“He wants me to go as well,” Daphne said. “It’ll be a bit o’ fun, he says. We’re taking a picnic. There’ll be more folk up there tomorrow than you’ll ever see in your life.”
“But it’s breaking the law!” Evelyn exclaimed.
“That’s what I said,” Daphne replied. “But Paul says that’s the point. The point is there’ll be hundreds doing it, and it’s not the same as committing a crime when it’s the law that’s wrong and wants changing. I’m not bothered either way, it’s a day out. I reckon on going and I reckon you’re coming an’ all, Evelyn Ashworth. It’ll put the roses back in your cheeks.”
“But there might be trouble. What if something happens?”
“Don’t talk daft,” Daphne said.“We’ll be with Paul, and anyway it’s all to be peaceful. We’ll keep ourselves to ourselves and just have a nice day out.”
“I shouldn’t,” Evelyn said, shaking her head. “It’ll be ruddy freezing for one thing. Anyway, I’ve been. I was out Kinder Scout way years ago, on the Chapel Whitsun outing. And anyway,” she went on, “I’m not going climbing mountains in my condition.”
“No fear, no more am I!” laughed Daphne. “It’s only a hill, not a proper mountain. We’ll wrap up warm. It’s only for a walk. We’ll just go as far as we fancy, find a nice spot, and watch the fun.”
“I’m not getting caught up in any monkey business,” Evelyn sniffed.
“ ’Course not,” Daphne said.“It’s just summat to watch. It’s a good spin out to Hayfield on the bus and it’ll be nice round there at daffodil time.” She picked up Evelyn’s knitting and began working a row. “You can bet your Stan’ll be going. You can bet tomorrow night he’ll saunter back to his Mam’s expecting you there with his tea ready.You surprise him. Show him if he can go marching up Kinder Scout, so can you.”
The needles clicked. “He takes you for granted, does your Stan.”
Evelyn sighed again.“All right,” she said.“I’ll catch my death like as not, but I’m going.”
Dear Ruth
I know it’s been a while but I’m not myself in some ways. Hand bandaged. Plus I’m very busy plus leg ulcers-no fun I can tell you.
Also no fun-bloody nurse, two of them now and you never know which, meddling with legs, now interfering with hand on almost daily basis and they don’t care how much they hurt me. Plus Carole and Mrs. M barging in.
And NOW that woman from your little writing group keeps coming. They’re working on a memorial, she says. Della, that’s her name-she seems to be the ringleader.
I haven’t mentioned your story to her, that’s between you and me. You put in Kinder Scout! I have to correct you though, on that bit about it being cold up there. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. You get the shelter of the hill if the wind’s in the right direction. Overdale Lodge itself I grant you could be on the Spartan side but you have to admit it was quite cosy after the storage heaters went in. 1978 or thereabouts.
Had a few photos down to look at. Happy days.
Anyway back to these women turning up on doorstep. They’ve all got a look in their eye. They’re all in it together, they think I can’t see that. Usually they wake me up-on top of that they bully me about my clothes, too.
EG-Mrs. M appeared uninvited with what she called a complete hot dinner and without so much as a by-your-leave sticks it in oven, fusses about setting the timer but she didn’t know how to work it, neither did I. She said it’d take 30 minutes and that was just enough time for a bath, wouldn’t it be a good idea if she popped up and ran me one. I spoke quite sharply.
I think she’s definitely after me.
She said she’d be calling back for the dish and she’d better find it empty, wag wag goes the finger, she thinks she’s funny. Well, forewarned-I just won’t answer the door.
Though the dish IS empty because I flung the whole lot into the back hedge.
Gave me an idea though. If you ask me the bloody council’s messing about with the bin day and not telling me so I’m not bothering putting ours out now. Anything for chucking can go in the hedge. Or it can stay here, plenty space in the hall-I’ll get round to a big sort out when it suits me.
All these people. They all still ask how I am and I say nothing and I have nothing much to contribute on other subjects either. What difference does it make if I agree it’s a nice day or not? It’s not long before I see their mouths squirming around for something to say. Throats get cleared and looks flit from one pair of eyes to another. No wonder I lose my temper.
Mrs. M: Am I sure I’m not a big casserole fan? It’s just good plain English food-no garlic!
Della: She’d be only too pleased to make me a cup of tea to have with the cake she’s brought. Ruth liked Earl Grey, didn’t she? Della likes camomile of an evening but she can’t get along with peppermint, it repeats on her.
Nurse: Isn’t Arthur a naughty old lazybones, not cutting his nails, she’s got people who’d love to be able to cut their nails for themselves.
Carole: Is the pressure cooker perhaps standing for something else? Is the pressure cooker maybe not really about the pressure cooker? Is it symbolic of earlier times?
See what’s going on? They think they can get me via toenails and tea and tributes.
And not a word these days about how it’s all right for me to be angry.
Example-I told Carole in no uncertain terms what I’d do to that bastard driver if I got my hands on him.
Oh, she pretended to understand, but I wasn’t fooled. “Oh. Oh, Arthur, yes I see, well, but, oh dear, you don’t think maybe justice is best left to the police? Of course it’s understandable…”
The police are useless! Fucking useless! I told her. Scared her, I think. Obviously she doesn’t think the anger’s all right at all-first sign of it and she wants it all bottled up again. Stupid bitch in my opinion (as I pointed out).
Relieved to see the back of them all
What makes these people tick?
I don’t even know them.
And I like garlic, as you know.
NO WONDER I LOSE MY TEMPER .
Arthur
Inside the house, Arthur was roaming upstairs. But there was a change. He wasn’t properly dressed. He was wearing only a raincoat that wasn’t completely buttoned and I could see he was naked under it. His wandering seemed more urgent and erratic. He would pause, then suddenly stir and start up to another room and once there, stand and do nothing. Or he would conduct frantic searches in this room or that, and abandon them without finding anything. He walked about with a tea towel over his shoulder and a pen and a bundle of papers in his hands. There were papers stuffed in the coat pockets, too. When he made his way up the ladder to the attic I shuddered to see that his feet were bare on the sharp metal rungs. When the attic light came on I made my way straight into the house, impatient to get started.
I worked by the light set into the hood over the cooker, as golden and soft as candlelight. There was plenty of hot water, at least. The washing up didn’t take so very long and once I’d scrubbed the grill and stovetop and found bin bags and bagged the rotten scraps I began to see my way. The stink subsided. The countertops polished up nicely. I found bleach and cleaning spray and went around again twice, both in the kitchen and the conservatory, and the smell disappeared altogether, or rather was replaced by a much better one not unlike the smell of the house in Beaulieu Gardens.