Many thanks to my friend and editor Dawnj! Any mistakes in the story are mine.
This is a long story (for me) and I would like to warn my readers that it contains no sex until the second part of chapter 19. If you don't mind waiting that long, please read on...
Prologue
Barbra wished she could have skipped 2010. Perhaps things would have been better if that had been possible? She knew they wouldn't. Still, it had been the absolute worst year of her life.
It had started alright. Christmas had been simply wonderful, spent in the family circle with her parents, her photographer husband Mike Nelson Laing and her twin sister Emily, in an atmosphere of real good will and happiness. She hadn't even had a quarrel with her sister once, which was rare to say the least, her parents had been in extremely good spirits despite their high age and physical discomforts, and Mike had been home!
But then her life ran off the rails completely. Joe Kirkland, her father, got a stroke on the 23rd of March, and he lay in intensive care for just over a week. Barbra and Em took turns watching over him in hospital; Minnie, their mother, kept going as well as she could, but it hit her hard. She'd always been frail, and now, white-haired, slim and wise, she looked more fragile than ever, and the twins made sure she got enough rest and they tried to comfort her as well as they could. They stayed at their parents' place. Barbra sorely missed Mike, who was in Afghanistan working for a French newspaper and freelancing; the daily phone call was quite simply not enough under the circumstances. However, it was the best they could do.
Joe died on April 1st, with his daughters and wife around him. They pressed his hand, and he nodded at them and tried to smile, but his faculty of speech had been impaired by the stroke, and he was too weak to write. At 7:56 in the evening he suddenly made a sound -- like a hiccup, Barbra thought -- and then lay back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling with dead eyes. They laid him off themselves, washing him and dressing him all in the family. It was a truly valuable time as such, but one that would hurt for a long, long time, whenever she thought about it and that would fill her with longing for the togetherness of that moment.
Barbra called her aunt Kitt, her father's favourite sister, and his only remaining sibling, who still lived in Port-of-Spain, in Trinidad where the family came from. She was in her nineties, and too old to travel. She tried to comfort her niece, and it did help Barbra some. She'd never seen her, but she sometimes called, and regularly wrote -- by snail mail, as Aunt Kitt didn't have a computer. Barbra loved the letters in her spidery handwriting.
Mike landed at Gatwick on the 3rd. Barbra had never been happier to see and hug him; she really needed her husband more than anyone. He was practical, he was sweet, and someone to hold on to...
The burial was a great success, as far as burials go. Barbra realised once again how popular and respected her father must have been; the auditorium of the cemetery was filled to capacity, and there were throngs of people in the waiting rooms, watching the ceremony on big flat screens. There were speeches by a few old friends and colleagues of her father's. His oldest friend told a very funny story about Joe's youthful days in Port-of-Spain and Minnie held a short but very moving exposé about her husband's life, and their life together. She touched on his love for his daughters, and his position as a family man, and though she had to stop once or twice to master her emotions, she carried it off very well. Barbra looked at her mother stand at the microphone admiringly; she was so old and wizened, and yet she was such a commanding personality that her audience sat listening to her spellbound.
When she had finished, though, she suddenly turned very pale and she stood at the microphone swaying on her legs. Mike made a dash for her and grabbed her shoulders just in time to stop her from falling.
They took her into the coffee room and sat her down on a chair, and she gradually got some colour back in her face. Barbra and Emily hovered around her, feeling very worried, but Minnie pooh-poohed their concern for her welfare. No, of course she was quite alright. What DID they think?
She insisted on doing the cooking that evening. Barbra and Emily were on hand to help out, and the four of them had an old-fashioned family dinner. It was cosy and satisfying enough, and Barbra sighed with relief that her fears appeared to be ungrounded.
One week after the burial, on Saturday the 11th, Barbra woke up well before dawn. Something made her feel uncomfortable, and she lay tossing and turning, feeling very restless. Eventually she decided to get up and prepare the breakfast table. Better to be up and doing things than to lie in bed fretting, she thought. She put on her robe and went downstairs; and when she entered the living room she stopped dead in her tracks.
Sitting on the couch, dressed in her nightgown, was her mother, entirely motionless, smiling but somehow looking completely wrong. When Barbra greeted her, there was no answer. Barb shook herself, hurried over to the couch, and took her mother's hand. It felt stiff and unnatural. She wasn't even surprised; she'd often thought her parents would go together. But knowing both of them were dead, she slumped down next to her mother on the couch and cried until she had run out of tears. Then she went upstairs to wake Mike and Em. The rest of the day was one long, bad dream.
Somehow she'd survived. The burial as such went off well, and Mike stayed with her for another fortnight -- in retrospect two of the happiest weeks she remembered. Then he flew back to Afghanistan, where he got killed in a bomb blast five weeks later.
An officer came to inform her in person. Mike had been damaged so much she was not allowed to see him. When Barbra got the news she simply didn't take it in at first. She didn't believe that it could be true. But it was. When she finally realised it really was true, she crumpled up. Of all four people who really meant something in her life the only one she had left was Em, and their relationship had always been troublesome. There was no one to turn to, now that she needed a shoulder to cry on and an arm around her shoulders. No one. Oh Mike... Mike... She sat down and bawled. As a girl she'd always turned to her father in times of need, and in her married life Mike had been the one to comfort her, to talk to, but now there was no reassuring voice to be found, no ear to listen to her.
Mike was buried on a beautiful day in late May. Barbra thought the weather was an extra insult. It should have been cold, grey and gloomy, like the way she felt. Everybody was very kind to Emily and to her, but it wasn't long before she was alone again, really alone in the house she'd bought with Mike, among the things they'd collected together, in the ambiance they'd created together, and it seemed all the light had gone out of her life -- all life out of her days.
1 - Doctor's Orders
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountainside,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go — so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
Edna St. Vincent Millay seemed to be rather preoccupied with death and disease, but she wrote beautifully. Barbra loved the poem. It wasn't quite what she felt, but it came near. The presence of Mike in the house, in everything around her, his ghost on her shoulder... The constant reminders were hard to take, so hard that she sometimes wondered if it was all worth it. Though she never noticed, she became a recluse, withdrawn into herself, shunning human contact. She grew thin, a grey-faced shadow of her former beautiful self with unhealthy hair and dull skin that had lost its shine, and the people that knew her were not a little worried.
She wasn't the person to ask anybody's help. Instead, she shied away from any friendly face and she kept on trying to cope for months, rather unsuccessfully, going it alone; and that autumn Barbra was told by her GP to leave off work and get herself back into shape first. She'd come to have some vague complaints seen to, but halfway through the consultation she lost her composure altogether. Dr James was an old friend of her father's and his kind words and the memories they kindled were too much for her. The doctor first let her cry. Then he tried to comfort her and told her to go and have herself a holiday and a change of air.
"But my job..."
"I'll see to that, Bee. You cannot go on like this. You have to get yourself sorted out!"
Barbra nodded dumbly. She knew he was right. She was getting too moody, too sour.
"Just so. Do send me a postcard, right?"
She smiled a little at that. "I will," she said. "Alright."
She went home and called the office, to find Dr James had already informed her employer.
"Have a good rest, Barbra," he said. "It's high time you found some purpose in life again! How about a month to start with?"
She thanked him profusely, but he didn't want to hear.
Alright, then. A holiday. But where to go? She wondered vaguely for some time, and then she remembered the enthusiastic stories her parents had told her about a holiday they'd had on the Isle of Wight. Barbra had never been there. Why not, she thought, and she booted her laptop to find out.
The next morning she packed her suitcase. She leisurely had some coffee, and a friend drove her to the station. She took a fast train to London, a slower one to Brockenhurst and then on to Lymington Pier.
When she arrived at Lymington dusk was settling over the trees, and the quayside, where the cars were waiting for the ferry to arrive, took on a slightly eerie aspect, the way such places tend to do; even in the daytime she didn't quite like them, and now it was slowly getting dark it felt a bit chilly between her shoulder blades. She'd got off the train, walked across and bought her ticket and now she sat on her suitcase looking out over the Solent.
The ferry arrived, and the cars and passengers disembarked. Then she walked on board. It was stuffy inside so she took her suitcase to the upper deck, and she stood looking at the distant blurred shape that was the island until the ferry sailed. There was a near full moon, and there were some wisps of cloud. She thought it was very beautiful and serene, and she stood on deck watching the island take on shape. Eventually she could even make out the contours of Yarmouth Castle in the moon light. It was a great change from sitting at home, mourning.
She'd booked a room in a B&B in Freshwater Bay, where she was received by Mrs Dee, a small, cheerful lady who made her feel quite at home. She went to the pub for a quick, late meal and a pint of cider. The publican was friendly and he didn't seem to mind serving food really late. When she felt well fed she went back to the B&B, where she went to bed, happy she'd taken James's advice.
Her holiday was a smashing success. She walked all along the coast, and visited all the sights; she bought a few books at the Freshwater lifeboat charity shop (the second-hand bookshop in Dimbola Lodge was a sight too expensive) and a nice blouse in West Cowes, she took the Red Funnel Ferry to go shopping in Southampton and a Wightlink one to Portsmouth and she duly sent a postcard to Dr James from Ventnor.
She didn't care for East Wight too much -- penny arcades and fast food and other sad kinds of entertainment -- but there was a pleasant coastal path with a great view across the water of Spinnaker Tower, and she loved the rest of the island. Smiling a little at the elderly people in Godshill having a good time, letting the wind blow into her face on Tennyson Down, tramping up to Newtown Harbour starting from Yarmouth, looking at the Needles from Totland Bay...
She most enjoyed a small cove with a few small houses and some fishing boats. The first time she went there the day, which had started grey, turned into unbroken rain. She had coffee at a cafe there, and she loved watching the way the rain flattened the waves, and the patterns it painted on the sea's surface -- dull lead, scrubbed silver, everything in between -- and listening to the pebbles being driven onto the shore and rolling back with the waves, a lovely sound that was both musical and soothing. She went there five times in all, and she realised that she loved the sea more than she'd ever realised.
Mrs Dee, who was a motherly woman of sixty-three, made sure Barbra had a run of excellent breakfasts. She loved cooking, and taking care of people in general, and she enjoyed seeing Barbra get more colour in her face and put on weight slowly. Barbra highly enjoyed sitting in the breakfast room, doing honour to the food and talking to Mrs Dee, who after a few days asked her to call her Alice.
She returned to the mainland in the daytime. Before she sailed she could see Tennyson's Monument in the distance, and Fort Victoria, and once out at sea she saw from the deck the whole shape of Tennyson Down, and Fort Albert, and eventually even the Needles.
She came home feeling refreshed and with a new zest for life. It had really and truly done her a lot of good, and she smiled when people complimented her on her looks. She didn't relish the idea of staying in her old house too much, though, and when she found a job vacancy in her line near the south coast she applied. To her delight she was taken and she sold her house and moved to a small but sweet cottage, a few miles from the sea.
It lay in a reasonably large garden that had been loved by its former occupants, with a few big trees and a well-kept lawn surrounded by a few small flower beds. It contained a nice, spacious bedroom, a reasonable spare room and a small study adjacent to the living room, and, Barbra thought, it was really just what she needed. She could put her dictionaries and her laptop in the study and leave the living room uncluttered by work-related stuff, and if she wanted to she could still listen to her music by leaving the door open.
As it had only recently been done up she didn't have to spend a lot of time redecorating; everything was well-kept and clean. All she had to do was put in new hardwood flooring in the living-room, and then she moved house in just one long weekend. Redoing the place in her own colours followed over the next few months, slowly and relaxed.
She kept no visible memories of Mike in there, apart from an enlarged, smiling photograph that she'd got framed and put up in her bedroom, and that she smiled at when she looked at it. The other memories stayed, of course, but they didn't encroach upon her life any more.
She fondly thought of Dr. James and his advice; she'd visited him and told him about her holiday's success before she moved, and he and his wife had taken leave of her as of an old friend. They were really nice.
2 - Mary's Birthday Party
Once she had completely settled, Barbra spent her weekends exploring the surroundings. There were a few beautiful paths in the neighbourhood. She especially liked the cliff paths; there was a rather precipitous path going down to the beach that made a sharp turn after some six or seven yards where the cliff went down perpendicularly, to become a little less steep. She often went down there; it reminded her a lot of her favourite spot on the Isle of Wight, and there was a small tea shop that sold good scones at the other end. She came to know Molly Barnes, the proprietress, very well. She quite liked her, and invariably had a nice chat with her when she went.
There was a good little pub in the village, and she met a few fellow-Caribbeans in the neighbouring town. Joan Boudreaux was a big woman with long plaits that she did herself, and Mary Ruddock was thin, tall and wore her hair short. It was nice to be around them, and talk girl things. Big girl things, admittedly, as they were all in their forties, but still. Joan had a quiet, friendly husband and three beautiful daughters, and Mary went in for the occasional lover but didn't keep any of them around for long. She often told hilarious stories about their clumsiness, larded with a good deal of self-deprecation, and whenever they met she would have the others in stitches within minutes. Barbra invariably went home smiling still.
That spring, at Mary's birthday party, Barbra was introduced to John Gibbons. He was at least six foot six, with very fine kinky hair, almost ebony skin and a royal bearing. He was very muscular, obviously in top shape, and he wore a white T-shirt. He had a small scar in the shape of the Nike logo on his upper arm, just over his elbow and the most beautiful smile, and Barbra was very impressed. His handshake was warm and firm, his eyes were brown and clear -- he was a really handsome man.
"Pleased to meet you," he said in a deep voice. "Barbra Laing... Are you Mike's widow, by any chance?"
"Yes I am. Did you know him?"
John shook his head. "I know his photography," he said. "He was a true artist, and a good reporter."
Barbra nodded. "He was," she said. "And a great husband."
"You were lucky," Mary said. "Husbands like him are rare."
Barbra smiled. "Thank you," she said.
Mike had been as handsome as John, she thought, in a slightly ragged way. He'd been less smooth, less poised, perhaps. But oh, oh, oh, how she missed him still.
"I don't talk about him much, you know," she said. "But he is often on my mind. It's about a year ago now..."
"Poor girl," Mary said, and she hugged her friend tight.
"I'm not. I wondered about it for a long time but I don't think I would have wanted to miss out on him, even if I'd known it would have spared me going through the loneliness that followed."
"Okay, sweetie, but let me hug you some more nevertheless!"
Barbra grinned. Mary was a great girl, she thought. Funny, sweet, weird sometimes -- and a real friend.
John stood looking at them silently. He seemed to like what he saw, and he waited until Mary had done hugging Barbra before he spoke again.
"Got a lot of his photographs about the house?" he said.
"No. I have a good many in portfolios, though. I like them, but there are too many war-related ones, and seeing how he died, I cannot get myself to put them up. They would conjure up the wrong kind of memory."
"Tear open half-healed wounds," Mary said. "Not a good idea."
John nodded. "Yes. Of course. I'd love one or two on my wall, though. Have you come down from the Midlands?"
"No, I moved here some months ago. Better for my mental health, and I love the cliffs."
"Okay. Right. In that case, as you'll be around here anyway, would you like to go out with me this weekend?"
"Sounds like a good idea. What do you have in mind?" Barbra said with a smile.
"Just a couple of drinks in the pub, to get to know you a little better?"
"Mmm, I don't know. I never drink and drive."
"I could pick you up and drive you home again."
Barbra shook her head. "No," she said. "Unless you want to live on Vichy all evening."
"Not me," John admitted. "There's no pub in your village where we could go?"
Barbra considered for a moment. She didn't want to make a bad impression, and she was afraid John might find the place very old-fashioned. "There is the Jolly Woodman. I rather like it, but I don't know if you would find it any good. It's a real village pub, you know."
This is a long story (for me) and I would like to warn my readers that it contains no sex until the second part of chapter 19. If you don't mind waiting that long, please read on...
Prologue
Barbra wished she could have skipped 2010. Perhaps things would have been better if that had been possible? She knew they wouldn't. Still, it had been the absolute worst year of her life.
It had started alright. Christmas had been simply wonderful, spent in the family circle with her parents, her photographer husband Mike Nelson Laing and her twin sister Emily, in an atmosphere of real good will and happiness. She hadn't even had a quarrel with her sister once, which was rare to say the least, her parents had been in extremely good spirits despite their high age and physical discomforts, and Mike had been home!
But then her life ran off the rails completely. Joe Kirkland, her father, got a stroke on the 23rd of March, and he lay in intensive care for just over a week. Barbra and Em took turns watching over him in hospital; Minnie, their mother, kept going as well as she could, but it hit her hard. She'd always been frail, and now, white-haired, slim and wise, she looked more fragile than ever, and the twins made sure she got enough rest and they tried to comfort her as well as they could. They stayed at their parents' place. Barbra sorely missed Mike, who was in Afghanistan working for a French newspaper and freelancing; the daily phone call was quite simply not enough under the circumstances. However, it was the best they could do.
Joe died on April 1st, with his daughters and wife around him. They pressed his hand, and he nodded at them and tried to smile, but his faculty of speech had been impaired by the stroke, and he was too weak to write. At 7:56 in the evening he suddenly made a sound -- like a hiccup, Barbra thought -- and then lay back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling with dead eyes. They laid him off themselves, washing him and dressing him all in the family. It was a truly valuable time as such, but one that would hurt for a long, long time, whenever she thought about it and that would fill her with longing for the togetherness of that moment.
Barbra called her aunt Kitt, her father's favourite sister, and his only remaining sibling, who still lived in Port-of-Spain, in Trinidad where the family came from. She was in her nineties, and too old to travel. She tried to comfort her niece, and it did help Barbra some. She'd never seen her, but she sometimes called, and regularly wrote -- by snail mail, as Aunt Kitt didn't have a computer. Barbra loved the letters in her spidery handwriting.
Mike landed at Gatwick on the 3rd. Barbra had never been happier to see and hug him; she really needed her husband more than anyone. He was practical, he was sweet, and someone to hold on to...
The burial was a great success, as far as burials go. Barbra realised once again how popular and respected her father must have been; the auditorium of the cemetery was filled to capacity, and there were throngs of people in the waiting rooms, watching the ceremony on big flat screens. There were speeches by a few old friends and colleagues of her father's. His oldest friend told a very funny story about Joe's youthful days in Port-of-Spain and Minnie held a short but very moving exposé about her husband's life, and their life together. She touched on his love for his daughters, and his position as a family man, and though she had to stop once or twice to master her emotions, she carried it off very well. Barbra looked at her mother stand at the microphone admiringly; she was so old and wizened, and yet she was such a commanding personality that her audience sat listening to her spellbound.
When she had finished, though, she suddenly turned very pale and she stood at the microphone swaying on her legs. Mike made a dash for her and grabbed her shoulders just in time to stop her from falling.
They took her into the coffee room and sat her down on a chair, and she gradually got some colour back in her face. Barbra and Emily hovered around her, feeling very worried, but Minnie pooh-poohed their concern for her welfare. No, of course she was quite alright. What DID they think?
She insisted on doing the cooking that evening. Barbra and Emily were on hand to help out, and the four of them had an old-fashioned family dinner. It was cosy and satisfying enough, and Barbra sighed with relief that her fears appeared to be ungrounded.
One week after the burial, on Saturday the 11th, Barbra woke up well before dawn. Something made her feel uncomfortable, and she lay tossing and turning, feeling very restless. Eventually she decided to get up and prepare the breakfast table. Better to be up and doing things than to lie in bed fretting, she thought. She put on her robe and went downstairs; and when she entered the living room she stopped dead in her tracks.
Sitting on the couch, dressed in her nightgown, was her mother, entirely motionless, smiling but somehow looking completely wrong. When Barbra greeted her, there was no answer. Barb shook herself, hurried over to the couch, and took her mother's hand. It felt stiff and unnatural. She wasn't even surprised; she'd often thought her parents would go together. But knowing both of them were dead, she slumped down next to her mother on the couch and cried until she had run out of tears. Then she went upstairs to wake Mike and Em. The rest of the day was one long, bad dream.
Somehow she'd survived. The burial as such went off well, and Mike stayed with her for another fortnight -- in retrospect two of the happiest weeks she remembered. Then he flew back to Afghanistan, where he got killed in a bomb blast five weeks later.
An officer came to inform her in person. Mike had been damaged so much she was not allowed to see him. When Barbra got the news she simply didn't take it in at first. She didn't believe that it could be true. But it was. When she finally realised it really was true, she crumpled up. Of all four people who really meant something in her life the only one she had left was Em, and their relationship had always been troublesome. There was no one to turn to, now that she needed a shoulder to cry on and an arm around her shoulders. No one. Oh Mike... Mike... She sat down and bawled. As a girl she'd always turned to her father in times of need, and in her married life Mike had been the one to comfort her, to talk to, but now there was no reassuring voice to be found, no ear to listen to her.
Mike was buried on a beautiful day in late May. Barbra thought the weather was an extra insult. It should have been cold, grey and gloomy, like the way she felt. Everybody was very kind to Emily and to her, but it wasn't long before she was alone again, really alone in the house she'd bought with Mike, among the things they'd collected together, in the ambiance they'd created together, and it seemed all the light had gone out of her life -- all life out of her days.
1 - Doctor's Orders
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountainside,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go — so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
Edna St. Vincent Millay seemed to be rather preoccupied with death and disease, but she wrote beautifully. Barbra loved the poem. It wasn't quite what she felt, but it came near. The presence of Mike in the house, in everything around her, his ghost on her shoulder... The constant reminders were hard to take, so hard that she sometimes wondered if it was all worth it. Though she never noticed, she became a recluse, withdrawn into herself, shunning human contact. She grew thin, a grey-faced shadow of her former beautiful self with unhealthy hair and dull skin that had lost its shine, and the people that knew her were not a little worried.
She wasn't the person to ask anybody's help. Instead, she shied away from any friendly face and she kept on trying to cope for months, rather unsuccessfully, going it alone; and that autumn Barbra was told by her GP to leave off work and get herself back into shape first. She'd come to have some vague complaints seen to, but halfway through the consultation she lost her composure altogether. Dr James was an old friend of her father's and his kind words and the memories they kindled were too much for her. The doctor first let her cry. Then he tried to comfort her and told her to go and have herself a holiday and a change of air.
"But my job..."
"I'll see to that, Bee. You cannot go on like this. You have to get yourself sorted out!"
Barbra nodded dumbly. She knew he was right. She was getting too moody, too sour.
"Just so. Do send me a postcard, right?"
She smiled a little at that. "I will," she said. "Alright."
She went home and called the office, to find Dr James had already informed her employer.
"Have a good rest, Barbra," he said. "It's high time you found some purpose in life again! How about a month to start with?"
She thanked him profusely, but he didn't want to hear.
Alright, then. A holiday. But where to go? She wondered vaguely for some time, and then she remembered the enthusiastic stories her parents had told her about a holiday they'd had on the Isle of Wight. Barbra had never been there. Why not, she thought, and she booted her laptop to find out.
The next morning she packed her suitcase. She leisurely had some coffee, and a friend drove her to the station. She took a fast train to London, a slower one to Brockenhurst and then on to Lymington Pier.
When she arrived at Lymington dusk was settling over the trees, and the quayside, where the cars were waiting for the ferry to arrive, took on a slightly eerie aspect, the way such places tend to do; even in the daytime she didn't quite like them, and now it was slowly getting dark it felt a bit chilly between her shoulder blades. She'd got off the train, walked across and bought her ticket and now she sat on her suitcase looking out over the Solent.
The ferry arrived, and the cars and passengers disembarked. Then she walked on board. It was stuffy inside so she took her suitcase to the upper deck, and she stood looking at the distant blurred shape that was the island until the ferry sailed. There was a near full moon, and there were some wisps of cloud. She thought it was very beautiful and serene, and she stood on deck watching the island take on shape. Eventually she could even make out the contours of Yarmouth Castle in the moon light. It was a great change from sitting at home, mourning.
She'd booked a room in a B&B in Freshwater Bay, where she was received by Mrs Dee, a small, cheerful lady who made her feel quite at home. She went to the pub for a quick, late meal and a pint of cider. The publican was friendly and he didn't seem to mind serving food really late. When she felt well fed she went back to the B&B, where she went to bed, happy she'd taken James's advice.
Her holiday was a smashing success. She walked all along the coast, and visited all the sights; she bought a few books at the Freshwater lifeboat charity shop (the second-hand bookshop in Dimbola Lodge was a sight too expensive) and a nice blouse in West Cowes, she took the Red Funnel Ferry to go shopping in Southampton and a Wightlink one to Portsmouth and she duly sent a postcard to Dr James from Ventnor.
She didn't care for East Wight too much -- penny arcades and fast food and other sad kinds of entertainment -- but there was a pleasant coastal path with a great view across the water of Spinnaker Tower, and she loved the rest of the island. Smiling a little at the elderly people in Godshill having a good time, letting the wind blow into her face on Tennyson Down, tramping up to Newtown Harbour starting from Yarmouth, looking at the Needles from Totland Bay...
She most enjoyed a small cove with a few small houses and some fishing boats. The first time she went there the day, which had started grey, turned into unbroken rain. She had coffee at a cafe there, and she loved watching the way the rain flattened the waves, and the patterns it painted on the sea's surface -- dull lead, scrubbed silver, everything in between -- and listening to the pebbles being driven onto the shore and rolling back with the waves, a lovely sound that was both musical and soothing. She went there five times in all, and she realised that she loved the sea more than she'd ever realised.
Mrs Dee, who was a motherly woman of sixty-three, made sure Barbra had a run of excellent breakfasts. She loved cooking, and taking care of people in general, and she enjoyed seeing Barbra get more colour in her face and put on weight slowly. Barbra highly enjoyed sitting in the breakfast room, doing honour to the food and talking to Mrs Dee, who after a few days asked her to call her Alice.
She returned to the mainland in the daytime. Before she sailed she could see Tennyson's Monument in the distance, and Fort Victoria, and once out at sea she saw from the deck the whole shape of Tennyson Down, and Fort Albert, and eventually even the Needles.
She came home feeling refreshed and with a new zest for life. It had really and truly done her a lot of good, and she smiled when people complimented her on her looks. She didn't relish the idea of staying in her old house too much, though, and when she found a job vacancy in her line near the south coast she applied. To her delight she was taken and she sold her house and moved to a small but sweet cottage, a few miles from the sea.
It lay in a reasonably large garden that had been loved by its former occupants, with a few big trees and a well-kept lawn surrounded by a few small flower beds. It contained a nice, spacious bedroom, a reasonable spare room and a small study adjacent to the living room, and, Barbra thought, it was really just what she needed. She could put her dictionaries and her laptop in the study and leave the living room uncluttered by work-related stuff, and if she wanted to she could still listen to her music by leaving the door open.
As it had only recently been done up she didn't have to spend a lot of time redecorating; everything was well-kept and clean. All she had to do was put in new hardwood flooring in the living-room, and then she moved house in just one long weekend. Redoing the place in her own colours followed over the next few months, slowly and relaxed.
She kept no visible memories of Mike in there, apart from an enlarged, smiling photograph that she'd got framed and put up in her bedroom, and that she smiled at when she looked at it. The other memories stayed, of course, but they didn't encroach upon her life any more.
She fondly thought of Dr. James and his advice; she'd visited him and told him about her holiday's success before she moved, and he and his wife had taken leave of her as of an old friend. They were really nice.
2 - Mary's Birthday Party
Once she had completely settled, Barbra spent her weekends exploring the surroundings. There were a few beautiful paths in the neighbourhood. She especially liked the cliff paths; there was a rather precipitous path going down to the beach that made a sharp turn after some six or seven yards where the cliff went down perpendicularly, to become a little less steep. She often went down there; it reminded her a lot of her favourite spot on the Isle of Wight, and there was a small tea shop that sold good scones at the other end. She came to know Molly Barnes, the proprietress, very well. She quite liked her, and invariably had a nice chat with her when she went.
There was a good little pub in the village, and she met a few fellow-Caribbeans in the neighbouring town. Joan Boudreaux was a big woman with long plaits that she did herself, and Mary Ruddock was thin, tall and wore her hair short. It was nice to be around them, and talk girl things. Big girl things, admittedly, as they were all in their forties, but still. Joan had a quiet, friendly husband and three beautiful daughters, and Mary went in for the occasional lover but didn't keep any of them around for long. She often told hilarious stories about their clumsiness, larded with a good deal of self-deprecation, and whenever they met she would have the others in stitches within minutes. Barbra invariably went home smiling still.
That spring, at Mary's birthday party, Barbra was introduced to John Gibbons. He was at least six foot six, with very fine kinky hair, almost ebony skin and a royal bearing. He was very muscular, obviously in top shape, and he wore a white T-shirt. He had a small scar in the shape of the Nike logo on his upper arm, just over his elbow and the most beautiful smile, and Barbra was very impressed. His handshake was warm and firm, his eyes were brown and clear -- he was a really handsome man.
"Pleased to meet you," he said in a deep voice. "Barbra Laing... Are you Mike's widow, by any chance?"
"Yes I am. Did you know him?"
John shook his head. "I know his photography," he said. "He was a true artist, and a good reporter."
Barbra nodded. "He was," she said. "And a great husband."
"You were lucky," Mary said. "Husbands like him are rare."
Barbra smiled. "Thank you," she said.
Mike had been as handsome as John, she thought, in a slightly ragged way. He'd been less smooth, less poised, perhaps. But oh, oh, oh, how she missed him still.
"I don't talk about him much, you know," she said. "But he is often on my mind. It's about a year ago now..."
"Poor girl," Mary said, and she hugged her friend tight.
"I'm not. I wondered about it for a long time but I don't think I would have wanted to miss out on him, even if I'd known it would have spared me going through the loneliness that followed."
"Okay, sweetie, but let me hug you some more nevertheless!"
Barbra grinned. Mary was a great girl, she thought. Funny, sweet, weird sometimes -- and a real friend.
John stood looking at them silently. He seemed to like what he saw, and he waited until Mary had done hugging Barbra before he spoke again.
"Got a lot of his photographs about the house?" he said.
"No. I have a good many in portfolios, though. I like them, but there are too many war-related ones, and seeing how he died, I cannot get myself to put them up. They would conjure up the wrong kind of memory."
"Tear open half-healed wounds," Mary said. "Not a good idea."
John nodded. "Yes. Of course. I'd love one or two on my wall, though. Have you come down from the Midlands?"
"No, I moved here some months ago. Better for my mental health, and I love the cliffs."
"Okay. Right. In that case, as you'll be around here anyway, would you like to go out with me this weekend?"
"Sounds like a good idea. What do you have in mind?" Barbra said with a smile.
"Just a couple of drinks in the pub, to get to know you a little better?"
"Mmm, I don't know. I never drink and drive."
"I could pick you up and drive you home again."
Barbra shook her head. "No," she said. "Unless you want to live on Vichy all evening."
"Not me," John admitted. "There's no pub in your village where we could go?"
Barbra considered for a moment. She didn't want to make a bad impression, and she was afraid John might find the place very old-fashioned. "There is the Jolly Woodman. I rather like it, but I don't know if you would find it any good. It's a real village pub, you know."
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"I think I went there once. Mmm -- I can't remember what it was like. Shall we try? Saturday night at eight?"
"Yes, please. That would be nice. But I cannot manage it this week; my sister will be visiting. Next Saturday, okay?"
"It will be a long wait. But yes, of course."
"I'll be there. Right?"
"Good girl!"
John asked her cell phone number and put it into his iPhone.
The conversation was cut short by the arrival of a friend of John's, who hi-fived him and then crushed him in a bear hug before embarking on a heated conversation about God knows what. Beau Burrowes, who wore sagging pants and a reversed baseball cap, sported a good many tattoos, from his knuckles on up. Barbra looked at him from the corner of her eyes, and she reflected that here was someone she didn't approve of at all. She hoped he was not indicative for all the company John kept.
She looked at Mary and raised her eyebrows.
"He is not as ferocious as he looks, you know," Mary said.
Barbra nodded. That might be true, and her father had always taught her not to be biased. He didn't have an unfriendly face, and he didn't have any piercings, at least. Still, she'd greatly dislike meeting Beau alone after dark somewhere.
She walked over to Joan. "Hi baby," Joan said. "Made a hit with John? Good catch, girl!"
Barbra shrugged her shoulders. "Is he? Why?"
"Oh, come on! No need to be modest! Don't you know John's the manager of Robinson's -- the engine factory?"
"No? I've only just met him."
"Okay. He's going to take you out?"
"We'll meet at our local next Saturday."
"Mmm. Oh well, for a start..."
"I'm quite happy with it! So you know this Beau?"
"A little. Looking a bit scruffy now, isn't he? But he's alright." She winked, and gave her a smile. "John's handsome, don't you think?"
Barbra nodded. There was no denying he was, handsome and very attractive, and Joan and Mary apparently thought well of him. She liked both women immensely. But... Now was she or wasn't she being difficult? She sighed. Maybe time would tell.
Then she just shook all qualms off her shoulders and enjoyed the party with her friends. John and Beau stood talking with a few rather nondescript young men, and she didn't notice John again until she was about to leave and he walked up to her.
"Next Saturday night at eight, remember?" he said with a smile.
She nodded. "Sure! See you then!" she said.
She kissed Mary goodbye, and waved at the remaining members of the party before she walked to her car.
At the end of the row of cars that sat along the kerb she saw Beau and one of the young men; when they saw her coming they turned her way and waved. Beau did have a nice smile, she thought. Maybe he really wasn't too bad after all? She waved back, got into her car and drove off, happy to be on her own.
3 - On the Cliffs
Joe and Minnie, Barbra's parents, had moved to England from Trinidad when the twins were only eighteen months old. Joe worked as a circuit judge, and for the first few years the family lived in London. When they felt more or less settled they moved to a small village near Bradgate Park. The twins went to school there, and afterwards Em went to university in Loughborough while Barbra went to Glasgow. It proved a good solution to the endless quarrels they'd had in their adolescence.
After Barbra had finished her studies, she moved back to the Midlands to be close to her parents and her sister -- no matter how often they quarrelled, she had missed Emily sorely in Scotland, and she wanted to be closer to her again. Living in a village with Mike had proved to be a great success.
As Barbra had expected, Em had been rather negative when Barbra told her she was planning to move. Though they had fought like lions when they were young, and though she had always seen Barbra as a rival in their father's affection, she found it very hard to live far away from her.
Joe Kirkland had always tried to treat his daughters strictly equally. He listened to his favourite music with Barb, and went rafting with Em; he took Em to the movies and went for walks with Barb -- each to their professed preferences. Em had always tried to be with it, and so she had been unable to admit to herself that she actually quite enjoyed her father's records, too. Everyone thought she hated them but liked the ruder kind of popular music instead. She didn't, but she'd felt she had to keep up appearances within her peer group, and be cool.
Her parents' deaths had affected her just as much as Barbra, which resulted in her being even more quarrelsome than usual. She often wished she could just give up acting the way she did; but old habits die hard, and she was rather afraid to show her emotions, let alone to be seen crying. Aggression was a good shield to hide behind, and no matter how hard she tried, she would find herself being difficult again and again, even though she knew how much her sister would love to be on good terms with her. And so would she...so would she.
Bee's decision to move felt like treason to her, and at first she refused to visit her sister. But she knew that in doing so she was only cutting off her own nose to spite her face; eventually she came round, and on a Friday afternoon she drove down to pay Barbra a visit.
She had to admit to herself that it was a really comfortable house in a beautiful region. Barbra received her enthusiastically and made her feel very welcome, which made her wish even more she could get herself to react in kind. Didn't she feel like staying for a couple of days? That Monday was a bank holiday and so they could have a pleasant long weekend together. Em happily accepted. The sisters amicably did the cooking together, and they cracked a bottle of wine; then they sat talking until deep into the night, touching on their parents, and love, and Mike -- Emily had always got on very well with Mike, who somehow had not been of the quarrelling kind; it had been impossible to get him ruffled or angry. He simply used his anger in the reporting he did, always trying to nail injustice and wrongs, and his relationships were calm and sunny; just what Em needed, really.
Em went to bed very pleased with herself. They had not quarrelled and she had tried to show her sister the love she felt for her but that she usually kept hidden deep down somewhere. She slept like a log to wake up with a feeling she might get a bout of migraine soon. The day started gloomy too; it threatened rain. It somehow threw her back onto her usual behaviour, and she quarrelled with Barbra over breakfast.
Barbra tried to soothe her sister a bit but she only managed to aggravate Em's mood, and it wasn't long after breakfast that Em rushed out of the house.
"Sod it," she shouted. "I'm going for a walk. Bitch!"
"You're not dressed for it!"
Em didn't deign to reply. She legged it out of Barbra's sight and then made for the cliffs. It wasn't long before the rain that had been threatening came down in earnest; it was short but very heavy, and both Em's clothes and the topsoil got drenched. Her footsteps squelched in the grass, and her mood didn't really improve in the downpour; she was fuming and the suppressed realisation that she was making a spectacle of herself again didn't help.
It was only a short shower, fortunately, and before Em had reached the cliffs, she was getting hot in her steaming wet clothes. It was not nice but a decided improvement over the cold rain. She wished she could just return and get dry but that would be a loss of face. The idea stimulated her feelings of uncertainty and inadequacy again, and she increased her pace. When she came to the cliffs she saw there was a narrow path running down to the sea, and she decided to take it.
She was much too hasty and careless. She didn't use the handrail, and she almost immediately lost her footing on the wet chalk, and slid down on her back and bottom. She closed her eyes in horror, so she wouldn't have to see the inevitable crash, trying to brace herself...
She went down fast -- and then she stopped. Someone had grabbed her ankles.
"Whoa there!" a voice said cheerfully.
She opened her eyes and looked into a man's face. He was covered in dirt and he smiled at her.
"Do you think you could stand up?" he said.
It got her goat somehow. She knew she wasn't being reasonable, let alone nice, but she hated being seen in these circumstances. Her armour was up immediately.
"Yes," she snapped. "Let go of my ankles, please. I want to get down."
The man nodded, but he didn't let go. "You'd better not," he said. "Going down is very dangerous now. There is quite a good path at the other end of the bay. Please get a hold of the handrail."
Em did, to be released immediately. "Thank you very much," she snapped, and without granting the man a further look she turned around and slowly, laboriously made her way up.
She sensed the man following her at a distance, but when she was back up on the cliff edge again she walked away fast, away from the gratitude she knew she ought to feel. Her back and bottom hurt, and she supposed she'd have a couple of bad bruises. She hated dirty clothes, and she mentally prepared herself for what Barb would say when she came back covered in dirt. And there was no way she would admit to having almost fallen off the cliff!
To her relief Barbra didn't say anything much. She was very nice and practical about it, and Em's anger evaporated. When she had bathed and put on fresh clothes she went to her sister and hugged her.
"I'm glad I still have you, baby," she said.
4 - Pub Night
The following Saturday Barbra walked to the pub at about ten to eight. John was already there. He was standing at the bar, talking to the bar maid, flirting a bit, Barbra thought. He immediately stopped when he saw her enter, and walked up to her to take her coat. She nodded at the girl, and said hello to John. He tried to hug her but Barbra didn't feel like being hugged yet, so she extended her hand and greeted John a little formally.
"You are quite the lady, aren't you?" he said smiling. "I'm happy to see you, Barbra. What can I get you?"
"I'll have a daiquiri, please -- a sweet one."
"Good."
John went back to the bar, and Barbra sat down at one of the tables in the quiet part of the pub. She looked around; there were a few faces she recognised but she hadn't lived there long enough yet to really know any of them. The pub was alright; there were no slot machines and there was no music, and the patrons were not too young. Nice and quiet, really.
John came to the table with the drinks and sat down, too.
"You're from Trinidad, aren't you?"
"I was born there, yes, but I have no memories of it. My parents came here when I was very young. I don't know any better or I have lived here all my life; I really consider myself British."
"You never visited?"
"No. I think my father thought it a waste of money and energy. He went back twice, to visit his relatives, and he arranged for my gran to come and live with us. It seems my granddad was out of the picture completely. My parents' siblings came to visit regularly."
John nodded. "Okay," he said. "Right. So you have no emotional links there?"
"None. I'd like to go there some day, though."
"I could take you," John said. "Shall I?"
"Isn't that a bit hasty? I've only met you once before." She smiled at him, acknowledging her appreciation of his good intentions. "I'd love to get to know you a lot better. Tell me something about yourself, please." She picked up her glass and took a sip.
"Okay, baby. Where shall I start? I'm from Ghana, or my parents were, at least. But I do consider myself Ghanaian anyway. There is a large Ghanaian community in London. Lots of music, too."
"What music do you like?" Barbra asked.
"Rap, hip-hop..." He frowned. "Don't know, really. And you?"
"Ghanaian, you mean?"
"Well, do you know any, actually?"
"I like Rhian Benson."
"Really? Okay! Can't say I often listen to her stuff -- but she's good."
Barbra nodded. "There's such a lot of good music. I was told you work at Robinson's?"
"Yes. Anything for a living."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh well, it's perhaps not what I'd like to do all my life. But it's an okay job."
"What do you do, exactly?"
"I run the engine production, basically. It is all about precision and deadlines, very tightly scheduled and not very relaxed. I'm very good at it. But I'd rather laze in the sun."
"All day and all week?"
"Well, perhaps, yes. Life is hard, er? I go to the gym to relax. Working out gets my job out of my system. I love spinning and weight-lifting. Do you like sports?"
"Not particularly, I'm afraid. I didn't mind cricket or hockey too much when I was in secondary school. I wasn't really any good at either, though, and I hated gymnastics. But then, I like walking."
"You mean like strolling down the boulevard? Or hiking across country and getting your boots dirty?"
"The latter," Barbra said. She didn't like boulevards, window shopping and crowds. "It's one of the reasons I really like it here." She smiled, thinking of the rambles through the fields and along the cliffs. "I can go down the cliffs not too far from my home. I love the sea -- the sound of the pebbles and the changing colours..."
"Right. So what else do you do to have a good time?"
Barbra gave him a wry smile. "I listen to music a lot, and I try my hand at writing, though it doesn't get far beyond the sort of thing most people put on Facebook. I'm still getting over my losses, and both things help."
"So what music then? R&B, or reggae, or zouk?"
"Sometimes. The Zouk Machine, Toots and the Maytals... I do like R&B, the real thing. Louis Jordan, you know, Jay McShann, Big Maybelle..."
"I don't know who you're talking about. Are they new?"
"They're old. Forties-something."
"Oh, really? Do you really like that? You mean to say you're into jazz?"
"I was raised with it, you know. My father breathed music. He would tell me about it, and play me things. We always had a great time together." She smiled at the memory.
"Oh. I see. Well, I was raised with high-life, E.T. Mensah and Dr Gyasi, you know, but I really dislike that kind of music. I do prefer the modern stuff."
Barbra grinned. "You sound like my sister," she said.
"Really? I do have to meet her," John said with a smile. "Is she like you?"
"She's my twin. But she doesn't look like me at all; we're quite different."
"Okay. Good! Is she as sexy as you? Have you got any more brothers or sisters?"
"Nope. We were a really small family." She stared into her almost empty glass. She felt she
wasn't up to talking about it yet; not to John. Maybe to Em, or Joan? She shook her head.
"Penny for your thoughts," John said.
"Mmm... What about you? Any siblings?"
"I've got three brothers and one half-sister. I don't see them too often; they're real losers, I'm afraid. I hate being sponged on, having them come over for dinner, drinks, a room, and talking all the time... That kind of thing."
"You're the eldest?"
"I'm number two. Manae, my sister, is five years older."
"Okay. And was there ever any significant other?"
"I had a couple of girlfriends when I was younger, but it didn't come to much apart from a son. Akua moved back to Ghana with him; I never see him or hear of him." He looked into his glass. "I'd love to be in a relationship again. Hey, I'll get us another drink. Another daiquiri?"
Barbra nodded. She enjoyed listening to John's voice; it was musical and deep. But as yet she didn't feel too comfortable with him. He didn't seem to attach a lot of value to the things she held dear... Maybe he reacted the way he did due to nerves, or the newness of the situation. She rather hoped so.
She watched him as he walked to the bar. He had a lithe kind of animal grace when he walked; a little like a panther, she thought. He smiled at the girl who took his order, and checked his phone while she drew his pint. He looked smashing!
When he returned, she changed the conversation to living in the country or in town. John lived in an apartment in one of the few high rise buildings in town. It was an expensive one, in a prosperous area. He called it his penthouse. It had many advantages, he said. No garden, and a wide view, and it was large and light with lots of glass and steel. No, he didn't have too many things inside. He like space, and the living room was large, with a big flatscreen TV set and a very large L-shaped leather couch. He had two big silk-screen abstracts on his wall. Reading? He didn't have too much time for reading. He subscribed to Men's Health. As to cooking, he had a beautiful, well-equipped kitchen. Unfortunately he seldom had the time to use it so he usually ate out.
They kept on talking until a little after ten; then Barbra told John she was tired. He courteously escorted her to the door, and they went out together to John's car that sat in the middle of the car park.
John promised to call her soon. Then he got into his car -- he drove a large, new Mercedes -- and started the engine. His stereo was turned up loud, and Ludacris'Move, Bitch blared from the speakers. Barbra shuddered and made a face. She hoped it wasn't the kind of music John usually played.
5 - Matinée
Two weekends later Emily was coming to visit again. Barbra hoped she'd be in good spirits, but she wasn't too upset about Em's tantrums and she did like having her around as a rule. She did the shopping for the weekend on Wednesday, and she wondered if there were anything they could do.
There was a jazz afternoon at a small country house nearby. She wondered if it might be a good idea to go there; she rather thought Em didn't really dislike the music too much, even though she pretended to, and it was at least a place you could go to meet people. On the other hand...
She got stopped short in her thoughts by her telephone ringing.
"Hello?" she said.
"Hi, baby."
"John!"
"Aye. How's life?"
"I'm fine, thank you! And you?" It felt good to hear his voice. She realised again how musical he sounded.
"Me too. Yes. Look, you told me you are into jazz, right? There is this jazz afternoon this weekend and I've bought us some tickets. You are coming, aren't you?"
"I'd sure love to, but I'll have Emily over this weekend. I can't leave her at home, you know."
"Erm, no, I see. Look, I'll get another ticket and you can both come, okay? Beau will be there, too, and maybe some other friends of mine. We can have a good time together."
"I'll call her and ask. I'm not sure if she will want to come. Give me an hour, please?"
"Okay. Do convince her, right?"
"I will try!"
They rang off. It would be lovely to see John again, and she hoped he would be more relaxed in different surroundings. Barbra called Em and explained, and Emily readily agreed to come to the concert. John received the message enthusiastically; he would buy another ticket at once, he said. He offered to come and collect the sisters that Saturday, but Barbra declined. She preferred to be free to go when and where she liked, and she promised to be there.
Though she wasn't too certain about Beau, she thought he wouldn't be a problem on an afternoon like that, and no matter what, Em could fend for herself very well. She'd been a police officer for a long time -- dealing with child abuse, mainly, but she knew what was what. She'd hoped to get Em to come with her. Very nice, she thought. Very nice!
Emily arrived on Friday. She was in a fairly good mood again, and the sisters spent quite a pleasant evening together. Barbra told Em about John, and their night in the pub.
"Okay. Do you like him?"
"He's nice and attractive, and he's very handsome!"
"Mmm. But do you really like him?"
"Yes, please. That would be nice. But I cannot manage it this week; my sister will be visiting. Next Saturday, okay?"
"It will be a long wait. But yes, of course."
"I'll be there. Right?"
"Good girl!"
John asked her cell phone number and put it into his iPhone.
The conversation was cut short by the arrival of a friend of John's, who hi-fived him and then crushed him in a bear hug before embarking on a heated conversation about God knows what. Beau Burrowes, who wore sagging pants and a reversed baseball cap, sported a good many tattoos, from his knuckles on up. Barbra looked at him from the corner of her eyes, and she reflected that here was someone she didn't approve of at all. She hoped he was not indicative for all the company John kept.
She looked at Mary and raised her eyebrows.
"He is not as ferocious as he looks, you know," Mary said.
Barbra nodded. That might be true, and her father had always taught her not to be biased. He didn't have an unfriendly face, and he didn't have any piercings, at least. Still, she'd greatly dislike meeting Beau alone after dark somewhere.
She walked over to Joan. "Hi baby," Joan said. "Made a hit with John? Good catch, girl!"
Barbra shrugged her shoulders. "Is he? Why?"
"Oh, come on! No need to be modest! Don't you know John's the manager of Robinson's -- the engine factory?"
"No? I've only just met him."
"Okay. He's going to take you out?"
"We'll meet at our local next Saturday."
"Mmm. Oh well, for a start..."
"I'm quite happy with it! So you know this Beau?"
"A little. Looking a bit scruffy now, isn't he? But he's alright." She winked, and gave her a smile. "John's handsome, don't you think?"
Barbra nodded. There was no denying he was, handsome and very attractive, and Joan and Mary apparently thought well of him. She liked both women immensely. But... Now was she or wasn't she being difficult? She sighed. Maybe time would tell.
Then she just shook all qualms off her shoulders and enjoyed the party with her friends. John and Beau stood talking with a few rather nondescript young men, and she didn't notice John again until she was about to leave and he walked up to her.
"Next Saturday night at eight, remember?" he said with a smile.
She nodded. "Sure! See you then!" she said.
She kissed Mary goodbye, and waved at the remaining members of the party before she walked to her car.
At the end of the row of cars that sat along the kerb she saw Beau and one of the young men; when they saw her coming they turned her way and waved. Beau did have a nice smile, she thought. Maybe he really wasn't too bad after all? She waved back, got into her car and drove off, happy to be on her own.
3 - On the Cliffs
Joe and Minnie, Barbra's parents, had moved to England from Trinidad when the twins were only eighteen months old. Joe worked as a circuit judge, and for the first few years the family lived in London. When they felt more or less settled they moved to a small village near Bradgate Park. The twins went to school there, and afterwards Em went to university in Loughborough while Barbra went to Glasgow. It proved a good solution to the endless quarrels they'd had in their adolescence.
After Barbra had finished her studies, she moved back to the Midlands to be close to her parents and her sister -- no matter how often they quarrelled, she had missed Emily sorely in Scotland, and she wanted to be closer to her again. Living in a village with Mike had proved to be a great success.
As Barbra had expected, Em had been rather negative when Barbra told her she was planning to move. Though they had fought like lions when they were young, and though she had always seen Barbra as a rival in their father's affection, she found it very hard to live far away from her.
Joe Kirkland had always tried to treat his daughters strictly equally. He listened to his favourite music with Barb, and went rafting with Em; he took Em to the movies and went for walks with Barb -- each to their professed preferences. Em had always tried to be with it, and so she had been unable to admit to herself that she actually quite enjoyed her father's records, too. Everyone thought she hated them but liked the ruder kind of popular music instead. She didn't, but she'd felt she had to keep up appearances within her peer group, and be cool.
Her parents' deaths had affected her just as much as Barbra, which resulted in her being even more quarrelsome than usual. She often wished she could just give up acting the way she did; but old habits die hard, and she was rather afraid to show her emotions, let alone to be seen crying. Aggression was a good shield to hide behind, and no matter how hard she tried, she would find herself being difficult again and again, even though she knew how much her sister would love to be on good terms with her. And so would she...so would she.
Bee's decision to move felt like treason to her, and at first she refused to visit her sister. But she knew that in doing so she was only cutting off her own nose to spite her face; eventually she came round, and on a Friday afternoon she drove down to pay Barbra a visit.
She had to admit to herself that it was a really comfortable house in a beautiful region. Barbra received her enthusiastically and made her feel very welcome, which made her wish even more she could get herself to react in kind. Didn't she feel like staying for a couple of days? That Monday was a bank holiday and so they could have a pleasant long weekend together. Em happily accepted. The sisters amicably did the cooking together, and they cracked a bottle of wine; then they sat talking until deep into the night, touching on their parents, and love, and Mike -- Emily had always got on very well with Mike, who somehow had not been of the quarrelling kind; it had been impossible to get him ruffled or angry. He simply used his anger in the reporting he did, always trying to nail injustice and wrongs, and his relationships were calm and sunny; just what Em needed, really.
Em went to bed very pleased with herself. They had not quarrelled and she had tried to show her sister the love she felt for her but that she usually kept hidden deep down somewhere. She slept like a log to wake up with a feeling she might get a bout of migraine soon. The day started gloomy too; it threatened rain. It somehow threw her back onto her usual behaviour, and she quarrelled with Barbra over breakfast.
Barbra tried to soothe her sister a bit but she only managed to aggravate Em's mood, and it wasn't long after breakfast that Em rushed out of the house.
"Sod it," she shouted. "I'm going for a walk. Bitch!"
"You're not dressed for it!"
Em didn't deign to reply. She legged it out of Barbra's sight and then made for the cliffs. It wasn't long before the rain that had been threatening came down in earnest; it was short but very heavy, and both Em's clothes and the topsoil got drenched. Her footsteps squelched in the grass, and her mood didn't really improve in the downpour; she was fuming and the suppressed realisation that she was making a spectacle of herself again didn't help.
It was only a short shower, fortunately, and before Em had reached the cliffs, she was getting hot in her steaming wet clothes. It was not nice but a decided improvement over the cold rain. She wished she could just return and get dry but that would be a loss of face. The idea stimulated her feelings of uncertainty and inadequacy again, and she increased her pace. When she came to the cliffs she saw there was a narrow path running down to the sea, and she decided to take it.
She was much too hasty and careless. She didn't use the handrail, and she almost immediately lost her footing on the wet chalk, and slid down on her back and bottom. She closed her eyes in horror, so she wouldn't have to see the inevitable crash, trying to brace herself...
She went down fast -- and then she stopped. Someone had grabbed her ankles.
"Whoa there!" a voice said cheerfully.
She opened her eyes and looked into a man's face. He was covered in dirt and he smiled at her.
"Do you think you could stand up?" he said.
It got her goat somehow. She knew she wasn't being reasonable, let alone nice, but she hated being seen in these circumstances. Her armour was up immediately.
"Yes," she snapped. "Let go of my ankles, please. I want to get down."
The man nodded, but he didn't let go. "You'd better not," he said. "Going down is very dangerous now. There is quite a good path at the other end of the bay. Please get a hold of the handrail."
Em did, to be released immediately. "Thank you very much," she snapped, and without granting the man a further look she turned around and slowly, laboriously made her way up.
She sensed the man following her at a distance, but when she was back up on the cliff edge again she walked away fast, away from the gratitude she knew she ought to feel. Her back and bottom hurt, and she supposed she'd have a couple of bad bruises. She hated dirty clothes, and she mentally prepared herself for what Barb would say when she came back covered in dirt. And there was no way she would admit to having almost fallen off the cliff!
To her relief Barbra didn't say anything much. She was very nice and practical about it, and Em's anger evaporated. When she had bathed and put on fresh clothes she went to her sister and hugged her.
"I'm glad I still have you, baby," she said.
4 - Pub Night
The following Saturday Barbra walked to the pub at about ten to eight. John was already there. He was standing at the bar, talking to the bar maid, flirting a bit, Barbra thought. He immediately stopped when he saw her enter, and walked up to her to take her coat. She nodded at the girl, and said hello to John. He tried to hug her but Barbra didn't feel like being hugged yet, so she extended her hand and greeted John a little formally.
"You are quite the lady, aren't you?" he said smiling. "I'm happy to see you, Barbra. What can I get you?"
"I'll have a daiquiri, please -- a sweet one."
"Good."
John went back to the bar, and Barbra sat down at one of the tables in the quiet part of the pub. She looked around; there were a few faces she recognised but she hadn't lived there long enough yet to really know any of them. The pub was alright; there were no slot machines and there was no music, and the patrons were not too young. Nice and quiet, really.
John came to the table with the drinks and sat down, too.
"You're from Trinidad, aren't you?"
"I was born there, yes, but I have no memories of it. My parents came here when I was very young. I don't know any better or I have lived here all my life; I really consider myself British."
"You never visited?"
"No. I think my father thought it a waste of money and energy. He went back twice, to visit his relatives, and he arranged for my gran to come and live with us. It seems my granddad was out of the picture completely. My parents' siblings came to visit regularly."
John nodded. "Okay," he said. "Right. So you have no emotional links there?"
"None. I'd like to go there some day, though."
"I could take you," John said. "Shall I?"
"Isn't that a bit hasty? I've only met you once before." She smiled at him, acknowledging her appreciation of his good intentions. "I'd love to get to know you a lot better. Tell me something about yourself, please." She picked up her glass and took a sip.
"Okay, baby. Where shall I start? I'm from Ghana, or my parents were, at least. But I do consider myself Ghanaian anyway. There is a large Ghanaian community in London. Lots of music, too."
"What music do you like?" Barbra asked.
"Rap, hip-hop..." He frowned. "Don't know, really. And you?"
"Ghanaian, you mean?"
"Well, do you know any, actually?"
"I like Rhian Benson."
"Really? Okay! Can't say I often listen to her stuff -- but she's good."
Barbra nodded. "There's such a lot of good music. I was told you work at Robinson's?"
"Yes. Anything for a living."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh well, it's perhaps not what I'd like to do all my life. But it's an okay job."
"What do you do, exactly?"
"I run the engine production, basically. It is all about precision and deadlines, very tightly scheduled and not very relaxed. I'm very good at it. But I'd rather laze in the sun."
"All day and all week?"
"Well, perhaps, yes. Life is hard, er? I go to the gym to relax. Working out gets my job out of my system. I love spinning and weight-lifting. Do you like sports?"
"Not particularly, I'm afraid. I didn't mind cricket or hockey too much when I was in secondary school. I wasn't really any good at either, though, and I hated gymnastics. But then, I like walking."
"You mean like strolling down the boulevard? Or hiking across country and getting your boots dirty?"
"The latter," Barbra said. She didn't like boulevards, window shopping and crowds. "It's one of the reasons I really like it here." She smiled, thinking of the rambles through the fields and along the cliffs. "I can go down the cliffs not too far from my home. I love the sea -- the sound of the pebbles and the changing colours..."
"Right. So what else do you do to have a good time?"
Barbra gave him a wry smile. "I listen to music a lot, and I try my hand at writing, though it doesn't get far beyond the sort of thing most people put on Facebook. I'm still getting over my losses, and both things help."
"So what music then? R&B, or reggae, or zouk?"
"Sometimes. The Zouk Machine, Toots and the Maytals... I do like R&B, the real thing. Louis Jordan, you know, Jay McShann, Big Maybelle..."
"I don't know who you're talking about. Are they new?"
"They're old. Forties-something."
"Oh, really? Do you really like that? You mean to say you're into jazz?"
"I was raised with it, you know. My father breathed music. He would tell me about it, and play me things. We always had a great time together." She smiled at the memory.
"Oh. I see. Well, I was raised with high-life, E.T. Mensah and Dr Gyasi, you know, but I really dislike that kind of music. I do prefer the modern stuff."
Barbra grinned. "You sound like my sister," she said.
"Really? I do have to meet her," John said with a smile. "Is she like you?"
"She's my twin. But she doesn't look like me at all; we're quite different."
"Okay. Good! Is she as sexy as you? Have you got any more brothers or sisters?"
"Nope. We were a really small family." She stared into her almost empty glass. She felt she
wasn't up to talking about it yet; not to John. Maybe to Em, or Joan? She shook her head.
"Penny for your thoughts," John said.
"Mmm... What about you? Any siblings?"
"I've got three brothers and one half-sister. I don't see them too often; they're real losers, I'm afraid. I hate being sponged on, having them come over for dinner, drinks, a room, and talking all the time... That kind of thing."
"You're the eldest?"
"I'm number two. Manae, my sister, is five years older."
"Okay. And was there ever any significant other?"
"I had a couple of girlfriends when I was younger, but it didn't come to much apart from a son. Akua moved back to Ghana with him; I never see him or hear of him." He looked into his glass. "I'd love to be in a relationship again. Hey, I'll get us another drink. Another daiquiri?"
Barbra nodded. She enjoyed listening to John's voice; it was musical and deep. But as yet she didn't feel too comfortable with him. He didn't seem to attach a lot of value to the things she held dear... Maybe he reacted the way he did due to nerves, or the newness of the situation. She rather hoped so.
She watched him as he walked to the bar. He had a lithe kind of animal grace when he walked; a little like a panther, she thought. He smiled at the girl who took his order, and checked his phone while she drew his pint. He looked smashing!
When he returned, she changed the conversation to living in the country or in town. John lived in an apartment in one of the few high rise buildings in town. It was an expensive one, in a prosperous area. He called it his penthouse. It had many advantages, he said. No garden, and a wide view, and it was large and light with lots of glass and steel. No, he didn't have too many things inside. He like space, and the living room was large, with a big flatscreen TV set and a very large L-shaped leather couch. He had two big silk-screen abstracts on his wall. Reading? He didn't have too much time for reading. He subscribed to Men's Health. As to cooking, he had a beautiful, well-equipped kitchen. Unfortunately he seldom had the time to use it so he usually ate out.
They kept on talking until a little after ten; then Barbra told John she was tired. He courteously escorted her to the door, and they went out together to John's car that sat in the middle of the car park.
John promised to call her soon. Then he got into his car -- he drove a large, new Mercedes -- and started the engine. His stereo was turned up loud, and Ludacris'Move, Bitch blared from the speakers. Barbra shuddered and made a face. She hoped it wasn't the kind of music John usually played.
5 - Matinée
Two weekends later Emily was coming to visit again. Barbra hoped she'd be in good spirits, but she wasn't too upset about Em's tantrums and she did like having her around as a rule. She did the shopping for the weekend on Wednesday, and she wondered if there were anything they could do.
There was a jazz afternoon at a small country house nearby. She wondered if it might be a good idea to go there; she rather thought Em didn't really dislike the music too much, even though she pretended to, and it was at least a place you could go to meet people. On the other hand...
She got stopped short in her thoughts by her telephone ringing.
"Hello?" she said.
"Hi, baby."
"John!"
"Aye. How's life?"
"I'm fine, thank you! And you?" It felt good to hear his voice. She realised again how musical he sounded.
"Me too. Yes. Look, you told me you are into jazz, right? There is this jazz afternoon this weekend and I've bought us some tickets. You are coming, aren't you?"
"I'd sure love to, but I'll have Emily over this weekend. I can't leave her at home, you know."
"Erm, no, I see. Look, I'll get another ticket and you can both come, okay? Beau will be there, too, and maybe some other friends of mine. We can have a good time together."
"I'll call her and ask. I'm not sure if she will want to come. Give me an hour, please?"
"Okay. Do convince her, right?"
"I will try!"
They rang off. It would be lovely to see John again, and she hoped he would be more relaxed in different surroundings. Barbra called Em and explained, and Emily readily agreed to come to the concert. John received the message enthusiastically; he would buy another ticket at once, he said. He offered to come and collect the sisters that Saturday, but Barbra declined. She preferred to be free to go when and where she liked, and she promised to be there.
Though she wasn't too certain about Beau, she thought he wouldn't be a problem on an afternoon like that, and no matter what, Em could fend for herself very well. She'd been a police officer for a long time -- dealing with child abuse, mainly, but she knew what was what. She'd hoped to get Em to come with her. Very nice, she thought. Very nice!
Emily arrived on Friday. She was in a fairly good mood again, and the sisters spent quite a pleasant evening together. Barbra told Em about John, and their night in the pub.
"Okay. Do you like him?"
"He's nice and attractive, and he's very handsome!"
"Mmm. But do you really like him?"
"I think so. I certainly don't dislike him. He's very different from Mike. I'd like to have your opinion, right?"
Em smiled. "For what it's worth," she said. "Okay?"
"Yes please."
Then they changed the subject, to Barbra's relief. Em had brought a CD and they went from the kitchen into the living room and sat talking while they listened to the music together. To Barbra's surprise it was no hip hop but country, someone called Tim McGraw. She hadn't heard of him, but she rather liked the album, what she heard of it.
After the music and a glass of wine they went to bed; Emily had done a lot of driving that day, and she was quite tired.
The next afternoon they drove to the venue. Barbra was looking forward to seeing John again, and her sister seemed in a great mood. She sat back with a big smile on her face. Good!
John was waiting for them in the car park -- a field that had been designated as such -- with Beau, whom Barbra hardly recognised. He was dressed to the nines, without a cap, and he didn't have any tattoos any more. When she had hugged John and greeted Beau, and duly introduced Emily, she looked at Beau inquisitively.
He grinned a little. "You will want to know about my change of looks?" he said.
Barbra blushed. "Erm, yes," she said. "You do look very different today!"
Beau nodded. "It was one of these wagers, you know -- I hate that kind of dress and rough image, and at my work we had organised a charity drive in which we tried to raise money by taking up a wager. Well, that's why. The tattoos were henna, actually."
"They did fool me completely. You looked very convincing!"
"He's nicknamed Beau because he always dresses well, you know," John said. He looked at Beau as though it were a silly thing to do.
Barbra smiled at Beau, though. So that was what Mary and Joan had meant. She was amused to see Emily cast admiring looks at him. He was quite a handsome man in his nice clothes and without the baseball cap -- well-groomed and well-mannered.
"You do like jazz?" Beau asked. "I had to talk a while before I managed to make John come along."
"That's not true!" John protested.
Beau shrugged. "All right," he said.
Barbra thought it might well be true. John had not seemed to be too enthusiastic about jazz at their first date. But she was determined to give him the benefit of doubt, and the four of them walked over to the entrance.
John produced the tickets, and they entered the grounds. They walked up to have a look at the stage, where the sound people were still applying the final touches to their work. Some time to wait. Barbra looked around and saw Joan and Mary get past the ticket counter. They noticed the four of them and waved.
"Please excuse me for a moment," she said. "I will just go and say hello!"
She walked over to her friends, followed closely by Emily. They were greeted by the other girls enthusiastically, and stood talking for a couple of minutes. Then they went back to the men.
The grounds were filling up fast. On their way across they passed a man in a red sweater who said hello to Emily. She looked at him disdainfully. "Hello Mr Mud," she said. "So you are here, too? You'll probably claim to be a jazz buff..."
Then she walked on without waiting for an answer. No answer was forthcoming, however. The man, who seemed to be rather nonplussed by Em's reaction, stood looking at her vanishing form in silence. Then he shrugged and shook his head.
Barbra, who came a little behind her sister, heard the exchange. She looked at the man who stood motionlessly watching Emily walk away and she stepped up to him. "Hello," she said, looking at him hard. "What on earth did you do to my sister for her to act like that? Give her the N-word, or what?"
For a moment the man seemed to freeze completely. He looked at her wide-eyed. "God forbid," he said. "All I did was try to help her."
He shook his head again. He didn't further specify what he'd done, but Barbra knew her sister well enough to know there might be any reason within herself for her behaviour. She decided she would take his word, and said with a smile, "So -- do you consider yourself a jazz buff?"
He made a face. "Oh no, not at all. I'd have to enjoy Johnny Griffin and John Coltrane in their more difficult phases, I guess. I understand Count Basie's definition of jazz a lot better, I'm afraid."
Barbra smiled. Her father had told her. "Tap your foot," she said.
The man smiled back at her. "Yes. I'm afraid I prefer the early big bands, with a blown bass if half possible. Tubas, or a sarrusophone..."
"Ellington. And Mandy Make Up Your Mind!" Barbra said.
"Yes -- or Tiny Parham, for example."
Barbra looked at him in surprise and sighed. "I know him, too," she said. "My father used to have a couple of 78s by his band. There was a fire that destroyed his collection. I never heard them again - never expected to hear anyone talk about him."
"I do like him. I've got his early sides on CD," the man said.
"Aw, that's nice! So they are available again?"
"I think the series was discontinued. I can copy them for you if you like. If you don't mind giving me your address?"
Barbra looked at him and considered for a moment. He actually looked rather nice; he had a pleasant smile. "No, I don't. Oh, yes please. That would be great," she said.
She gave her address to the man who introduced himself as Andrew. Then she wished him a good time, excused herself and rejoined the others.
Emily frowned at her for a moment, but she refrained from commenting because Beau was talking to her and she enjoyed listening to him. He looked at her as if he liked what he saw, and Barbra wondered if Em noticed -- and if so, if she was happy with it.
She thought it was alright, though -- the two of them were talking animatedly and they were quite clearly immersed in one another. John noticed, too, and smiled.
"Let's go closer to the stage," he said. Barbra hooked her arm in his.
There was a bar in the grounds with a couple of tables and chairs, but the area in front of the stage was kept open for everyone who wanted to stand and tap their feet.
"Is your sister easily bowled over?"
"On the contrary. I don't think she ever talked to boys for more than ten minutes -- she's very critical to say the least."
"So Beau's good looks -- "
"No, that's not it. There were lots of handsome men before. But there never was a spark. I like seeing this; she's usually negative about men in the extreme."
"Okay. Well, who knows?"
They smiled at each other, and found a good place to watch the bands.
The first two bands were small combos that sounded as if they had listened a lot to Chris Barber. They played quite well, though, and Barbra enjoyed it very much. She cast glances at Beau and Emily now and then. They stood listening a little further down, looking at the stage at times but apparently at least as interested in each other. Nice, she thought. And then she suddenly realised that they already seemed to be much more into each other than John and she were. He'd invited her here and she felt she was neglecting him.
She looked at John and smiled. "Do you like it?" she said.
"It's something different," he said. "I can't say I've ever listened to this kind of music. But it is alright. I wish it would swing a little, though."
Barbra shook her head. She clearly had to explain a little about swing -- but that could wait. Music first! Her father would have liked it a lot, she thought. They'd gone to a concert together once or twice...
She was wondering what to say next when John's phone went off. He had R Kelly'sI Believe I Can Fly for a ringtone. Better than Ludacris, Barbra thought. John took the phone from his pocket and walked a little distance away from the music. Barbra looked at him. Strange, she thought. In her memory he had an iPhone, but this was a Samsung, obviously. Maybe she remembered wrong?
The call didn't last too long, and John rejoined her as the second combo stopped playing. The band took their applause and left the stage and the sound people rigged up the stage for the final act; a much bigger band.
"So what do you think swings?"
"Rap... Rock 'n roll, you know... that sorta thing, I guess. This is strange music, Bee."
Barbra raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "I don't think it is. I love it."
John nodded. "It's a little intellectual, isn't it? Not too much feeling."
Barbra sighed. She really would have to educate John a little. "I wish my father could have told you about it, and let you listen. I don't think you're right."
"Dunno. Hey, I'm thirsty. How about a beer?"
"Yes, please!"
He walked off to collect some drinks, and Barbra walked over to the others.
Emily beamed at her. "Hi," she said. "Thank you for taking me here! I haven't enjoyed myself so much for ages. Nice, eh?"
"Yes! John thinks it doesn't swing."
Beau grinned and shook his head. "I don't think it's his style," he said.
To Barbra's surprise, Em said, "Father used to play this kind of music a lot -- we were raised on it."
She nodded. "It's good memories among other things."
"I picked up jazz myself. My father played calypso, and Harry Belafonte. But I like those, too."
"Yes," Emily said. "So do I."
She smiled at Beau and Barbra grinned inwardly. It looked as if Em was trying to make a good impression on him. Now there was something new indeed!
John returned with four beers in a cardboard holder, and the conversation stopped while they stood enjoying their drinks.
The stage, meanwhile, was ready and the final act got up to play. To Barbra's delight the bass slot was taken up by a bass sax instead of a plucked bass, and when the band started to play she was transported back to the years when her father was alive. They played a good selection of twenties and thirties jazz, and they had the audience move to the music with goofy smiles.
When the band played a tune in triple time John asked Barbra to dance, and he held her close while they did. Barbra highly enjoyed feeling his body close to her, warm and supple, but when John lowered a hand to squeeze her bottom she stiffened.
"Please, John," she said. "Give me some time."
John nodded. "Okay, Bee -- I'm just trying to give you a good time. You've got a great booty." He smiled, and held her again without being too intrusive.
Barbra smiled through the rest of their dance, and she was a little disappointed when the next piece was in quadruple time again, and the dancing stopped.
"Pity," she said with a half-smile. But the music was wonderful, and she forgot her disappointment almost at once.
The concert was over much too soon to her liking. To her surprise it was past seven already; time to go home. She thank John for taking her, and embraced him and kissed his cheek. They arranged to meet again soon, and so did Emily and Beau.
Driving home Barbra listened to Emily enthuse about Beau with a smile on her face. She wished her sister might find some rest and happiness in her life; and she suspected this might well do the trick.
"The concert was great, wasn't it?" she said.
"It was. Father would've liked it, too!" Em said. "I do miss him, you know."
Barbra nodded. She knew exactly what Em meant.
Then Em said, "What did you say to that man?"
"Mr Mud? Oh, we talked about music. He promised to send me some copies. His name is Andrew, by the way."
"You don't mean to say you gave him your address?"
Barbra nodded. "Why not?"
"My! You'll end up killed in your sleep with a slit throat!"
"Oh, come on! Don't be daft!"
"White men," Em said portentously. "Mark my words!"
6 - Two Telephone Calls
When Barbra arrived home from work that Wednesday afternoon she found a parcel in the letterbox. There was no addressee, just a postcode and house number. When she opened it she found a couple of CDs inside. Two of them were by Tiny Parham. The photocopied covers read The Chronogical Tiny Parham. Chronogical? She opened a box and took out the leaflet. Inside there were the discographical details -- the recordings were presented strictly chronologically. The other two were one by Clarence Williams' Blue Five and the Red Onion Jazz Babies and one featuring some obscure twenties stuff.
There was a note, too, that read,
Dear Ms. Laing,
I hope you'll like the music in here. The Chronogical (sic!) Classics series was a French label that issued lots of the music we talked about.
Yours,
Andrew
So it was a French mistake, she thought with a grin. She took the CDs into the kitchen, and while she was cooking she listened to the first of the two Parham CDs. There were quite a few songs she recognised; they had been on her father's 78s and she hummed along as she cleaned the vegetables. The music made her think of old times, and her father's face appeared in her mind's eye. It seemed as if he nodded his approval. Nice, er, dad? she thought to herself with a smile. The CD was nice and long; she was halfway dinner before it ended. She took it out, put the third one in the CD player and selected Mandy Make Up Your Mind. She sat listening to it with a broad grin as Sidney Bechet's sarrusophone growled behind Eva Taylor's vocals. Then she stopped the CD and pressed play to listen from the start.
Half way the CD her cell phone rang. It was Em, who came to tell her that Beau had invited her for a meal at the local French restaurant the coming weekend. She sounded elated and excited, and Barbra let her rattle on undisturbed for some time. Then she asked her how she'd liked the concert, and Em was jubilant about it.
Barbra smiled. She'd never known her sister be enthusiastic about a guy, and this was a marvellous change.
Suddenly Em stopped. "Hey," she said. "What are you listening to? I think I recognise it -- didn't father have this?"
"Em! I never knew you listened!"
"I did. But I didn't want to admit I liked that stuff, not to you or dad. I sometimes played some of his music when you were out."
"Okay. Gosh. I wish I'd known. It's Eva Taylor."
"Mmm, nice! You know, Beau said..."
Barbra sat back and listened, and wondered at the change in her sister. She'd always thought the tantrums and fits of anger were not really about her, and now she wondered if they'd been the result of some terrible loneliness and uncertainty she'd not been able to break through.
"You really like Beau, don't you?" she said. "We never talked about it, but did you ever have any boyfriends before?"
It appeared Em hadn't. She was rather wary of people, and she told Barbra that once Mike had come into the picture she'd always compared the men she met to him; and they invariably fell short. Beau now...
While she sat listening to her sister's happy talk Barbra wondered a little about her feelings toward John. She didn't feel remotely as brimming over with his presence as Em did. She thought she was probably even more reserved than her twin sister; her relationship with Mike had almost organically grown from a shared enthusiasm to the best, most loving marriage she could have wished, and now any other man had to pass muster according to Mike's cloth.
Oh well. She had world enough, and time. Or did she?
Em's call lasted a long time, and Barbra really enjoyed listening to her talk and talk. Eventually she told Em how glad she felt for her.
"Thank you, Barb -- I'm so happy!"
They rang off, and Barbra took out the CD and put the second Parham CD into the player. Almost immediately after she'd pressed the play button her phone beeped again.
"Hello? It's me. My, you can talk for a long time!"
"Yes. It was Em. We often talk for a long time. She is all the family I have, you know."
"Ok. Mmm. I don't know. Family? Parents and stuff? I hardly ever contact my siblings."
"Well, she's really important to me."
"I know. What are you doing?"
"I'm listening to music." Barbra held the phone close to the CD player.
"Okay. I thought it was cats fighting. Joke, no offence meant."
"None taken. You don't really know twenties music, do you?"
"No. I prefer today's things. I have no use for the past. Hey, girl, can I buy you a meal in the pub next Saturday?"
Barbra accepted eagerly. It would be nice to talk face to face again, and there were many things she would like to know. She did have some use for the past, and she wondered what exactly John meant. He was interesting and attentive, and he could be very sweet alright. But sometimes, somehow, he really felt a little alien. She listened to the CD while contemplating her feelings for Mike, and John, and comparing the way Em behaved to her own slightly reserved manner. Maybe she should try and put that aside? She wasn't sure, but going out would be nice. Better wait and see, she thought, and she resolutely stopped worrying and turned up the music. Lovely!
7 - New Contacts
It was a beautiful Friday. Wednesdays and Fridays were Barbra's half days at work; she always left off at half past twelve, and usually went to town for shopping. The local shop was alright in itself, but they had only a small selection and they were rather expensive, so she bought most things in town, doing the rounds of the three main supermarkets. It was a twenty-minute drive, so it didn't take long -- the shopping did, as a rule, and when she'd deposited all her groceries on the rear seat she decided to have some tea at the Mauve Door in the square. They had good croissants, and she was hungry, and she wanted to sit and relax. Because of the good weather the cafe had put some tables and chairs outside, and she placed her order and sat down, basking in the sun.
Her tea and food weren't long in coming, and she really enjoyed sitting there, watching the people go by and listening to the voices and the cars in the distance.
She was pleasantly drowsy, and she sat simply having a good time when Beau walked up to her.
"Hello, Barbra," he said.
"Hi Beau! How's life? Won't you sit down and have a coffee with me?"
"Yes please. Life's great. You have a wonderful sister!"
"I know." Barbra smiled at him. "What can I get you?"
"A cappuccino, please. Hot and sweet."
"Alright -- just a sec."
She disappeared indoors and Beau sat down and stretched his long legs.
Barbra sat down again. "How's Em?" she said.
"We'll meet tomorrow afternoon -- we'll have dinner together. She was okay this morning when I called her." He smiled as he mentioned her, and he looked very happy.
"Are you getting serious about her?"
"Yes, I think so. It's feeling better every time we talk. She's really a very sweet person, isn't she?"
"Mmm... We used to quarrel more often than not. But I do love her, and yes, she can be very sweet."
"Oh well -- sisters. I know. I quarrelled a lot with my brother, too. What to do? You know the way it goes. So you haven't been killed in you sleep yet?" He grinned mischievously.
"Killed in my sleep? Oh, I see -- Em must've told you. No I haven't. It was a silly remark." She grinned back at Beau. "He sent me copies of some CDs we talked about. Em heard me play one. Really nice; my father used to play me a lot of music like that."
"Jazz?"
"Twenties jazz, yes."
"Oh, wonderful. I love that stuff."
"Good. Em does, too, I think. She said so and I never knew."
"You never really know people, do you? Takes all your life. Emily really enjoyed the concert."
Barbra smiled. She hoped that the burgeoning love between Beau and Emily would work out. It might well make Emily feel more at ease with life and herself. Beau was exceptionally nice, quite the opposite of what she'd feared when she saw him first. He was polite and well-dressed and Barbra felt she would be happy to have him for a brother-in-law, if it should ever come to that.
Em smiled. "For what it's worth," she said. "Okay?"
"Yes please."
Then they changed the subject, to Barbra's relief. Em had brought a CD and they went from the kitchen into the living room and sat talking while they listened to the music together. To Barbra's surprise it was no hip hop but country, someone called Tim McGraw. She hadn't heard of him, but she rather liked the album, what she heard of it.
After the music and a glass of wine they went to bed; Emily had done a lot of driving that day, and she was quite tired.
The next afternoon they drove to the venue. Barbra was looking forward to seeing John again, and her sister seemed in a great mood. She sat back with a big smile on her face. Good!
John was waiting for them in the car park -- a field that had been designated as such -- with Beau, whom Barbra hardly recognised. He was dressed to the nines, without a cap, and he didn't have any tattoos any more. When she had hugged John and greeted Beau, and duly introduced Emily, she looked at Beau inquisitively.
He grinned a little. "You will want to know about my change of looks?" he said.
Barbra blushed. "Erm, yes," she said. "You do look very different today!"
Beau nodded. "It was one of these wagers, you know -- I hate that kind of dress and rough image, and at my work we had organised a charity drive in which we tried to raise money by taking up a wager. Well, that's why. The tattoos were henna, actually."
"They did fool me completely. You looked very convincing!"
"He's nicknamed Beau because he always dresses well, you know," John said. He looked at Beau as though it were a silly thing to do.
Barbra smiled at Beau, though. So that was what Mary and Joan had meant. She was amused to see Emily cast admiring looks at him. He was quite a handsome man in his nice clothes and without the baseball cap -- well-groomed and well-mannered.
"You do like jazz?" Beau asked. "I had to talk a while before I managed to make John come along."
"That's not true!" John protested.
Beau shrugged. "All right," he said.
Barbra thought it might well be true. John had not seemed to be too enthusiastic about jazz at their first date. But she was determined to give him the benefit of doubt, and the four of them walked over to the entrance.
John produced the tickets, and they entered the grounds. They walked up to have a look at the stage, where the sound people were still applying the final touches to their work. Some time to wait. Barbra looked around and saw Joan and Mary get past the ticket counter. They noticed the four of them and waved.
"Please excuse me for a moment," she said. "I will just go and say hello!"
She walked over to her friends, followed closely by Emily. They were greeted by the other girls enthusiastically, and stood talking for a couple of minutes. Then they went back to the men.
The grounds were filling up fast. On their way across they passed a man in a red sweater who said hello to Emily. She looked at him disdainfully. "Hello Mr Mud," she said. "So you are here, too? You'll probably claim to be a jazz buff..."
Then she walked on without waiting for an answer. No answer was forthcoming, however. The man, who seemed to be rather nonplussed by Em's reaction, stood looking at her vanishing form in silence. Then he shrugged and shook his head.
Barbra, who came a little behind her sister, heard the exchange. She looked at the man who stood motionlessly watching Emily walk away and she stepped up to him. "Hello," she said, looking at him hard. "What on earth did you do to my sister for her to act like that? Give her the N-word, or what?"
For a moment the man seemed to freeze completely. He looked at her wide-eyed. "God forbid," he said. "All I did was try to help her."
He shook his head again. He didn't further specify what he'd done, but Barbra knew her sister well enough to know there might be any reason within herself for her behaviour. She decided she would take his word, and said with a smile, "So -- do you consider yourself a jazz buff?"
He made a face. "Oh no, not at all. I'd have to enjoy Johnny Griffin and John Coltrane in their more difficult phases, I guess. I understand Count Basie's definition of jazz a lot better, I'm afraid."
Barbra smiled. Her father had told her. "Tap your foot," she said.
The man smiled back at her. "Yes. I'm afraid I prefer the early big bands, with a blown bass if half possible. Tubas, or a sarrusophone..."
"Ellington. And Mandy Make Up Your Mind!" Barbra said.
"Yes -- or Tiny Parham, for example."
Barbra looked at him in surprise and sighed. "I know him, too," she said. "My father used to have a couple of 78s by his band. There was a fire that destroyed his collection. I never heard them again - never expected to hear anyone talk about him."
"I do like him. I've got his early sides on CD," the man said.
"Aw, that's nice! So they are available again?"
"I think the series was discontinued. I can copy them for you if you like. If you don't mind giving me your address?"
Barbra looked at him and considered for a moment. He actually looked rather nice; he had a pleasant smile. "No, I don't. Oh, yes please. That would be great," she said.
She gave her address to the man who introduced himself as Andrew. Then she wished him a good time, excused herself and rejoined the others.
Emily frowned at her for a moment, but she refrained from commenting because Beau was talking to her and she enjoyed listening to him. He looked at her as if he liked what he saw, and Barbra wondered if Em noticed -- and if so, if she was happy with it.
She thought it was alright, though -- the two of them were talking animatedly and they were quite clearly immersed in one another. John noticed, too, and smiled.
"Let's go closer to the stage," he said. Barbra hooked her arm in his.
There was a bar in the grounds with a couple of tables and chairs, but the area in front of the stage was kept open for everyone who wanted to stand and tap their feet.
"Is your sister easily bowled over?"
"On the contrary. I don't think she ever talked to boys for more than ten minutes -- she's very critical to say the least."
"So Beau's good looks -- "
"No, that's not it. There were lots of handsome men before. But there never was a spark. I like seeing this; she's usually negative about men in the extreme."
"Okay. Well, who knows?"
They smiled at each other, and found a good place to watch the bands.
The first two bands were small combos that sounded as if they had listened a lot to Chris Barber. They played quite well, though, and Barbra enjoyed it very much. She cast glances at Beau and Emily now and then. They stood listening a little further down, looking at the stage at times but apparently at least as interested in each other. Nice, she thought. And then she suddenly realised that they already seemed to be much more into each other than John and she were. He'd invited her here and she felt she was neglecting him.
She looked at John and smiled. "Do you like it?" she said.
"It's something different," he said. "I can't say I've ever listened to this kind of music. But it is alright. I wish it would swing a little, though."
Barbra shook her head. She clearly had to explain a little about swing -- but that could wait. Music first! Her father would have liked it a lot, she thought. They'd gone to a concert together once or twice...
She was wondering what to say next when John's phone went off. He had R Kelly'sI Believe I Can Fly for a ringtone. Better than Ludacris, Barbra thought. John took the phone from his pocket and walked a little distance away from the music. Barbra looked at him. Strange, she thought. In her memory he had an iPhone, but this was a Samsung, obviously. Maybe she remembered wrong?
The call didn't last too long, and John rejoined her as the second combo stopped playing. The band took their applause and left the stage and the sound people rigged up the stage for the final act; a much bigger band.
"So what do you think swings?"
"Rap... Rock 'n roll, you know... that sorta thing, I guess. This is strange music, Bee."
Barbra raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "I don't think it is. I love it."
John nodded. "It's a little intellectual, isn't it? Not too much feeling."
Barbra sighed. She really would have to educate John a little. "I wish my father could have told you about it, and let you listen. I don't think you're right."
"Dunno. Hey, I'm thirsty. How about a beer?"
"Yes, please!"
He walked off to collect some drinks, and Barbra walked over to the others.
Emily beamed at her. "Hi," she said. "Thank you for taking me here! I haven't enjoyed myself so much for ages. Nice, eh?"
"Yes! John thinks it doesn't swing."
Beau grinned and shook his head. "I don't think it's his style," he said.
To Barbra's surprise, Em said, "Father used to play this kind of music a lot -- we were raised on it."
She nodded. "It's good memories among other things."
"I picked up jazz myself. My father played calypso, and Harry Belafonte. But I like those, too."
"Yes," Emily said. "So do I."
She smiled at Beau and Barbra grinned inwardly. It looked as if Em was trying to make a good impression on him. Now there was something new indeed!
John returned with four beers in a cardboard holder, and the conversation stopped while they stood enjoying their drinks.
The stage, meanwhile, was ready and the final act got up to play. To Barbra's delight the bass slot was taken up by a bass sax instead of a plucked bass, and when the band started to play she was transported back to the years when her father was alive. They played a good selection of twenties and thirties jazz, and they had the audience move to the music with goofy smiles.
When the band played a tune in triple time John asked Barbra to dance, and he held her close while they did. Barbra highly enjoyed feeling his body close to her, warm and supple, but when John lowered a hand to squeeze her bottom she stiffened.
"Please, John," she said. "Give me some time."
John nodded. "Okay, Bee -- I'm just trying to give you a good time. You've got a great booty." He smiled, and held her again without being too intrusive.
Barbra smiled through the rest of their dance, and she was a little disappointed when the next piece was in quadruple time again, and the dancing stopped.
"Pity," she said with a half-smile. But the music was wonderful, and she forgot her disappointment almost at once.
The concert was over much too soon to her liking. To her surprise it was past seven already; time to go home. She thank John for taking her, and embraced him and kissed his cheek. They arranged to meet again soon, and so did Emily and Beau.
Driving home Barbra listened to Emily enthuse about Beau with a smile on her face. She wished her sister might find some rest and happiness in her life; and she suspected this might well do the trick.
"The concert was great, wasn't it?" she said.
"It was. Father would've liked it, too!" Em said. "I do miss him, you know."
Barbra nodded. She knew exactly what Em meant.
Then Em said, "What did you say to that man?"
"Mr Mud? Oh, we talked about music. He promised to send me some copies. His name is Andrew, by the way."
"You don't mean to say you gave him your address?"
Barbra nodded. "Why not?"
"My! You'll end up killed in your sleep with a slit throat!"
"Oh, come on! Don't be daft!"
"White men," Em said portentously. "Mark my words!"
6 - Two Telephone Calls
When Barbra arrived home from work that Wednesday afternoon she found a parcel in the letterbox. There was no addressee, just a postcode and house number. When she opened it she found a couple of CDs inside. Two of them were by Tiny Parham. The photocopied covers read The Chronogical Tiny Parham. Chronogical? She opened a box and took out the leaflet. Inside there were the discographical details -- the recordings were presented strictly chronologically. The other two were one by Clarence Williams' Blue Five and the Red Onion Jazz Babies and one featuring some obscure twenties stuff.
There was a note, too, that read,
Dear Ms. Laing,
I hope you'll like the music in here. The Chronogical (sic!) Classics series was a French label that issued lots of the music we talked about.
Yours,
Andrew
So it was a French mistake, she thought with a grin. She took the CDs into the kitchen, and while she was cooking she listened to the first of the two Parham CDs. There were quite a few songs she recognised; they had been on her father's 78s and she hummed along as she cleaned the vegetables. The music made her think of old times, and her father's face appeared in her mind's eye. It seemed as if he nodded his approval. Nice, er, dad? she thought to herself with a smile. The CD was nice and long; she was halfway dinner before it ended. She took it out, put the third one in the CD player and selected Mandy Make Up Your Mind. She sat listening to it with a broad grin as Sidney Bechet's sarrusophone growled behind Eva Taylor's vocals. Then she stopped the CD and pressed play to listen from the start.
Half way the CD her cell phone rang. It was Em, who came to tell her that Beau had invited her for a meal at the local French restaurant the coming weekend. She sounded elated and excited, and Barbra let her rattle on undisturbed for some time. Then she asked her how she'd liked the concert, and Em was jubilant about it.
Barbra smiled. She'd never known her sister be enthusiastic about a guy, and this was a marvellous change.
Suddenly Em stopped. "Hey," she said. "What are you listening to? I think I recognise it -- didn't father have this?"
"Em! I never knew you listened!"
"I did. But I didn't want to admit I liked that stuff, not to you or dad. I sometimes played some of his music when you were out."
"Okay. Gosh. I wish I'd known. It's Eva Taylor."
"Mmm, nice! You know, Beau said..."
Barbra sat back and listened, and wondered at the change in her sister. She'd always thought the tantrums and fits of anger were not really about her, and now she wondered if they'd been the result of some terrible loneliness and uncertainty she'd not been able to break through.
"You really like Beau, don't you?" she said. "We never talked about it, but did you ever have any boyfriends before?"
It appeared Em hadn't. She was rather wary of people, and she told Barbra that once Mike had come into the picture she'd always compared the men she met to him; and they invariably fell short. Beau now...
While she sat listening to her sister's happy talk Barbra wondered a little about her feelings toward John. She didn't feel remotely as brimming over with his presence as Em did. She thought she was probably even more reserved than her twin sister; her relationship with Mike had almost organically grown from a shared enthusiasm to the best, most loving marriage she could have wished, and now any other man had to pass muster according to Mike's cloth.
Oh well. She had world enough, and time. Or did she?
Em's call lasted a long time, and Barbra really enjoyed listening to her talk and talk. Eventually she told Em how glad she felt for her.
"Thank you, Barb -- I'm so happy!"
They rang off, and Barbra took out the CD and put the second Parham CD into the player. Almost immediately after she'd pressed the play button her phone beeped again.
"Hello? It's me. My, you can talk for a long time!"
"Yes. It was Em. We often talk for a long time. She is all the family I have, you know."
"Ok. Mmm. I don't know. Family? Parents and stuff? I hardly ever contact my siblings."
"Well, she's really important to me."
"I know. What are you doing?"
"I'm listening to music." Barbra held the phone close to the CD player.
"Okay. I thought it was cats fighting. Joke, no offence meant."
"None taken. You don't really know twenties music, do you?"
"No. I prefer today's things. I have no use for the past. Hey, girl, can I buy you a meal in the pub next Saturday?"
Barbra accepted eagerly. It would be nice to talk face to face again, and there were many things she would like to know. She did have some use for the past, and she wondered what exactly John meant. He was interesting and attentive, and he could be very sweet alright. But sometimes, somehow, he really felt a little alien. She listened to the CD while contemplating her feelings for Mike, and John, and comparing the way Em behaved to her own slightly reserved manner. Maybe she should try and put that aside? She wasn't sure, but going out would be nice. Better wait and see, she thought, and she resolutely stopped worrying and turned up the music. Lovely!
7 - New Contacts
It was a beautiful Friday. Wednesdays and Fridays were Barbra's half days at work; she always left off at half past twelve, and usually went to town for shopping. The local shop was alright in itself, but they had only a small selection and they were rather expensive, so she bought most things in town, doing the rounds of the three main supermarkets. It was a twenty-minute drive, so it didn't take long -- the shopping did, as a rule, and when she'd deposited all her groceries on the rear seat she decided to have some tea at the Mauve Door in the square. They had good croissants, and she was hungry, and she wanted to sit and relax. Because of the good weather the cafe had put some tables and chairs outside, and she placed her order and sat down, basking in the sun.
Her tea and food weren't long in coming, and she really enjoyed sitting there, watching the people go by and listening to the voices and the cars in the distance.
She was pleasantly drowsy, and she sat simply having a good time when Beau walked up to her.
"Hello, Barbra," he said.
"Hi Beau! How's life? Won't you sit down and have a coffee with me?"
"Yes please. Life's great. You have a wonderful sister!"
"I know." Barbra smiled at him. "What can I get you?"
"A cappuccino, please. Hot and sweet."
"Alright -- just a sec."
She disappeared indoors and Beau sat down and stretched his long legs.
Barbra sat down again. "How's Em?" she said.
"We'll meet tomorrow afternoon -- we'll have dinner together. She was okay this morning when I called her." He smiled as he mentioned her, and he looked very happy.
"Are you getting serious about her?"
"Yes, I think so. It's feeling better every time we talk. She's really a very sweet person, isn't she?"
"Mmm... We used to quarrel more often than not. But I do love her, and yes, she can be very sweet."
"Oh well -- sisters. I know. I quarrelled a lot with my brother, too. What to do? You know the way it goes. So you haven't been killed in you sleep yet?" He grinned mischievously.
"Killed in my sleep? Oh, I see -- Em must've told you. No I haven't. It was a silly remark." She grinned back at Beau. "He sent me copies of some CDs we talked about. Em heard me play one. Really nice; my father used to play me a lot of music like that."
"Jazz?"
"Twenties jazz, yes."
"Oh, wonderful. I love that stuff."
"Good. Em does, too, I think. She said so and I never knew."
"You never really know people, do you? Takes all your life. Emily really enjoyed the concert."
Barbra smiled. She hoped that the burgeoning love between Beau and Emily would work out. It might well make Emily feel more at ease with life and herself. Beau was exceptionally nice, quite the opposite of what she'd feared when she saw him first. He was polite and well-dressed and Barbra felt she would be happy to have him for a brother-in-law, if it should ever come to that.
They talked amicably for a while and then went their ways. Barbra had found the location of the postcode the CDs were sent from on internet, and as it was close to the town, she'd decided to make a little detour and drop by on her way home and say thanks. She drove slowly, while tapping the steering wheel with her fingers to the rhythm of the music and she sang along -- You can't shush Katy... She'd put the new CDs in a CD case that fitted in her coat pocket, so she wouldn't wreck the boxes. It had nicely rounded edges, and it could hold ten CDs.
She kept her eyes open for the correct number. When she got there, she found an old house in a fairly well-kept garden; there was a small, red car at the end of the drive. Ok, she thought, he's probably home then. She parked her car in the drive and walked to the front door. Ringing didn't produce any results, so she walked to the back of the house to find the inhabitant sitting on a terrace with a laptop on the table in front of him.
When he saw her round the house he broke into a smile. He rose quickly and walked up to greet her. "Ms. Laing?" he said as he shook her hand.
"Barbra, please," she said. "May I call you Andrew?"
He nodded. "For sure," he said. "Glad to see you again. Did you like the concert?"
"I did. Immensely. Er, I came to thank you for the CDs you sent me."
"You're very welcome." He looked at her inquisitively. "I hope they brought back good memories, not ruined them?"
"They did bring them back with a vengeance. I love them. Really!"
"Oh, good! It was a good thing for me, too. Since the concert I've listened to a lot of jazz again."
"You like other music, too?"
"Oh yes -- classical music, and popular music, provided it is well-played and has lyrics that are ok..."
"No Move, Bitch stuff?"
"Oh no!" He chuckled. "Do you?"
She shook her head. "No," she said. "I'd rather listen to Carole King or something..."
"There's quite enough good music, isn't there? But there's too much trash. Oh well, you don't have to listen to it." He smiled at her. "Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee, tea, juice?"
Barbra nodded. "Coffee, please."
"Just a moment," Andrew said. He disappeared into the house.
Barbra sat down on one of the terrace chairs and looked around. The house seemed very well kept; the paintwork was shiny and clean. Its mellow red bricks seemed to glow in the sun, and it looked very peaceful and rather beautiful. She felt good to sit there, enjoying the weather. It was a nice house, quite like its owner, she thought.
Andrew returned with two cups of coffee, and some milk and sugar on a tray.
"No sugar or milk for me," she said.
"Okay. Here you are."
He sat down, too, and they talked about the concert, and she told him some more about the evenings she'd spent listening to music with her father, and how she'd loved those moments...
Andrew listened and nodded. His parents had taken him to concerts, he said. The first one, when he was ten, had been Dvorak's New World Symphony. But his father had always refused to listen to other music; he used to say it was unfeeling and unpleasant. His mother, though, had enjoyed listening to the records he'd bought, sitting on his bed and commenting on the songs. She'd loved Ogden's Nut Gone Flake. He had come across jazz by accident, actually. Once he'd bought a cheap Bessie Smith CD with some of her later things. He had been enthralled, and he had gone and found out -- and that was how it all started.
"Do you still like her?"
"Oh, yes. I bought all of her music then. What a voice!"
"Okay. So what other genres do you listen to?"
"Anything, really -- well, with some exceptions. I don't like Rap, or house music, or heavy metal, and I hate computer-generated music. I like concerts best, I think. It's always a better idea to listen to music with others."
Barbra nodded. She felt the same. "Emily -- my sister, the one that called you Mr. Mud -- seems to like my music, too, which came as a surprise to me as she always refused to listen to it with us."
"Was she very susceptible to peer pressure? It often makes people act like that."
"I think so, yes. But I fear it only made her very unhappy. Can you think of a reason for her behaviour towards you?"
Andrew grinned. It made his face light up, she thought. "Maybe," he said. "But I'd rather you find out through her -- if I'm right."
"Okay. Fair enough."
She smiled at Andrew. Then she put down her cup and got up. "I have to go now," she said. "It was nice talking to you."
"Yes," he said. "Okay. Take care!"
He accompanied Barbra to her car and waved when she drove off. She was a nice woman, he thought. He sighed. They were scarce, and unfortunately all the nice ones had husbands, or boyfriends. And then, he had the wrong skin colour. Oh well. It had been a long time that he'd enjoyed talking to a woman so much.
8 - Shopping
Emily came to stay over that evening. Barbra made a tasty meal, rice and hot chicken wings, and the sisters sat in the garden afterwards, talking. Emily mainly talked about Beau. It appeared she called him every day, usually a couple of times.
Barbra smiled at her. It reminded her of her calls with Mike, long ago. Emily looked radiant, and she rejoiced in seeing her sister so happy. She wanted to go shopping the next day. Would Bee come along? Of course she would. Emily had never gone shopping here before, and Barbra, by now, knew where the good shops were, which shops to avoid, and where you could find a good bargain at times.
Joan and Mary had shown her around a couple of times. They had had so much fun together. Mary would try on the weirdest clothes, to come out of the fitting room looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, and then at the first shocked looks of some bystander she would roar with laughter, and make some silly remark, leaving the others in tears, holding their sides. They had done some serious shopping, too. Barbra loved those sessions. They were strictly girls only, just the way you could have a really good time.
"I wish I could meet them again," Em said.
"Oh, they'd love to meet you, too -- they know all about you. They are really great friends. I often run into one of them. Who knows, tomorrow... Mary is a hoot. But she is very sweet, too. Sometimes it seems she doesn't want anyone to know."
"Do they know about John?"
"Almost before I did. They keep telling me he's a really good catch." She smiled.
"He is very handsome!"
"Yes, he is. But I don't know -- it sometimes feels as if Mike is still in the way."
"Just give it some time, sis -- you want to be happy, too!"
The talk veered back to clothes, and what to wear on a first dinner date, clothes, make-up... Beau was always well-groomed, and Em didn't want to look scruffy beside him.
"No," Barb said earnestly. "That wouldn't do." She smiled a little. If anyone she knew seldom looked scruffy it was her sister. "We'll find you something nice alright, and we can see to your make-up."
"Oh, and can you plait my hair, please?"
"Sure. Let's go in and do that now. We may not have time enough tomorrow."
"Er -- I didn't bring any tights. Have you got an old pair for me for tonight?"
"No problem. Come on!"
It took Barbra two hours to get Em's hair nicely into shape. They sat talking and listening to music -- Dinah Washington this time -- and had a drink when the plaiting was done, and the evening was over before they knew.
The following morning they went to town in Emily's car.
They visited all the shops Bee liked, and tried on a lot of clothes. Barbra wasn't out for anything, but she found a nice pair of jeans and an affordable pair of pumps with round toes in shiny red leather.
Emily bought a beautiful dress in one of the small shops off the main square. It had been reduced from two hundred pounds to fifty, and looked as if it had been tailor made for her. She'd tried it on and shown Barbra, who thought it was wonderful!
Apart from the dress Em bought a couple of sweaters, two tops and some lingerie at BHS -- nice and not too expensive -- and two pairs of shoes.
When they were done they went to the Mauve Door, where they ran into Joan and Mary. When Mary noticed them she gave a whoop and got up and almost squashed Barbra in an embrace; then she embraced Emily only a little less exuberantly.
"How nice to meet Barb's sister again! You don't look like her a bit -- you're not identical, are you?"
Em shook her head. "But we're twins alright," she said. "And I've heard a lot about you, too, Mary!"
"Only the good things, I should hope?"
"Of course," Em said with a smile.
"Right. Come and sit down! How's John, Bee?"
"I'll be seeing him tonight." She smiled at Mary. "We'll have dinner at the Jolly Woodman."
"Oooh, brilliant! Fish and chips!"
Barbra grinned. "I suppose they can do better than that," she said. "Besides, I chose this venue last time, so it really is a very nice gesture!"
"And after that?"
"I don't know. A drink and then home, I think. I'm not yet up to anything more."
"And you say you like him? I wish I could have a romp with him alright," Mary said.
"I certainly like him," Barb said. "But I just don't feel like a tumble in the hay yet. I don't know. Later."
"Oh, come on! You sound as if you're fifty!"
"Leave her alone, Mary," Joan said. "You can't decide for others."
"Well, I wouldn't need much prompting, lemme tell ya."
"Mary, we know."
Joan looked so sweetly innocent that Mary roared with laughter. "Okay, okay," she said. "Coffee!"
"You can't shush Mary," Barbra said to Emily, and she winked.
"You're not saying bad things about me, are you?"
"Mary, I wouldn't dare!"
The friends grinned at each other.
"Anyway, I'm really happy to meet your sister."
"And she hoped to get a chance to talk to you. It's nice to sit here, isn't it?"
The coffee arrived and the women drank it appreciatively. The Mauve Door was famous for its coffee, and the terrace was a good place to sit and look at passers-by and comment on them. As usual, Mary was funny and sharp, and Emily quite enjoyed listening to her, adding a comment of her own now and then.
Their coffee session lasted over an hour. Em was quite surprised to find the time had flown. The women took leave of one another and the twin sisters walked back to their car.
"They're nice friends!" Em said.
"Yes, they are. We always have lots of fun -- but actually I think Mary is not as happy-go-lucky as she seems. I often wonder if she's not really unhappy deep down."
"Why don't you ask her?"
"I don't know. I will, one of these days, but I am too busy getting myself sorted out as yet."
"You know, I do hope you'll have as nice a time with John as I with Beau. But you don't seem too enthusiastic. Are you?"
"I don't know. He is sweet and handsome and he has a wonderful body and a beautiful voice. It was lovely to dance with him. But I find it very hard to let anyone come too close -- even John."
"I hope you will. It's better than sit and mourn, sis."
"I know. I'm trying. Do you like him?"
Em said she thought he was alright. They got into the car and drove back. Emily turned on the CD player and treated Barbra to another listen to her Tim McGraw CD.
Barbra really liked the voice and the music but as the sisters kept talking she didn't really listen. Later, perhaps.
9 - Pub Dinner
Emily went on her way early that afternoon, as they'd arranged to meet at a nice place for tea first. After dinner they might go out, but Em had a key to Barbra's place so it wouldn't be a problem. Barbra actually didn't mind; she had the place to herself for some hours before she would meet John at the pub. She decided to go and play some music while tidying up a bit, and went to the hall to collect her CD case.
No! It wasn't there. Now where had she put it? It was in her pocket the day before. Had she taken it into the living room? She didn't think so. Even so, she did turn the room upside down, to no avail. Damn! It made her go hot all over. She loved that music, and now it was gone. If she'd lost it in town she'd never find it back.
She tried to find the music on eBay -- no go. The series obviously had been discontinued alright, and the ones who owned some didn't seem to want to part with them. Blast! A bad start of the afternoon. What to do?
She didn't know. Perhaps she could go to Andrew and ask him to copy them once more? She still had the boxes and she could buy a box of empty CDs. Would she dare? Well, she thought, actually, yes. He had not made an unpleasant or unfriendly impression at all. On thinking back she thought he was a rather nice person. That was the way he seemed, at least. She certainly didn't think he'd cut her throat. She decided she would go there some time the coming week, and gave up looking for the missing music. It wasn't there and that was that.
Instead she looked over her collection for something to play that would match her mood and took Tanita Tikaram's Ancient Heart off the shelf. Great, she thought. Just the music to complete my Saturday afternoon.
She made herself a strong cup of tea and took it out into the garden. It was rather a mess, she thought, but she much preferred sitting in it to working in it. She'd go and do some basic gardening the next day. Then she went indoors for a moment to pick up Wolf Hall, and she sat reading for the rest of the afternoon, listening to the bees.
Her neighbour, Ben Orrin, kept a couple of swarms, and he sometimes gave her a jar of his own honey. It was very nice, sweet and aromatic. He was an older man, in his middle seventies, whose wife had died early from Alzheimer's. He'd never remarried and, it seemed, was still very happy with his memories. He occasionally popped in for a cup of tea. He was a nice person, very soft spoken and cultured, and they would discuss poetry and the state of the nation.
She couldn't imagine herself dealing with the bees but she liked their sound. And she enjoyed talking to Ben now and then. She smiled when she thought of him. Then she tried to concentrate and she kept on reading until six.
John was already in the pub when Barbra walked into the public bar. He was smiling and talking to somebody on his phone, but he rang off when he saw her come in.
"Hi, Queen Bee! How da body? Hope you had a nice week!"
"Hello, John."
She greeted him with a kiss on each cheek.
"It was alright -- I lost my CD case which was not, but apart from that, I had a lot of fun with Emily and Joan and Mary. Emily seems really changed. We haven't quarrelled for a long time."
"Okay. What was in your CD case? Maybe I could help out?"
Barbra grinned. "All caterwauling to your ears. I wouldn't think you have them in your collection."
"Oh. No. I don't have any jazz, apart from some rap crossovers. And I like Kyteman sometimes."
"Okay. I should give yours a try, I guess. I don't know -- don't you think rap is usually much too woman-unfriendly?"
"I rather like it, baby. It's just playing, you know, at being macho and so on."
"Mmm. Not my kind of game."
"You shouldn't be too serious or you will end up playing masses only."
"No chance. I like the music in itself, but one mass a year will do for me. Do you ever listen to classical music, by the way?"
"Me? I had to in school. Quite enough."
"Okay. Oh well, maybe I can teach you to enjoy some. It isn't all serious and hard to understand."
"Another legacy of your education?"
"My father did enjoy that, too, yes." She smiled at the memory of those long gone afternoons, sitting in her father's study, listening to Schubert and Messiaen. "I do miss him so much," she added with a sigh.
"Yes. That's life. What can I get you for drinks? And let's order something. I'm famished."
"Do let's. I'll have half a dry cider, please."
John got up to get the drinks. Barbra looked at him while he walked to the bar. He did have a great physique, he was really handsome. Maybe more so than Mike? She wasn't sure. He talked to the barmaid, and then took his phone from his pocket to make a quick call while she saw to his order. It was a Samsung alright. He only made a short call, and returned with half a cider and a pint of lager.
Barbra took a sip and made a face. "Silly boyl," she said. "This is sweet cider -- not dry."
"Oh. My fault. I'm sorry -- I forgot. Let me get you a dry one."
He picked up the glass and walked to the bar. While the cider was drawn he made another call.
This time the cider was okay. The meals were on a blackboard on the wall, and as they were early none had been crossed out as yet.
Barbra had salmon, and John breaded haddock. It made her smile, remembering the conversation at the Mauve Door.
"What are you smiling at? Penny for your thoughts!"
"A joke Mary made yesterday -- nothing too special. It was funny then."
"Okay. Oh well -- let's hope those meals won't be too long."
The conversation veered to sports, car racing, football -- John told her he was into West Ham. He regularly visited Boleyn Ground, and sometimes went to away matches as well. She wouldn't want to come? She wouldn't. Maybe they could find something else then.
She smiled at him. He was really doing his best to find something. She wondered vaguely what it was that Mike and she had done in that field; but she couldn't think of anything. He hadn't been too much into sports either, and he had been away so often. When he wasn't, they usually didn't go out too much, apart from the occasional visit to the theatre or a concert. Rather, they would stay home engrossed in each other.
While they were talking John's phone rang. "I'm sorry," he said. "Just a moment, please." He got up and walked a little away into the bar. It only took him a few minutes, fortunately.
When he was back Barbra asked, "Do you like going to the theatre? Shakespeare, or modern plays?"
"Oh no. Far too brainy for me," he said with a smile. "But I like going to a film now and then. What about that?"
"Mmm, yes. I like that, too. We should be able to find something there that we both enjoy."
John nodded. "I'll see if there is something nice" he said.
"Yes, please. Is there anything interesting on now?"
John shook his head. "I'm not too sure. Maybe. Seems this is a slack period. Winter seems a better time for that sort of thing, doesn't it?"
"Uhuh. What do you like doing in your holidays?"
"Erm... I don't usually go anywhere, but I had a very nice holiday last year. The beach, Turkey,
one of these all-inclusive places. Swimming, lazing, having a nice drink in the evenings. We even went on a culture trip one day." He winked.
"Did you ever go to Paris, or Rome, or someplace like that?"
"I went to Amsterdam a couple of times. Visited the Van Gogh museum, and the Dam-square, and made a boat tour. I love those canals. And you?"
"Go places, or like in my holidays?"
"The latter."
"I like to travel a bit. There are a couple of places on my bucket-list; I'd love to see Vietnam, and Cambodia, and the Taj Mahal, and I do want to go to Trinidad some day. But as yet Madrid has been as far as I've got."
"Did you like it there?"
"Rather, yes. People are friendly enough, and I love the city. It's very impressive, and pleasant at the same time. They've got a beautiful statue of a bear..."
The food arrived, and they talked about the weather, and politics for some time. They were pretty much of a mind about them, and the time passed quickly and very pleasantly. Barbra's salmon was quite good -- better than she'd expected.
"Mmm," she said appreciatively. "They do have a good kitchen."
"They do," John agreed. "This is nice, too. Do you often eat here?"
"No, this is my first meal here. I sometimes have something in town."
She kept her eyes open for the correct number. When she got there, she found an old house in a fairly well-kept garden; there was a small, red car at the end of the drive. Ok, she thought, he's probably home then. She parked her car in the drive and walked to the front door. Ringing didn't produce any results, so she walked to the back of the house to find the inhabitant sitting on a terrace with a laptop on the table in front of him.
When he saw her round the house he broke into a smile. He rose quickly and walked up to greet her. "Ms. Laing?" he said as he shook her hand.
"Barbra, please," she said. "May I call you Andrew?"
He nodded. "For sure," he said. "Glad to see you again. Did you like the concert?"
"I did. Immensely. Er, I came to thank you for the CDs you sent me."
"You're very welcome." He looked at her inquisitively. "I hope they brought back good memories, not ruined them?"
"They did bring them back with a vengeance. I love them. Really!"
"Oh, good! It was a good thing for me, too. Since the concert I've listened to a lot of jazz again."
"You like other music, too?"
"Oh yes -- classical music, and popular music, provided it is well-played and has lyrics that are ok..."
"No Move, Bitch stuff?"
"Oh no!" He chuckled. "Do you?"
She shook her head. "No," she said. "I'd rather listen to Carole King or something..."
"There's quite enough good music, isn't there? But there's too much trash. Oh well, you don't have to listen to it." He smiled at her. "Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee, tea, juice?"
Barbra nodded. "Coffee, please."
"Just a moment," Andrew said. He disappeared into the house.
Barbra sat down on one of the terrace chairs and looked around. The house seemed very well kept; the paintwork was shiny and clean. Its mellow red bricks seemed to glow in the sun, and it looked very peaceful and rather beautiful. She felt good to sit there, enjoying the weather. It was a nice house, quite like its owner, she thought.
Andrew returned with two cups of coffee, and some milk and sugar on a tray.
"No sugar or milk for me," she said.
"Okay. Here you are."
He sat down, too, and they talked about the concert, and she told him some more about the evenings she'd spent listening to music with her father, and how she'd loved those moments...
Andrew listened and nodded. His parents had taken him to concerts, he said. The first one, when he was ten, had been Dvorak's New World Symphony. But his father had always refused to listen to other music; he used to say it was unfeeling and unpleasant. His mother, though, had enjoyed listening to the records he'd bought, sitting on his bed and commenting on the songs. She'd loved Ogden's Nut Gone Flake. He had come across jazz by accident, actually. Once he'd bought a cheap Bessie Smith CD with some of her later things. He had been enthralled, and he had gone and found out -- and that was how it all started.
"Do you still like her?"
"Oh, yes. I bought all of her music then. What a voice!"
"Okay. So what other genres do you listen to?"
"Anything, really -- well, with some exceptions. I don't like Rap, or house music, or heavy metal, and I hate computer-generated music. I like concerts best, I think. It's always a better idea to listen to music with others."
Barbra nodded. She felt the same. "Emily -- my sister, the one that called you Mr. Mud -- seems to like my music, too, which came as a surprise to me as she always refused to listen to it with us."
"Was she very susceptible to peer pressure? It often makes people act like that."
"I think so, yes. But I fear it only made her very unhappy. Can you think of a reason for her behaviour towards you?"
Andrew grinned. It made his face light up, she thought. "Maybe," he said. "But I'd rather you find out through her -- if I'm right."
"Okay. Fair enough."
She smiled at Andrew. Then she put down her cup and got up. "I have to go now," she said. "It was nice talking to you."
"Yes," he said. "Okay. Take care!"
He accompanied Barbra to her car and waved when she drove off. She was a nice woman, he thought. He sighed. They were scarce, and unfortunately all the nice ones had husbands, or boyfriends. And then, he had the wrong skin colour. Oh well. It had been a long time that he'd enjoyed talking to a woman so much.
8 - Shopping
Emily came to stay over that evening. Barbra made a tasty meal, rice and hot chicken wings, and the sisters sat in the garden afterwards, talking. Emily mainly talked about Beau. It appeared she called him every day, usually a couple of times.
Barbra smiled at her. It reminded her of her calls with Mike, long ago. Emily looked radiant, and she rejoiced in seeing her sister so happy. She wanted to go shopping the next day. Would Bee come along? Of course she would. Emily had never gone shopping here before, and Barbra, by now, knew where the good shops were, which shops to avoid, and where you could find a good bargain at times.
Joan and Mary had shown her around a couple of times. They had had so much fun together. Mary would try on the weirdest clothes, to come out of the fitting room looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, and then at the first shocked looks of some bystander she would roar with laughter, and make some silly remark, leaving the others in tears, holding their sides. They had done some serious shopping, too. Barbra loved those sessions. They were strictly girls only, just the way you could have a really good time.
"I wish I could meet them again," Em said.
"Oh, they'd love to meet you, too -- they know all about you. They are really great friends. I often run into one of them. Who knows, tomorrow... Mary is a hoot. But she is very sweet, too. Sometimes it seems she doesn't want anyone to know."
"Do they know about John?"
"Almost before I did. They keep telling me he's a really good catch." She smiled.
"He is very handsome!"
"Yes, he is. But I don't know -- it sometimes feels as if Mike is still in the way."
"Just give it some time, sis -- you want to be happy, too!"
The talk veered back to clothes, and what to wear on a first dinner date, clothes, make-up... Beau was always well-groomed, and Em didn't want to look scruffy beside him.
"No," Barb said earnestly. "That wouldn't do." She smiled a little. If anyone she knew seldom looked scruffy it was her sister. "We'll find you something nice alright, and we can see to your make-up."
"Oh, and can you plait my hair, please?"
"Sure. Let's go in and do that now. We may not have time enough tomorrow."
"Er -- I didn't bring any tights. Have you got an old pair for me for tonight?"
"No problem. Come on!"
It took Barbra two hours to get Em's hair nicely into shape. They sat talking and listening to music -- Dinah Washington this time -- and had a drink when the plaiting was done, and the evening was over before they knew.
The following morning they went to town in Emily's car.
They visited all the shops Bee liked, and tried on a lot of clothes. Barbra wasn't out for anything, but she found a nice pair of jeans and an affordable pair of pumps with round toes in shiny red leather.
Emily bought a beautiful dress in one of the small shops off the main square. It had been reduced from two hundred pounds to fifty, and looked as if it had been tailor made for her. She'd tried it on and shown Barbra, who thought it was wonderful!
Apart from the dress Em bought a couple of sweaters, two tops and some lingerie at BHS -- nice and not too expensive -- and two pairs of shoes.
When they were done they went to the Mauve Door, where they ran into Joan and Mary. When Mary noticed them she gave a whoop and got up and almost squashed Barbra in an embrace; then she embraced Emily only a little less exuberantly.
"How nice to meet Barb's sister again! You don't look like her a bit -- you're not identical, are you?"
Em shook her head. "But we're twins alright," she said. "And I've heard a lot about you, too, Mary!"
"Only the good things, I should hope?"
"Of course," Em said with a smile.
"Right. Come and sit down! How's John, Bee?"
"I'll be seeing him tonight." She smiled at Mary. "We'll have dinner at the Jolly Woodman."
"Oooh, brilliant! Fish and chips!"
Barbra grinned. "I suppose they can do better than that," she said. "Besides, I chose this venue last time, so it really is a very nice gesture!"
"And after that?"
"I don't know. A drink and then home, I think. I'm not yet up to anything more."
"And you say you like him? I wish I could have a romp with him alright," Mary said.
"I certainly like him," Barb said. "But I just don't feel like a tumble in the hay yet. I don't know. Later."
"Oh, come on! You sound as if you're fifty!"
"Leave her alone, Mary," Joan said. "You can't decide for others."
"Well, I wouldn't need much prompting, lemme tell ya."
"Mary, we know."
Joan looked so sweetly innocent that Mary roared with laughter. "Okay, okay," she said. "Coffee!"
"You can't shush Mary," Barbra said to Emily, and she winked.
"You're not saying bad things about me, are you?"
"Mary, I wouldn't dare!"
The friends grinned at each other.
"Anyway, I'm really happy to meet your sister."
"And she hoped to get a chance to talk to you. It's nice to sit here, isn't it?"
The coffee arrived and the women drank it appreciatively. The Mauve Door was famous for its coffee, and the terrace was a good place to sit and look at passers-by and comment on them. As usual, Mary was funny and sharp, and Emily quite enjoyed listening to her, adding a comment of her own now and then.
Their coffee session lasted over an hour. Em was quite surprised to find the time had flown. The women took leave of one another and the twin sisters walked back to their car.
"They're nice friends!" Em said.
"Yes, they are. We always have lots of fun -- but actually I think Mary is not as happy-go-lucky as she seems. I often wonder if she's not really unhappy deep down."
"Why don't you ask her?"
"I don't know. I will, one of these days, but I am too busy getting myself sorted out as yet."
"You know, I do hope you'll have as nice a time with John as I with Beau. But you don't seem too enthusiastic. Are you?"
"I don't know. He is sweet and handsome and he has a wonderful body and a beautiful voice. It was lovely to dance with him. But I find it very hard to let anyone come too close -- even John."
"I hope you will. It's better than sit and mourn, sis."
"I know. I'm trying. Do you like him?"
Em said she thought he was alright. They got into the car and drove back. Emily turned on the CD player and treated Barbra to another listen to her Tim McGraw CD.
Barbra really liked the voice and the music but as the sisters kept talking she didn't really listen. Later, perhaps.
9 - Pub Dinner
Emily went on her way early that afternoon, as they'd arranged to meet at a nice place for tea first. After dinner they might go out, but Em had a key to Barbra's place so it wouldn't be a problem. Barbra actually didn't mind; she had the place to herself for some hours before she would meet John at the pub. She decided to go and play some music while tidying up a bit, and went to the hall to collect her CD case.
No! It wasn't there. Now where had she put it? It was in her pocket the day before. Had she taken it into the living room? She didn't think so. Even so, she did turn the room upside down, to no avail. Damn! It made her go hot all over. She loved that music, and now it was gone. If she'd lost it in town she'd never find it back.
She tried to find the music on eBay -- no go. The series obviously had been discontinued alright, and the ones who owned some didn't seem to want to part with them. Blast! A bad start of the afternoon. What to do?
She didn't know. Perhaps she could go to Andrew and ask him to copy them once more? She still had the boxes and she could buy a box of empty CDs. Would she dare? Well, she thought, actually, yes. He had not made an unpleasant or unfriendly impression at all. On thinking back she thought he was a rather nice person. That was the way he seemed, at least. She certainly didn't think he'd cut her throat. She decided she would go there some time the coming week, and gave up looking for the missing music. It wasn't there and that was that.
Instead she looked over her collection for something to play that would match her mood and took Tanita Tikaram's Ancient Heart off the shelf. Great, she thought. Just the music to complete my Saturday afternoon.
She made herself a strong cup of tea and took it out into the garden. It was rather a mess, she thought, but she much preferred sitting in it to working in it. She'd go and do some basic gardening the next day. Then she went indoors for a moment to pick up Wolf Hall, and she sat reading for the rest of the afternoon, listening to the bees.
Her neighbour, Ben Orrin, kept a couple of swarms, and he sometimes gave her a jar of his own honey. It was very nice, sweet and aromatic. He was an older man, in his middle seventies, whose wife had died early from Alzheimer's. He'd never remarried and, it seemed, was still very happy with his memories. He occasionally popped in for a cup of tea. He was a nice person, very soft spoken and cultured, and they would discuss poetry and the state of the nation.
She couldn't imagine herself dealing with the bees but she liked their sound. And she enjoyed talking to Ben now and then. She smiled when she thought of him. Then she tried to concentrate and she kept on reading until six.
John was already in the pub when Barbra walked into the public bar. He was smiling and talking to somebody on his phone, but he rang off when he saw her come in.
"Hi, Queen Bee! How da body? Hope you had a nice week!"
"Hello, John."
She greeted him with a kiss on each cheek.
"It was alright -- I lost my CD case which was not, but apart from that, I had a lot of fun with Emily and Joan and Mary. Emily seems really changed. We haven't quarrelled for a long time."
"Okay. What was in your CD case? Maybe I could help out?"
Barbra grinned. "All caterwauling to your ears. I wouldn't think you have them in your collection."
"Oh. No. I don't have any jazz, apart from some rap crossovers. And I like Kyteman sometimes."
"Okay. I should give yours a try, I guess. I don't know -- don't you think rap is usually much too woman-unfriendly?"
"I rather like it, baby. It's just playing, you know, at being macho and so on."
"Mmm. Not my kind of game."
"You shouldn't be too serious or you will end up playing masses only."
"No chance. I like the music in itself, but one mass a year will do for me. Do you ever listen to classical music, by the way?"
"Me? I had to in school. Quite enough."
"Okay. Oh well, maybe I can teach you to enjoy some. It isn't all serious and hard to understand."
"Another legacy of your education?"
"My father did enjoy that, too, yes." She smiled at the memory of those long gone afternoons, sitting in her father's study, listening to Schubert and Messiaen. "I do miss him so much," she added with a sigh.
"Yes. That's life. What can I get you for drinks? And let's order something. I'm famished."
"Do let's. I'll have half a dry cider, please."
John got up to get the drinks. Barbra looked at him while he walked to the bar. He did have a great physique, he was really handsome. Maybe more so than Mike? She wasn't sure. He talked to the barmaid, and then took his phone from his pocket to make a quick call while she saw to his order. It was a Samsung alright. He only made a short call, and returned with half a cider and a pint of lager.
Barbra took a sip and made a face. "Silly boyl," she said. "This is sweet cider -- not dry."
"Oh. My fault. I'm sorry -- I forgot. Let me get you a dry one."
He picked up the glass and walked to the bar. While the cider was drawn he made another call.
This time the cider was okay. The meals were on a blackboard on the wall, and as they were early none had been crossed out as yet.
Barbra had salmon, and John breaded haddock. It made her smile, remembering the conversation at the Mauve Door.
"What are you smiling at? Penny for your thoughts!"
"A joke Mary made yesterday -- nothing too special. It was funny then."
"Okay. Oh well -- let's hope those meals won't be too long."
The conversation veered to sports, car racing, football -- John told her he was into West Ham. He regularly visited Boleyn Ground, and sometimes went to away matches as well. She wouldn't want to come? She wouldn't. Maybe they could find something else then.
She smiled at him. He was really doing his best to find something. She wondered vaguely what it was that Mike and she had done in that field; but she couldn't think of anything. He hadn't been too much into sports either, and he had been away so often. When he wasn't, they usually didn't go out too much, apart from the occasional visit to the theatre or a concert. Rather, they would stay home engrossed in each other.
While they were talking John's phone rang. "I'm sorry," he said. "Just a moment, please." He got up and walked a little away into the bar. It only took him a few minutes, fortunately.
When he was back Barbra asked, "Do you like going to the theatre? Shakespeare, or modern plays?"
"Oh no. Far too brainy for me," he said with a smile. "But I like going to a film now and then. What about that?"
"Mmm, yes. I like that, too. We should be able to find something there that we both enjoy."
John nodded. "I'll see if there is something nice" he said.
"Yes, please. Is there anything interesting on now?"
John shook his head. "I'm not too sure. Maybe. Seems this is a slack period. Winter seems a better time for that sort of thing, doesn't it?"
"Uhuh. What do you like doing in your holidays?"
"Erm... I don't usually go anywhere, but I had a very nice holiday last year. The beach, Turkey,
one of these all-inclusive places. Swimming, lazing, having a nice drink in the evenings. We even went on a culture trip one day." He winked.
"Did you ever go to Paris, or Rome, or someplace like that?"
"I went to Amsterdam a couple of times. Visited the Van Gogh museum, and the Dam-square, and made a boat tour. I love those canals. And you?"
"Go places, or like in my holidays?"
"The latter."
"I like to travel a bit. There are a couple of places on my bucket-list; I'd love to see Vietnam, and Cambodia, and the Taj Mahal, and I do want to go to Trinidad some day. But as yet Madrid has been as far as I've got."
"Did you like it there?"
"Rather, yes. People are friendly enough, and I love the city. It's very impressive, and pleasant at the same time. They've got a beautiful statue of a bear..."
The food arrived, and they talked about the weather, and politics for some time. They were pretty much of a mind about them, and the time passed quickly and very pleasantly. Barbra's salmon was quite good -- better than she'd expected.
"Mmm," she said appreciatively. "They do have a good kitchen."
"They do," John agreed. "This is nice, too. Do you often eat here?"
"No, this is my first meal here. I sometimes have something in town."
"French?"
"Italian, usually. Or Jamaican."
"Okay. Mmm, yes. Better than this?"
"Different. Not better, no. This is really good!"
They happily ate their meal together. Afterwards, Barbra got up to collect some more drinks, and they talked until ten thirty when Barbra felt really tired.
"Ok, baby," John said. "I'll need a taxi. I definitely couldn't drive."
"And your car?"
"I had a friend of mine drop me off. My car is at home. Just a mo, please."
He produced his cell phone and called the local taxi service. Barbra couldn't help noticing it was an iPhone this time.
When John had arranged his taxi she asked him with a smile, "How many telephones have you got?"
"Oh, just a few." He produced his Samsung from his other pocket. "I use this one strictly for work. Look, shall I pick you up on Saturday for a movie?"
"Yes, please," Barbra said.
"Good." John entered the date in the agenda on his iPhone, and they talked until the taxi arrived.
Barbra gave John a peck on the mouth when he left. "Looking forward to Saturday," she said.
10 - Doubles
Barbra had put four empty CDs in her coat pocket that Monday morning. She didn't really like having to ask for new copies, but she really, really wanted to listen to the music again and so there wasn't anything much she could do about it.
She had a long day at work, so it was after four when she left off, and went to her car. She hoped she'd be lucky first time around, and that Andrew would be in. She drove down the road he lived on, and to her relief she saw his red car in the drive. It was a dull day, with some slight drizzle at times, and she expected Andrew would not be in the garden. She rang, very briefly, but apparently long enough, for it wasn't too long before she heard him come down the hall and open the door for her. When he saw her he treated her to a big smile.
"Barbra!" he said. "Come in! Can I take your coat?"
He put it up in the hall, and led her into the living room. It was a rather large room, with a few easy chairs, a low table and a stereo, and a small bookcase. On the wall opposite there was a big African mask. The main colours were brown and black, and the walls and curtains were off white. It was a quiet uncluttered room, she thought, without any knick knacks or junk.
"Would you like something to drink?" he said.
"Coffee, please," she said. "Andrew, I have a request I hate making, but er, I er... I'm afraid I lost my CD case with all the copies you made for me. Er... would you mind doing them again for me?"
She felt her face go hot. Fortunately Andrew didn't seem to mind.
He shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "No problem! Let me get us some coffee first."
He disappeared and returned shortly with two mugs of coffee. "No milk or sugar, right?"
Barbra nodded.
"I'll go and see those copies straight away. Would you like to stay here or will you come along?"
"I'll come with you," she said.
They went into the corridor and Andrew showed Barbra into the study, a room rather more crowded than the living room. There were two chairs, it held a big desk, a small table with a computer and it was lined with bookcases and a huge, homemade rack with CDs.
"This is where I keep my things," he said. "I'll get the CDs first."
He started up the computer and picked up three CDs. "I'll have to scan the fronts and print the inlays again later," he said. "I'm afraid I've run out of black ink."
"I still have the boxes," Barbra said. "So there's no need to."
"Right-oh! I'm glad I haven't deleted the Bechet-Armstrong things yet; it's a compilation from three albums. They're still on the flash drive I put them on."
"Okay. Oh, I forgot. I brought some empty CDs. Let me get them; they're in my coat."
"That's nice, but don't bother, please. I've got quite enough empty ones. Maybe you can copy some music that you like very much for me."
Andrew sat down at the computer and started Nero. Barbra looked around. There were three framed photographs on the desk, of a woman, a girl and a boy. The boy was African; he smiled into the camera and seemed, Barbra thought, a nice young man. The woman looked Irish. She had red hair and she was caught on film unaware.
Andrew had the programme running and turned on his swivel chair. He saw Barbra look at the photographs. Then she looked his way and raised her eyebrows, and he nodded at her.
"Those are the most important people in my life," he said. "Lizzie, my wife, my daughter Jenny and Barrie. He lived with us for years. He came to England as a refugee from Sierra Leone. He still calls me papa."
"Your wife isn't here?"
"Lizzie and Jennie got killed in a traffic accident, years ago. Thank God Barrie was there to give me some purpose in life. I've weathered the storm partly thanks to him."
"Okay. Oh dear. Life is hard, isn't it? It seems all the right people die on you..."
Andrew looked at her questioningly.
"I lost my parents and my husband all within two months."
Andrew nodded. "Yes," he said. "That must have been like the end of the world."
"It was." Barbra shook her head. "It seems they're still on my shoulder somehow. I miss them frightfully."
She took a sip of her coffee. "I'll have a look at your music if I may."
"Of course. I'll load the next CD, then."
There were rather too many CDs to have a good look. Barbra saw that they were ordered to genre and alphabet. She remembered her sister's CD and wondered if Andrew might have something by that McGraw person. He did, slotted neatly between Country Joe McDonald and Roger McGuinn. She took it out; it wasn't the one her sister owned, but a double one with number 1 hits.
"Is this good?" she said.
"That one? Yes, I think so. Matter of taste, of course."
"Yes. Er -- could you copy them for me, too?"
"By all means."
He took the box from her and put it on top of the others. Barbra looked at the rest of the room. He obviously liked books, and there were a few nice things on the wall. The study, or den, or whatever it was to him, seemed a nice place to be in -- a little like her own study. This one was much larger, though. His whole house was larger than hers. She spent the time Andrew needed to copy the CDs wandering around and inspecting the bookcases.
"Do you spend a lot of time in here?" she asked when he was almost ready.
"Yes, rather. I do a lot of writing, and er -- well, I suppose you can say I do my work from here, too. But I listen to music in the living room." He picked up his mug and emptied it. "Before the accident we lived in town; but I like this place. I couldn't stay in the other one anymore."
"Same for me. I used to live in the Midlands. I had some beginning of a breakdown, and my GP told me to go and get a change of air. I did, and it felt good, so I moved down here."
Andrew smiled at her. "Yes," he said. "That does sound familiar."
He turned round to extract the CDs from the computer and wrote the title on the copy. Then he handed her the copied CDs.
"Well," he said. "That's it. Shall we go to the living room for another coffee?"
"Yes please."
They left the study and went back to the living room where Andrew left her for a moment to make some more coffee. Barbra looked round critically. It was a good room, well-proportioned and well furnished. It was pleasant to be in but somehow it had a rather solitary air. Too little colour, perhaps, or too tidy? Austere was the word, she thought. Yes.
"This room is very different from you study," she said when he returned.
"Yes, it is. Which do you prefer?"
"Your study, I think. It may not be the perfect place to sit in together, I suppose, but it feels more comfortable. This one seems to frown on me."
Andrew nodded. "You're right. This room is pretty basic," he said. "I haven't yet decided how to change it -- I have my stereo here, and my poetry, and I have the occasional drink here while winding down. I don't want it clogged, but it should be a little less forbidding, perhaps." He shrugged. "It's maybe also because I'm inclined to be chaotic, and I don't want a mess here. Lizzie was a really tidy person and I want to live up to her standards."
"You are tidy enough, it seems," Barbra said. "This is a lovely house."
"Thank you. Mmm... Would you like to stay for dinner?"
"Er, I'd love to -- truly. But I'm afraid I can't. Em is coming over this evening. Can I take a rain check on it?
"Of course. Please."
He looked at her with a little hint of a smile. She blushed. Was she honest, and would she ever have dinner with him? He was really nice to her, and she was dead certain that whatever it was that Em held against him couldn't be his fault. She was determined to try and find out that night.
"Thank you," she said, "both for the CDs and for your offer. I'll see what I can do for you -- and I'll love to come around again!" And she realised she meant it.
When she drove back she played Tiny Parham. She wondered how long ago Andrew's wife and daughter had died, and how lonely he was. He was really nice. She'd expect an attractive man like that to have a girlfriend -- but then, she knew how hard it was to forget.
Oh well. There was Em to talk to and she'd promised to cook. She'd made a rum cake the night before, and now she was busy cooking a meal, with lots of red peppers, and garlic, and some aubergine and courgettes. Just the way her mother used to do it.
Em came in greeting her happily. "Look!" she said, and she held up her hand. "Great, eh?"
She wore a new ring. "Present from Beau," she said. "Oh, and by the way, when I was cleaning the car two days ago I found your CD case. Here you are!"
"Oh dear, so that is what happened to it! I already went back to Andrew this afternoon for new copies. I thought I'd never see them back."
"Oh. Well, may I have them then? I played them a lot, I must say. You know, Beau loves this music, too."
"Yes, he told me. Of course you can have them. I must have some empty cases around somewhere. Let me get them for you."
She went into the living room and returned to the kitchen with four slim cases.
"Thank you, sis," Em said and she transferred the four copies to the boxes.
Barbra hesitated a moment; then she asked, "Er, Emily -- what exactly was it that Andrew did that you were so pissed off about? I just cannot imagine he would do anything awful."
"He probably already told you in detail for a laugh!"
"He didn't. I asked him but he said I ought to hear it from you."
"Really?"
Barbra nodded. "Really."
Emily looked at her a little shamefacedly. "Remember I was angry that morning? I went walking and I wanted to go to the cove, and so I took that path down -- but I lost my footing and slid down the steep stretch. I thought that was it, and I'd closed my eyes, and he must have been coming up right then, for he grabbed my ankles just in time and stopped me."
"Oh Em, you could have been killed!"
"I know. And I felt grateful enough, but I was wet and miserable and angry with myself and so I just bit his head off. And I wanted to go further down but he just barred my way and told me to go and use the path at the other end." She paused for a moment. "And when he said hello at the concert and everyone was there I couldn't undo my bad behaviour so I just snapped at him. Do you think it still rankles?"
"I don't think he bears you a grudge whatsoever," Barbra said with a smile. "I was initially afraid he might have called you something racist, but he said he hadn't. And later I found he had given shelter to an African boy for a long time."
"Really?"
"Seems he and his wife took in a refugee some time or other."
"Oh wow. Didn't his wife come to the concert?"
"He's a widower, you know."
"Oh -- I'm sorry. Okay. I'll apologise to him when we meet again. Do you think he's nice?"
"Yes, I do. A bit of a loner. He lost his wife and daughter quite some time ago. Why did you call him Mr Mud?"
"He was covered in mud then, actually."
"Er -- oh. Well, that may have been because you sent up a spray of mud, I suppose."
Em nodded. "I was in a bit of a mess then," she said. "Having Beau makes all the difference." She thought for a moment. "I really will have to do something about this Andrew; it won't do to let it be."
"Okay. No haste, Em; I suppose he will be happy to hear you're doing fine."
She drained the vegetables and finished the cooking. They had their dinner in the kitchen, talking about their parents, and Beau and John.
"Beau really is the very first man who is just what I hoped to find all along," Em said. "Sweet, funny, clever, witty... He seems to think I am, too." She smiled, thinking of him. "We are planning to get engaged."
"Oh sweetie, how fantastic! You must be very happy!"
Em beamed. "I am, you know. I couldn't be more so, I think."
Barbra got up to hug her sister. Then she sat down again. "Yoghurt? Or ice-cream?"
Em chose ice-cream, and they finished their meal enjoying the cold treat and smiling at each other. Em left fairly soon after dinner, and Barbra went and did the washing up listening to more jazz.
11 - Catharsis
On Tuesday evening John called to tell Barbra he'd booked seats for a new movie in town. He would pick her up on Saturday and they could have a drink and a dance afterwards. They talked for a while and then John said he had to go. He had an appointment at the firm, he said.
Okay. Barbra felt it would be really nice to go to the cinema together, but she wished John had had more time to talk. Their talk seemed to stay a little desultory, a little shallow. With Mike she'd always felt they really talked about things that mattered. And she was a little worried about all the calls John made. He said they were strictly for work -- but he didn't look as if he were conducting business when calling.
John... Oh dear. Maybe her friends were right and she was turning into an old spinster? Would she have embarked on trying to turn this into a working relationship if they hadn't been so happy for her? John was a very handsome man. He was attractive, she loved dancing with him and he really seemed to try his best. But... She shook her head. Was she fair to him? Or did she keep him dangling? She heaved a deep sigh. She just didn't know. Those telephones... Whenever they met he seemed to be on the phone, and he always ended his call immediately. She wondered whom he was calling. Always business? She supposed so. She certainly hoped so.
She tried to drive those thoughts from her mind. Better go and do something instead of worrying. She went into her study and answered a lot of emails. Then she hoovered the ground floor and sorted out the laundry, and before she knew it was time to go to bed. Safe!
Wednesday was a relatively short working day, and she went shopping after work. Then she went home and made herself a nice cup of tea. It was still early in the afternoon, and she took it into the living room and took Tim McGraw from its box. She sat down with her tea while the first CD began, and listened to the lyrics this time. Live like You Were Dying was a nice song, she thought. The next track was a little predictable -- not bad but less startling in its idea. Then came It's Your Love. Somehow it struck her like a hammer. It reminded her of how she had hungered for Mike, and how Em had Beau's name on her lips whenever they met. Oh Mike -- and oh, how she missed her parents. Just to See You Smile didn't make her feel any better. Then the bell rang.
She went to open the door. Andrew was standing there, holding a CD box in his hand. She beckoned him to come in, and she closed the door.
"Hello," he said. "I came to give you the box for that music." He looked at her. "Er... Are you
alright? You look grey."
"I er... I'm a bit blue. I er..."
"If I can help..."
She looked at him, and she felt the tears burn behind her eyes. He pulled a questioning face at her, and then the floodgates opened.
He smiled at her a bit crookedly and awkwardly put his arms around her.
"What is it, Barbra?"
She sniffed and cried and held on to Andrew as if she were about to drown.
"I don't know... I thought I was over my losses... I moved here to start again instead of running aground altogether. Mum and dad and Mike -- and the house we used to live in -- and then the loneliness, and the cold, and the disbelief -- they sent an officer round to tell me Mike had been killed and I just didn't believe him at first. But it was only too true. And then I came here and life seemed nice and slow and just sunny, and there were Joan and Mary, and I quarrelled with Em but it seems we got on together better and better -- but we always loved each other no matter what -- and I thought I'd overcome my losses..."
Her face worked and she started to cry again. Andrew held her tighter, and rocked her a little from side to side, looking at her and shaking his head. He made the occasional encouraging noise, but he refrained from commenting.
Barbra sniffed and she hesitatingly told him all about her parents and her husband, and how they'd done things together, and how nice life had been, and how everything had changed.
Then she said, "You know how loneliness feels... I tried to forget and tell myself I wasn't and sometimes I wasn't but sometimes I was, and Em being near helped even when we quarrelled again, and then I ran into John, and Joan and Mary don't stop singing his praises and he is handsome and he seems to be trying his best to please me but I just don't know. He doesn't feel like Beau seems to feel to Em or like Mike was to me, and he is always on the phone and I sometimes wonder if there is someone else, and I don't know if I trust him. But I feel awful for not trusting him and I think I'm not fair, and that makes it worse. But I was sitting listening to your CDs just now and then that song about your sweet name came along and I thought Mike, oh Mike, why did you die and I wonder if I'll ever feel like I did with him again and I certainly don't feel like that with John -- not as yet anyway, and I just don't know..."
She sniffled. "Sorry," she said. "I'm being silly, aren't I?"
Andrew shook his head. "No," he said. "You're not being silly at all, I think. I know what you're talking about, a little at least. I miss my girls every day."
Barbra tried to stop crying, and she made a good effort. "Yes," she said. "You must."
"So what are you going to do?"
Barbra shrugged helplessly. "I just don't know. What would you advise?"
"I wouldn't advise anything, really. It would be a little presumptuous. You've had even worse luck than I, I think."
"But if I were a young niece of yours?"
Andrew grimaced at that. "Well," he said, "then I would probably say what she already knew, too, that building a relationship on doubt may not be a good idea."
She nodded. "It's not. I do have to make sure I understand what I feel. Thank you, Andrew. I don't know -- it's probably that song that did it for me."
"I know," he said. "He's recorded another duet that I find even more painful." He sighed. "Oh well, it's a good song. I came to bring you the box with the titles. Do you still want it?"
"Yes, please. I will play it again alright. It's just that it gripped me just now." She smiled, albeit a little watery still. "It was good to talk about it. I really needed to, I guess; I'm feeling much better now."
"Sure?"
"Yes. I want a strong cup of tea, and then I'll go for a ramble to let the wind blow everything out of my system. Want a cuppa, too?"
"Not really -- I was supposed to meet my publisher in town. He'll wonder where I am; I'm usually rather punctual in my business contacts."
"Oh -- I'm sorry!"
"Well, I'm not. First things first, and he'll understand. Are you sure I can safely
"Italian, usually. Or Jamaican."
"Okay. Mmm, yes. Better than this?"
"Different. Not better, no. This is really good!"
They happily ate their meal together. Afterwards, Barbra got up to collect some more drinks, and they talked until ten thirty when Barbra felt really tired.
"Ok, baby," John said. "I'll need a taxi. I definitely couldn't drive."
"And your car?"
"I had a friend of mine drop me off. My car is at home. Just a mo, please."
He produced his cell phone and called the local taxi service. Barbra couldn't help noticing it was an iPhone this time.
When John had arranged his taxi she asked him with a smile, "How many telephones have you got?"
"Oh, just a few." He produced his Samsung from his other pocket. "I use this one strictly for work. Look, shall I pick you up on Saturday for a movie?"
"Yes, please," Barbra said.
"Good." John entered the date in the agenda on his iPhone, and they talked until the taxi arrived.
Barbra gave John a peck on the mouth when he left. "Looking forward to Saturday," she said.
10 - Doubles
Barbra had put four empty CDs in her coat pocket that Monday morning. She didn't really like having to ask for new copies, but she really, really wanted to listen to the music again and so there wasn't anything much she could do about it.
She had a long day at work, so it was after four when she left off, and went to her car. She hoped she'd be lucky first time around, and that Andrew would be in. She drove down the road he lived on, and to her relief she saw his red car in the drive. It was a dull day, with some slight drizzle at times, and she expected Andrew would not be in the garden. She rang, very briefly, but apparently long enough, for it wasn't too long before she heard him come down the hall and open the door for her. When he saw her he treated her to a big smile.
"Barbra!" he said. "Come in! Can I take your coat?"
He put it up in the hall, and led her into the living room. It was a rather large room, with a few easy chairs, a low table and a stereo, and a small bookcase. On the wall opposite there was a big African mask. The main colours were brown and black, and the walls and curtains were off white. It was a quiet uncluttered room, she thought, without any knick knacks or junk.
"Would you like something to drink?" he said.
"Coffee, please," she said. "Andrew, I have a request I hate making, but er, I er... I'm afraid I lost my CD case with all the copies you made for me. Er... would you mind doing them again for me?"
She felt her face go hot. Fortunately Andrew didn't seem to mind.
He shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "No problem! Let me get us some coffee first."
He disappeared and returned shortly with two mugs of coffee. "No milk or sugar, right?"
Barbra nodded.
"I'll go and see those copies straight away. Would you like to stay here or will you come along?"
"I'll come with you," she said.
They went into the corridor and Andrew showed Barbra into the study, a room rather more crowded than the living room. There were two chairs, it held a big desk, a small table with a computer and it was lined with bookcases and a huge, homemade rack with CDs.
"This is where I keep my things," he said. "I'll get the CDs first."
He started up the computer and picked up three CDs. "I'll have to scan the fronts and print the inlays again later," he said. "I'm afraid I've run out of black ink."
"I still have the boxes," Barbra said. "So there's no need to."
"Right-oh! I'm glad I haven't deleted the Bechet-Armstrong things yet; it's a compilation from three albums. They're still on the flash drive I put them on."
"Okay. Oh, I forgot. I brought some empty CDs. Let me get them; they're in my coat."
"That's nice, but don't bother, please. I've got quite enough empty ones. Maybe you can copy some music that you like very much for me."
Andrew sat down at the computer and started Nero. Barbra looked around. There were three framed photographs on the desk, of a woman, a girl and a boy. The boy was African; he smiled into the camera and seemed, Barbra thought, a nice young man. The woman looked Irish. She had red hair and she was caught on film unaware.
Andrew had the programme running and turned on his swivel chair. He saw Barbra look at the photographs. Then she looked his way and raised her eyebrows, and he nodded at her.
"Those are the most important people in my life," he said. "Lizzie, my wife, my daughter Jenny and Barrie. He lived with us for years. He came to England as a refugee from Sierra Leone. He still calls me papa."
"Your wife isn't here?"
"Lizzie and Jennie got killed in a traffic accident, years ago. Thank God Barrie was there to give me some purpose in life. I've weathered the storm partly thanks to him."
"Okay. Oh dear. Life is hard, isn't it? It seems all the right people die on you..."
Andrew looked at her questioningly.
"I lost my parents and my husband all within two months."
Andrew nodded. "Yes," he said. "That must have been like the end of the world."
"It was." Barbra shook her head. "It seems they're still on my shoulder somehow. I miss them frightfully."
She took a sip of her coffee. "I'll have a look at your music if I may."
"Of course. I'll load the next CD, then."
There were rather too many CDs to have a good look. Barbra saw that they were ordered to genre and alphabet. She remembered her sister's CD and wondered if Andrew might have something by that McGraw person. He did, slotted neatly between Country Joe McDonald and Roger McGuinn. She took it out; it wasn't the one her sister owned, but a double one with number 1 hits.
"Is this good?" she said.
"That one? Yes, I think so. Matter of taste, of course."
"Yes. Er -- could you copy them for me, too?"
"By all means."
He took the box from her and put it on top of the others. Barbra looked at the rest of the room. He obviously liked books, and there were a few nice things on the wall. The study, or den, or whatever it was to him, seemed a nice place to be in -- a little like her own study. This one was much larger, though. His whole house was larger than hers. She spent the time Andrew needed to copy the CDs wandering around and inspecting the bookcases.
"Do you spend a lot of time in here?" she asked when he was almost ready.
"Yes, rather. I do a lot of writing, and er -- well, I suppose you can say I do my work from here, too. But I listen to music in the living room." He picked up his mug and emptied it. "Before the accident we lived in town; but I like this place. I couldn't stay in the other one anymore."
"Same for me. I used to live in the Midlands. I had some beginning of a breakdown, and my GP told me to go and get a change of air. I did, and it felt good, so I moved down here."
Andrew smiled at her. "Yes," he said. "That does sound familiar."
He turned round to extract the CDs from the computer and wrote the title on the copy. Then he handed her the copied CDs.
"Well," he said. "That's it. Shall we go to the living room for another coffee?"
"Yes please."
They left the study and went back to the living room where Andrew left her for a moment to make some more coffee. Barbra looked round critically. It was a good room, well-proportioned and well furnished. It was pleasant to be in but somehow it had a rather solitary air. Too little colour, perhaps, or too tidy? Austere was the word, she thought. Yes.
"This room is very different from you study," she said when he returned.
"Yes, it is. Which do you prefer?"
"Your study, I think. It may not be the perfect place to sit in together, I suppose, but it feels more comfortable. This one seems to frown on me."
Andrew nodded. "You're right. This room is pretty basic," he said. "I haven't yet decided how to change it -- I have my stereo here, and my poetry, and I have the occasional drink here while winding down. I don't want it clogged, but it should be a little less forbidding, perhaps." He shrugged. "It's maybe also because I'm inclined to be chaotic, and I don't want a mess here. Lizzie was a really tidy person and I want to live up to her standards."
"You are tidy enough, it seems," Barbra said. "This is a lovely house."
"Thank you. Mmm... Would you like to stay for dinner?"
"Er, I'd love to -- truly. But I'm afraid I can't. Em is coming over this evening. Can I take a rain check on it?
"Of course. Please."
He looked at her with a little hint of a smile. She blushed. Was she honest, and would she ever have dinner with him? He was really nice to her, and she was dead certain that whatever it was that Em held against him couldn't be his fault. She was determined to try and find out that night.
"Thank you," she said, "both for the CDs and for your offer. I'll see what I can do for you -- and I'll love to come around again!" And she realised she meant it.
When she drove back she played Tiny Parham. She wondered how long ago Andrew's wife and daughter had died, and how lonely he was. He was really nice. She'd expect an attractive man like that to have a girlfriend -- but then, she knew how hard it was to forget.
Oh well. There was Em to talk to and she'd promised to cook. She'd made a rum cake the night before, and now she was busy cooking a meal, with lots of red peppers, and garlic, and some aubergine and courgettes. Just the way her mother used to do it.
Em came in greeting her happily. "Look!" she said, and she held up her hand. "Great, eh?"
She wore a new ring. "Present from Beau," she said. "Oh, and by the way, when I was cleaning the car two days ago I found your CD case. Here you are!"
"Oh dear, so that is what happened to it! I already went back to Andrew this afternoon for new copies. I thought I'd never see them back."
"Oh. Well, may I have them then? I played them a lot, I must say. You know, Beau loves this music, too."
"Yes, he told me. Of course you can have them. I must have some empty cases around somewhere. Let me get them for you."
She went into the living room and returned to the kitchen with four slim cases.
"Thank you, sis," Em said and she transferred the four copies to the boxes.
Barbra hesitated a moment; then she asked, "Er, Emily -- what exactly was it that Andrew did that you were so pissed off about? I just cannot imagine he would do anything awful."
"He probably already told you in detail for a laugh!"
"He didn't. I asked him but he said I ought to hear it from you."
"Really?"
Barbra nodded. "Really."
Emily looked at her a little shamefacedly. "Remember I was angry that morning? I went walking and I wanted to go to the cove, and so I took that path down -- but I lost my footing and slid down the steep stretch. I thought that was it, and I'd closed my eyes, and he must have been coming up right then, for he grabbed my ankles just in time and stopped me."
"Oh Em, you could have been killed!"
"I know. And I felt grateful enough, but I was wet and miserable and angry with myself and so I just bit his head off. And I wanted to go further down but he just barred my way and told me to go and use the path at the other end." She paused for a moment. "And when he said hello at the concert and everyone was there I couldn't undo my bad behaviour so I just snapped at him. Do you think it still rankles?"
"I don't think he bears you a grudge whatsoever," Barbra said with a smile. "I was initially afraid he might have called you something racist, but he said he hadn't. And later I found he had given shelter to an African boy for a long time."
"Really?"
"Seems he and his wife took in a refugee some time or other."
"Oh wow. Didn't his wife come to the concert?"
"He's a widower, you know."
"Oh -- I'm sorry. Okay. I'll apologise to him when we meet again. Do you think he's nice?"
"Yes, I do. A bit of a loner. He lost his wife and daughter quite some time ago. Why did you call him Mr Mud?"
"He was covered in mud then, actually."
"Er -- oh. Well, that may have been because you sent up a spray of mud, I suppose."
Em nodded. "I was in a bit of a mess then," she said. "Having Beau makes all the difference." She thought for a moment. "I really will have to do something about this Andrew; it won't do to let it be."
"Okay. No haste, Em; I suppose he will be happy to hear you're doing fine."
She drained the vegetables and finished the cooking. They had their dinner in the kitchen, talking about their parents, and Beau and John.
"Beau really is the very first man who is just what I hoped to find all along," Em said. "Sweet, funny, clever, witty... He seems to think I am, too." She smiled, thinking of him. "We are planning to get engaged."
"Oh sweetie, how fantastic! You must be very happy!"
Em beamed. "I am, you know. I couldn't be more so, I think."
Barbra got up to hug her sister. Then she sat down again. "Yoghurt? Or ice-cream?"
Em chose ice-cream, and they finished their meal enjoying the cold treat and smiling at each other. Em left fairly soon after dinner, and Barbra went and did the washing up listening to more jazz.
11 - Catharsis
On Tuesday evening John called to tell Barbra he'd booked seats for a new movie in town. He would pick her up on Saturday and they could have a drink and a dance afterwards. They talked for a while and then John said he had to go. He had an appointment at the firm, he said.
Okay. Barbra felt it would be really nice to go to the cinema together, but she wished John had had more time to talk. Their talk seemed to stay a little desultory, a little shallow. With Mike she'd always felt they really talked about things that mattered. And she was a little worried about all the calls John made. He said they were strictly for work -- but he didn't look as if he were conducting business when calling.
John... Oh dear. Maybe her friends were right and she was turning into an old spinster? Would she have embarked on trying to turn this into a working relationship if they hadn't been so happy for her? John was a very handsome man. He was attractive, she loved dancing with him and he really seemed to try his best. But... She shook her head. Was she fair to him? Or did she keep him dangling? She heaved a deep sigh. She just didn't know. Those telephones... Whenever they met he seemed to be on the phone, and he always ended his call immediately. She wondered whom he was calling. Always business? She supposed so. She certainly hoped so.
She tried to drive those thoughts from her mind. Better go and do something instead of worrying. She went into her study and answered a lot of emails. Then she hoovered the ground floor and sorted out the laundry, and before she knew it was time to go to bed. Safe!
Wednesday was a relatively short working day, and she went shopping after work. Then she went home and made herself a nice cup of tea. It was still early in the afternoon, and she took it into the living room and took Tim McGraw from its box. She sat down with her tea while the first CD began, and listened to the lyrics this time. Live like You Were Dying was a nice song, she thought. The next track was a little predictable -- not bad but less startling in its idea. Then came It's Your Love. Somehow it struck her like a hammer. It reminded her of how she had hungered for Mike, and how Em had Beau's name on her lips whenever they met. Oh Mike -- and oh, how she missed her parents. Just to See You Smile didn't make her feel any better. Then the bell rang.
She went to open the door. Andrew was standing there, holding a CD box in his hand. She beckoned him to come in, and she closed the door.
"Hello," he said. "I came to give you the box for that music." He looked at her. "Er... Are you
alright? You look grey."
"I er... I'm a bit blue. I er..."
"If I can help..."
She looked at him, and she felt the tears burn behind her eyes. He pulled a questioning face at her, and then the floodgates opened.
He smiled at her a bit crookedly and awkwardly put his arms around her.
"What is it, Barbra?"
She sniffed and cried and held on to Andrew as if she were about to drown.
"I don't know... I thought I was over my losses... I moved here to start again instead of running aground altogether. Mum and dad and Mike -- and the house we used to live in -- and then the loneliness, and the cold, and the disbelief -- they sent an officer round to tell me Mike had been killed and I just didn't believe him at first. But it was only too true. And then I came here and life seemed nice and slow and just sunny, and there were Joan and Mary, and I quarrelled with Em but it seems we got on together better and better -- but we always loved each other no matter what -- and I thought I'd overcome my losses..."
Her face worked and she started to cry again. Andrew held her tighter, and rocked her a little from side to side, looking at her and shaking his head. He made the occasional encouraging noise, but he refrained from commenting.
Barbra sniffed and she hesitatingly told him all about her parents and her husband, and how they'd done things together, and how nice life had been, and how everything had changed.
Then she said, "You know how loneliness feels... I tried to forget and tell myself I wasn't and sometimes I wasn't but sometimes I was, and Em being near helped even when we quarrelled again, and then I ran into John, and Joan and Mary don't stop singing his praises and he is handsome and he seems to be trying his best to please me but I just don't know. He doesn't feel like Beau seems to feel to Em or like Mike was to me, and he is always on the phone and I sometimes wonder if there is someone else, and I don't know if I trust him. But I feel awful for not trusting him and I think I'm not fair, and that makes it worse. But I was sitting listening to your CDs just now and then that song about your sweet name came along and I thought Mike, oh Mike, why did you die and I wonder if I'll ever feel like I did with him again and I certainly don't feel like that with John -- not as yet anyway, and I just don't know..."
She sniffled. "Sorry," she said. "I'm being silly, aren't I?"
Andrew shook his head. "No," he said. "You're not being silly at all, I think. I know what you're talking about, a little at least. I miss my girls every day."
Barbra tried to stop crying, and she made a good effort. "Yes," she said. "You must."
"So what are you going to do?"
Barbra shrugged helplessly. "I just don't know. What would you advise?"
"I wouldn't advise anything, really. It would be a little presumptuous. You've had even worse luck than I, I think."
"But if I were a young niece of yours?"
Andrew grimaced at that. "Well," he said, "then I would probably say what she already knew, too, that building a relationship on doubt may not be a good idea."
She nodded. "It's not. I do have to make sure I understand what I feel. Thank you, Andrew. I don't know -- it's probably that song that did it for me."
"I know," he said. "He's recorded another duet that I find even more painful." He sighed. "Oh well, it's a good song. I came to bring you the box with the titles. Do you still want it?"
"Yes, please. I will play it again alright. It's just that it gripped me just now." She smiled, albeit a little watery still. "It was good to talk about it. I really needed to, I guess; I'm feeling much better now."
"Sure?"
"Yes. I want a strong cup of tea, and then I'll go for a ramble to let the wind blow everything out of my system. Want a cuppa, too?"
"Not really -- I was supposed to meet my publisher in town. He'll wonder where I am; I'm usually rather punctual in my business contacts."
"Oh -- I'm sorry!"
"Well, I'm not. First things first, and he'll understand. Are you sure I can safely
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