after we’d been working for a few minutes, ‘and that is
burger
.’

‘Then that is your challenge,’ said Aunt Coral, putting the cat among the pigeons. She was clearly demonstrating her displeasure at the way Loudolle had swalked into our session. Though curiously, even though Icarus was as handsome as I’d known him, I thought that Loudolle had drawn the short straw. It gave me an awful relief in finding a little fault with him.

As we set about our wordplay there was a terrible amount of tension in the room. Delia obviously had issue with Aunt Coral for giving Loudolle such a difficult task and there were unspoken opinions between them. Loudolle was giving me bad eyes too and kept on stroking Icarus’s knee under the table. The only ones not engaged in silent squabbles were the Admiral and Joe, who were both quietly getting on with their poems. The Admiral’s hands were stained green with ivy, and he was sweating. Aunt Coral sat in the window, with all the blossoms outside now just in vision after the Admiral’s ivy cutbacks.

The poetry exercise did not turn out to be a success as neither Icarus nor Loudolle could manage it. Although I wasn’t very happy with mine, I read it out aloud for the group.

The lavender steals against your gown so delicious,

But even so, I know, you are my nemecyst.

‘You can’t say “nemecyst”’, said Loudolle, ‘the word is “nemesis”’.

‘But I mean “nemecyst”, which is a cross between “nemesis”, meaning “adversary”, and “cyst”, meaning “bag bursting with poisons”,’ I said. ‘“Nemecyst”. I feel it adds meaning to the word. Not only an adversary, but an adversary bursting with poisons.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Loudolle, ‘it makes it into complete nonsense.’

‘I think Sue’s right.’ Joe tried to intervene. ‘It adds depth to the existing meaning, it sort of . . . Sue-ifys it.’

‘Sue-ifys it?’ said Loudolle. ‘Is that a new word as well?’

Joe hesitated to respond, he was a little out of his depth with such a rattlesnake. I was overwhelmed – it was valiant of him to stick up for me.

‘Well, it’s my choice of word, and I’m happy for it to be . . . Sue-ified,’ he said.

Aunt Coral clapped her hands together to distract us like a geography teacher. The two visiting members obviously weren’t up to it, so she turned us to other things with great largeness.

‘This looks like a good moment to tell you that we have a long-term plan. I have entered the Egham Hirsute Group into a short story competition, which will be judged at the Ramblers’ Association Gala in December.’ There was an excited smatter of applause as she beamed out at us. ‘Members are to enter individually, but there will also be group prizes, plus an overall individual winner and serious prize money. Entries are to be no more than six thousand words and are to begin with the phrase: “He, or She, awoke.” All newcomers to EHG are of course welcome to enter, but this would involve a full commitment to the process.’

When she finished explaining the rules she sat down and sipped on her Sapphire. ‘I think we should call it a night.’

Though she had cut the group short, I trusted Aunt Coral’s instincts. Loudolle was causing ructions, Delia wasn’t looking too happy and the Admiral needed a bath. All these things block creativity.

‘Can I just read you my poem?’ asked Joe, as I was showing him out after Group. I agreed, so we stepped back into the conservatory. He was so nervous he caught his shoe briefly on his turn-up.

‘“I had rather sit with you on a knarl of oak, with only the leaves for confetti, than with the princess of all America upon her shimmering throne.”’

‘That’s beautiful, Joe,’ I said. But in truth, I felt somewhat embarrassed.

Here is the beginning of my entry for the Gala. I have chosen the seventeenth century as a setting because it is my personal favourite:

Brackencliffe

A SHORT STORY
By Sue Bowl

She awoke on the course ground, as it sprung back to life beneath the shimmering frost. Calling her Keeper to her, they set off together on foot. High, high she climbed, her skirts full of wind and Keeper gambling after, to yonder on the edge of the cliffs, where lay the gargantuan house. So this was Brackencliffe, the highest house on the ridge. And ’twas here she knew she’d find employ, here at the house of plenty.

As Cara peeped into the window, she spied the beautiful Pretafer Gibbon dancing, achingly pretty, yet shallow, held close in the arms of Van Day.

Knight Van Day lived but two stones by, so he was oftentimes suiting Pretafer. Rich and deadly and silent, but the publican says ‘that don’t mean ee don’t ravish’.

The Commonplace Book of Coral Garden: Volume 1

Green Place, July 1933
(Age 11)

The London Aeroplane Club

Cameo and I have just returned from a school trip to see the latest in aviation.

‘The Percival Gull’ has folding wings and is believed to be the finest light aircraft invented. It has a landing speed of 40mph, three seats and delightful colours. It is fully equipped with a compass which makes flying in fog easier and safer, while its tremendous smooth landing promises only the most modest bounce.

Cameo is inspired and is considering life as a pilot. She intends to follow in the footsteps of Amy Johnson, who was the first woman to fly solo from England to Australia.

I myself, however, would prefer to remain firmly on the ground!

The weather report in the
Airfield News
said: ‘Atlantic fronts will be grazing the coasts and flirting with the Home Counties.’ Cameo was in fits all the way home.

The Garden

Mother and Father have instigated plans to update some of the flower beds. Many of the lavenders here are so old that their heads have gone white, like grey hair. And with unmistakeable loftiness Father prefers French lavender. So now we have white lavender to the left and French to the right, faded and vibrant opposites. A million pale butterflies flutter in the thick of the bushes, these ones are called cabbage whites. In her plot Mother has put a profusion of colours, and has forgotten the name of everything, but the effect is as lively and cheerful as she is.

I like all the scented things because I am very interested in making perfume. I love Sweet William, while Cameo loves the woody things, and all the herbs. In a dramatic moment she said she wished she could roll around in the mint, but Mother said that Green Place girls should stay upright (fat chance!).

Animals

Cameo has rescued another animal – an old horse she’s christened Alto. He was abandoned between the train tracks and the sea, and had been grazing beside wet sand banks until the station master realised nobody owned him. When he finally discovered this, nobody would take poor Alto, so they were going to have to shoot him. That’s when Cameo found out, and she’s had him moved to our paddock. He’s grazing there now, and seems to have not a care in the world. She’s like the patron saint of elderly animals.

Sue

Tuesday 17 March

I got a letter today from Aileen Edgeley. Aileen is on a gap year in Australia picking strawberries. We were neighbours in Titford, and she was my first friend for life. Aileen and I used to spend all our time together. She was not only my neighbour, but my schoolmate and somewhat sister. She liked to dress up as the Queen and I liked to dress in rags and serve her Ribena, then we’d go behind the sofa and have Holy Communion. It was the best of times.

The Edgeleys were quite poor and Aileen used to shame her mother by sitting outside their house begging. I often used to see her because we were only two doors down. Someone would call Mrs Edgeley and say, ‘Aileen’s begging again’, and Mrs Edgeley would rush outside and remove Aileen and her hat full of pennies.