Diary of a Provincial Lesbian (15 page)

‘It doesn’t have to be,’ I say.

‘It does.’

Shut my eyes tightly. Open them again. See a small blue butterfly, coming lazily along, gentle swoops, like someone window shopping. It settles, shivering on a blade of glass. Tilly looks up but she’s far too old to engage in butterfly chasing.

June 7
^th

Drinks and nibbles plus tour of meadow passed surprisingly well. Feel Deirdre was under strict instructions from Martin to behave or perhaps it was the other way round. Martin said, ‘Good god, is that pepper saxifrage - reminds me of my youth.’

‘Possibly it is,’ I said, staring down at a minute rosette of leaves.

‘Fantastic,’ said Deirdre. ‘All this nature. Do you know even the air smells better in your garden?’

Then she sniffed and a small frown creased her powdered brow. ‘Although actually what is that I can smell?’

‘Manure,’ I said apologetically.

‘As in “out of animals’ backsides”?’

‘Fraid so.’

‘Gross!’

‘Deirdre,’ Martin said briskly, ‘we all do doo-doos.’

‘But we don’t
all
spread it on the garden.’

The three of us squashed together on the bench, passing dishes of olives and peanuts back and forth along the row. I topped their wine glasses up. Martin lit a cigarette and stretched out his legs. ‘Well isn’t this nice?’ he said, as if his one wish in life was to be sitting outside on a chilly evening looking at the tiles missing from my roof.

‘Golly,’ Deirdre said. ‘This garden is going to be unbelievable. I’m envious. Look, there’s a dear little white butterfly. I bet it’s so rare, only comes to gardens with exotic wildflowers like you’re going to have.’

‘Cabbage white,’ Martin said. ‘Two a penny. No, fifty a penny. The commonest butterfly in England. Margaret, we don’t get butterflies in our garden - Deirdre doesn’t allow anything that crawls, squirms or flies. Says first they’re in the garden, next they’ve set up home indoors.’

Deirdre shouts Martin down, ‘That isn’t true. I’ve got an incey-wincey phobia that’s all. I love everything that lives and breathes. Insects don’t breathe do they?’

Woman vicar called early evening. Gave her boxes of bric-a-brac. Enquired whether there was anything there of value? No. Vicar asked whether I’d be going to her jumble sale because if the weather was fine there would also be a dog show. Said the contestants, human and canine, responded well to a good audience. Rather warmed to vicar. Seemed a refreshing innocence to imagine a dog show might be an incentive to give up my Saturday afternoon.

June 8
^th

Deirdre and Martin so overwhelmed with my garden they’ve set off for the west of England to see the Eden Project and the Gardens of Heligan. Martin’s hoping they can do the lot in a day.

June 9
^th

Miriam very difficult. Realise she’s unhappy but how does she think I feel at the minute?

She broke up with the woman she met at the Hove barbecue within a matter of days. In Miriam’s own words, before the
dastardly deed could be accomplished.
Feel Miriam should get out more even if she just stands in the middle of the shopping centre and listens to what’s common parlance these days. (Admittedly words ‘common parlance’ not often heard. Possibly never ever heard in Bittlesea Bay Shopping Pavilion.) Am inclined to wonder if Miriam’s sometimes unfortunate choice of phrasing has anything to do with relationship floundering.
When we ran out of conversation neither of us had the gumption to get stuck in,
doesn’t sound in anyway romantic or even brutally erotic.

Miriam also talking of chucking her job at the Hospice Shop. She has taken against Mrs Ferguson. Also says she’s met no one under eighty and why should
she
wear second and third hand togs when own mother shops in British Home Stores and Marks and Spencer?

‘Why indeed?’
is my reply which leaves Miriam vaguely dissatisfied.

June 14
^th

Another letter from bank, this time with red underlining. Telephoned. After usual security checks the clerical assistant said in a very smug voice, ‘So you’re experiencing financial difficulties Mrs Charlecote?’

‘Miss Charlecote.’

‘It says Mrs on your records.’

‘I didn’t have the energy to get it altered after the first twelve attempts.’

Pause while clerical assistant decides whether I am being facetious, or amusing. Decides on the latter and chuckles briefly. ‘Miss Charlecote. Right. Now if you
are
experiencing financial difficulties...’

He leaves the sentence hanging in the air - sounds almost like a threat. Briskly I say, ‘So I’d like to increase my overdraft facilities in expectation of substantial funds due in at the end of this month.’

‘And might I ask where you expect these funds to come from?’

‘No you may not. It’s a highly personal matter but the funds will be arriving forthwith.’ Made voice haughty - rather grand dowager talking to impudent whippersnapper.

Overdraft agreed, which gives me two and a half weeks to find a well paid part time job to complement my lowly paid part time job.

June 15
^th

Deirdre returned from her horticultural tour of Devon and Cornwall. Was away five days. Martin livid. Very hot weather and
the nose
has suffered sunburn. Also Martin has been exposed to sight of semi-naked tourist families and found the experience repugnant. Wants to know,
why were clothes invented if nobody’s going to wear them?

Martin information relayed to me via Deirdre as Martin has taken to his bed and is threatening not to get up till it rains.

I said, ‘But he’s never taken against scantily dressed holidaymakers in Bittlesea Bay?’

Deirdre explains, ‘He doesn’t have to rub shoulders with tourists here. It’s house to car to Corner Coffee Shop and back. The metal chairs in the Coffee Shop puts the nudies off - chilly on the bum!’

‘So what about the Eden Project and the Gardens of Heligan?’

‘Fabulous! Fantastic! Breathtaking!’ She waves a wedge of carrot cake up and down in front of her rosebud mouth. (We are sitting at my kitchen table and it is a supplemented Atkins day for Deirdre.) ‘Personally I think they need a bit of a re-think. Small could be beautiful. There’s no need to let tropical plants get so big. I mean they’re enormous. We both suffered from terrible neck ache. And you can’t help looking up because everyone else is looking up and you’re worried you’re going to miss something. But at the end of the day one green canopy is the same as the next.’ Bites into cake and munches with great enjoyment. ‘Yum, yum. And not enough benches either. And too many people Oohing and Aahing. You’d think they’d never seen a tree before. I’m glad I went don’t get me wrong, but have to admit we had a better time on our detour to Bluewater. I could live in Bluewater. I don’t think Martin would go that far but he certainly would spend some quality time in there. Great food, all the major outlets, clean toilets, a multiplex...’

June 16
^th

Miriam away with abscess on undisclosed part of body. These days Miriam seems to be away at least two days in each week.

Tom Matthews sits on the corner of my desk and begins to tap out a Morse code message with my Parker pen.

‘I’m worried about Miriam,’ he says.

‘Really?’ Move draft letter to the
Listening Ear
re. prevalence of elderly folk joyriding their mobility scooters down the main shopping mall in Marks & Spencer.
How long before a serious accident occurs?

‘I think she’s suffering from depression.’

Wonder if this might be a good time to ask for a rise or even to suggest that I take over Miriam’s afternoon stint as she’s proving so unreliable?

‘You two are good buddies; would you go and see her?’

‘We’re not very good buddies.’ Memo: Must ask Deirdre if word ‘buddies’ is becoming popular. Have noticed that it is one of Tom’s favourites.

‘The pair of you have been chewing the fat on the outside step for years; you must know each other inside out. I’d go myself only...you know... boundaries to be observed, etcetera.’

‘I could telephone,’ said reluctantly.

‘Why not just turn up? En passant.’

Tom gets off my desk and seems to be considering seating himself in Miriam’s swivel chair, instead he twirls it round. ‘You know Margaret, I wanted to say, out in the open...’

Fortunately before Tom can get anything out in the open the telephone rings and he goes back into his office and shuts the door. Makes no further attempt at conversation for which I’m relieved. Wish Miriam would pull her socks up.

Arrive at Miriam’s flat and peer through the railings. It is only 2pm, a hot and sunny day, but the front room curtains are closed. Go down the steps and ring the bell. Hear shuffling footsteps and the door opens about four inches. There is Miriam with a Fairisle scarf around her head. She does indeed have an abscess.

‘Margaret,’ she says with some difficulty.

‘Hello Miriam. Tom and I thought you might like a visitor.’

‘I suppose he thinks I’m skiving?’

‘Not at all. He’s worried. Can I come in?’

She reluctantly steps aside and I walk into the hall.

‘Keep the noise down, Mother’s sleeping.’

‘I wasn’t intending to make any noise,’ I said.

‘You’re making quite a bit of noise now. Didn’t Georgie ever tell you - you have a very penetrating voice?’

 ‘What a horrible thing to say.’

‘Don’t take it to heart. I didn’t mean it unpleasantly. Obviously an abscess the size of a ping-pong ball doesn’t put me in the best of tempers.’

Miriam grips me by the arm and hustles me into the front room. It is in semi-darkness.

‘Why are the curtains pulled?’

‘I’m depressed. I don’t want sunshine, it makes me feel worse.’

‘When you’re depressed you need all the vitamin D you can get.’ I begin to open the curtains.

‘Really Margaret, you are getting very bossy - it’s not nice.’

‘Get me a cold drink,’ I boss.

‘There’s nothing in the house.’

‘Tap. Let it run.’

‘I don’t like you in this mood.’

‘I don’t like you either but I’ve come to see how you are and I intend to do just that.’

While Miriam is getting my water I begin to tidy the room, thump the cushions, stack books and magazines. Miriam comes back with two glasses of water drizzled with orange juice. We sit. Find little to say. Miriam wants to show me her abscess. I refuse to look. Miriam asks me if I will take a photograph of it, I won’t have to actually look at abscess, she will position the camera?

‘Whatever for?’ I ask.

‘Posterity.’

Again I refuse. ‘Let’s go on the beach,’ I suggest.

She shakes her head and has to retie her scarf. ‘I see enough of that damn beach every day as I come in and out of here.’

‘Fancy a jumble sale on Saturday?’

‘Margaret I’m looking for La Dolce Vita!’

‘Fair enough but the jumble sale is at St Dunstan’s at two o’clock. There’s a dog show.’

‘Whoopee!’ Miriam says.

Visit hardly an unmitigated success.

June 17
^th

Meet Mrs Ferguson (Hospice Shop) in Morrison’s. No chance to avoid her, we are hemmed in by trolleys. Initially think that I am unrecognized then Mrs Ferguson holds up a tin of baked beans in front of my face and asks, ‘What does the label say about salt content?’

Writing on label far too small to read without magnifying glass but glibly say, ‘Salt content low.’

‘Good.’ She drops the tin in her trolley. ‘Your would-be pal Miriam’s left me high and dry.’

‘Not my pal,’ I whinnied a laugh. ‘Very helpful when trying on jackets that one memorable occasion - that was about all.’

‘Well she’s gone. Vamoosed. How’s your mother?’

‘Amazing recovery. In Scotland now staying with friends. Such a resilient woman.’

Mrs Ferguson goes on to enquire whether I’d like to step into Miriam’s shoes. Explained that Mother, although so resilient, might relapse finally at any moment. Say, ‘In many ways Mum’s hanging on by the skin of her teeth.’ Which conjures up picture of my old mum in cowgirl outfit dangling by her teeth from an outcrop of the Rockies. Mum’s teeth false and about to part company with Mum in favour of outcrop. ‘Actually, Mrs Ferguson, what I’m looking for is a paid part-time job.’

Mrs Ferguson said, ‘There’s a morning cleaner wanted at Russell’s. Six pounds fifty an hour, cash in hand. My granddaughter works there. Ring personnel. Tell them Mrs Ferguson, Noreen’s granny, will give you a reference.’

Thank Mrs Ferguson profusely. Am almost reduced to curtseying. Barricading trolleys move on and I depart unctuously backwards down the aisle.

Telephone Russell’s, a big mail order catalogue outlet similar to Argos only a few minutes walk away. Well ten minutes walk away.
Come in for an interview now,
they say. Do just that. Get job. Start Monday.

June 18
^th

Postcard from Laura of a 73 Routemaster bus. She writes,
Chin up!

Do not tell Deirdre about cleaning job when she pops in for a cup of Earl Grey, because she believes that no matter how poor you are, the trick is to think and behave as if you’re rich - says thinking rich automatically draws riches to you. She will advise me not to do cleaning job, that far better to spend my time meditating on cheque for several thousand pounds dropping through letterbox.

June 19
^th