Diary of a Provincial Lesbian (16 page)

Go to jumble sale. Do not intend to go but somehow find myself in the area of St Dunstan’s Church Hall at ten to two. There is a long queue and many dogs wearing bows, neckerchiefs and natty coats. Everyone is barking or shouting.

Two minutes to two and several women in headscarves at front of queue begin to rap on door with their ten pence piece entrance fee. Someone yells:
Let the bloody dog see the rabbit for gawd’s sake!
Queue rocks with laughter. Doors open and we start to run. It all comes back to me. I’d spent the Saturdays of my teens, twenties and thirties at jumble sales. I run. I’m a solid woman. In the old days I’d have used my weight and elbows to get to the front. Heart’s no longer in it. I’m smiling. I’m running for the fun of it. For the dogs with their leads tangled and their jolly snapping eyes. I wish Georgie was with me and then I don’t. She’d hate it. Would not fit in.

There is the vicar behind the White Elephant. She gives me a thumbs up sign and later tells me that sales on my bric-a-brac were magnificent. I see a little girl pouncing on my mink coloured teddy bear, she looks - thrilled!

At refreshment stall buy a cup of tea and a Bounty Bar. Take these outside to where the dog show has already started. Sit on grass at the edge of the Show Area.

‘Hello,’ says Miriam flopping down next to me.

Am quite pleased to see Miriam as for the first time in some weeks she is smiling.

‘Just met the vicar.’ Her smile changes to slight smirk reminiscent of Laura recalling Iris. Suddenly feel rather proprietorial about vicar. To forestall any of Miriam’s ‘phrases’ turn my head away and concentrate on Dog Show. Miriam hums irritatingly at my side, pulling the heads off innocent daisies.

There are prizes for the Best Dressed Dog, Dog who looks most like its Owner, most Lugubrious Dog,  Longest Tongue, and Waggiest Tail Dog. Everyone claps the winning dog and its owner. Everyone gasps and cheers over the prizes; a giant rubber bone, a box of dog treats, a plastic bowl with DOG written on the side. The afternoon seems to race past. The vicar comes out to give the final prize for Overall Winner. Miriam gasps and cheers the vicar. Prize - a tartan dog blanket goes to a black and tan mongrel wearing a tiny black stetson who has also won the Waggiest Tail contest. His name is
Sprout
.

June 21
^st

Dreadful day! Began cleaning job. Met Noreen outside store at seven-twenty am. She looks nothing like her grandma. Mrs Ferguson is a big, strong, no nonsense woman. Noreen has an intense little face and hands that seem permanently clenched. Look down at her flip flops and see that her toes are also clenched.

As Peter the under-manager unlocks the security grilles and the front doors, Noreen says to him, ‘I bet you hate getting in this early,
he
ought to try it for a change.’

Peter replies, ‘
He
bloody ought to.’

Inside the store, Noreen immediately races across the shop floor and round behind the line of counters. I follow hot on her heels trying to look equally intense. We halt in front of a bucket, mop and a strange electrical item that isn’t quite a hoover. She shakes its handle at me to take, ‘Mind, it’s heavy.’

It is heavy.

‘What is it?’

‘A floor polisher. Park it behind the counter for now, then fill your bucket from the tap in the men’s lavatory.’

Want to enquire after possibility of filling bucket from tap in women’s lavatory to avoid possibility of bursting in on Peter or him bursting in on me but Noreen pointing firmly at men’s lavatory door. Lavatory empty but unpleasant place to linger. Hurriedly fill bucket. Noreen appears at my shoulder and directs me to put two capfuls of floor cleaner into water and pops a paint scraper in my trouser pocket. This to remove chewing gum or other unknown bodies that have stuck to the floor. She leads me back out into the store.

‘Today you have one hour fifteen minutes to wash this floor. Take mop right to left, left to right. Rinse mop frequently. If
he’s
about, watch your mop head. If it looks dirty, change it otherwise
he’ll
make you change it. And
he’ll
count that as a black mark against you. Then polish.’

‘I’ve never used a polisher before.’

‘It’s not easy. Takes brute strength.’

Thinks; if Noreen at half my size can manage the polisher - should be a piece of cake.

‘If there’s time, wipe the display cabinets down with a damp J cloth. Once you’ve got the hang of this there’ll be the lavs to do but I’ll manage for now. Okay?’

I nod. Noreen disappears round back. Swab floor. Floor enormous and filthy. Already eight-fifteen, judge that there isn’t time to use paint scraper. Rush back and forth in fear that any moment mysterious and threatening
HE
might turn up.

Noreen puts a streaky mug of coffee on the counter. ‘Don’t stop,’ she says.

Looks grimly at my floor. ‘Give us the scraper. You can’t ignore chewing gum - it will bugger the polisher.’

Bent double, Noreen zigzags in front of me finding multiple instances of chewing gum which I’ve taken to be a pattern in the floor tiles. She straightens up. Drops scraper plus ball of blackened chewing gum into my pocket and rushes off. Ten minutes later she appears again to whip away my untouched coffee, hisses, ‘Lose bucket and mop. Get polishing. His lordship’s car’s arrived.’

I race mop and bucket off shop floor, run back to the polisher, plug in. Switch on. It nearly takes my arm off. Careening across the floor (polisher not arm) like...like...like a high speed, enraged giant turtle. Try to bring polisher to heel and it dashes off in the other direction leaving streaks on my still damp floor. The double doors swing open and a trouser-suited woman bounds in. Did everyone in Russell’s bound or rush? I drag the polisher back towards me and yell, ‘We’re not open yet.’

Woman lunges for the handle of my polisher. I fight her off.

‘Let go. I’ll call security. Help! I’m being attacked.’ Polisher races up and over my feet causing me excruciating pain. ‘Ow!’ I wail.

‘That’s not how you do it,’ woman shouts.

‘How I do it is none of your bloody business.’

‘Give it here.’

‘No. Clear off. Help!’

Suddenly she lets go and I let go, deciding it’s not worth being injured in defence of a floor polisher. Liberated, the polisher skids across the floor knocking over my carefully positioned
Danger, Wet Floor
signs. The power dies as woman pulls out the plug. Noreen appears, followed by Peter. Noreen shouts, ‘It’s her first day.’

Woman shouts back, ‘God almighty, I’m away a week and come in to mayhem. And you are?’ She looks furiously at me.

‘Margaret Charlecote.’

‘Margaret who?’

‘Charlecote.’

Woman steps back, hands on hips, eyes - malevolent, as if the name
Charlecote
is an absolutely despicable one and not a worthy, historic name brought to England by William the Conqueror.

‘Well how
do
you do,’ she says sarcastically. ‘I’m Lorraine Carter - the manager. Noreen, stop whatever you’re doing till you’ve made sure this
Margaret Charlecote
knows how to use a polisher.’

She storms off the shop floor, Peter hurrying in her wake. I hear her say, ‘Peter in my office. Just who employed that incompetent woman?’

In silence Noreen demonstrates polisher technique. It is hellishly difficult. Finish floor. No time to use J cloth. Totter from store at nine-o-five. Noreen and I stop at the corner and she explains, ‘We call her ‘he’, a) because she doesn’t half wear the trousers, and b) because that way she doesn’t know we’re talking about her.’

Continue tottering to TM Accountancy. Tom looks critically at me. ‘Been out on the tiles?’ he says.

‘Sort of,’ I reply.

Also wants to know why his most important client Bristow and Poulson have received a letter on TM Accountancy headed note paper complaining about elderly joy riders in Marks and Spencer. Holds letter up and points to signature: A. Oakley, Accident Prevention Officer.

June 24
^th

‘I’ve had twins!’ Deirdre announces over Earl Grey tea taken at her breakfast bar.

‘Really?’

‘Follow me quietly and don’t look left or right. Or up.’

We creep out of kitchen into the garden, me not looking left, right or up but keeping my gaze pinned on Deirdre’s Egyptian cotton bottom. Halfway down her garden she stops and turns. I stop and turn.

‘
Now
look up. The extension roof.’

I see a ramshackle nest, one large seagull and two small bobbing heads.

‘If we make a noise, Mum or Dad go berserk and spatter you.’

Do not make noise.

‘I think that’s the dad on the chimney pot. What a clever boy.’

Admire gull family. Whisper, more for something to say, ‘What does Martin think?’

‘He says he’s not getting involved. He doesn’t follow nature like I do.’

‘And Lord Dudley?’

‘He’s absolutely laid back.’

June 26
^th

Have not really studied Lorraine Carter. No time. Keep attention glued on my floor, mop and bucket. Have already been taken to task on state of my mop head. Ms Carter asks, ‘Margaret, have you got a particular affection for that mop head? Would it break your heart to change it for a fresh one?’

Would relish answering Ms Carter back.
Yes it would break my heart. Yes, I am in love with this mop head.

June 27
^th

Sunday. I’m exhausted. Spend much of the day in bed accompanied by Tilly. Have completed six days at Russell’s.

Yesterday received a cheque for nine hundred pounds from final settlement of Mum’s estate. Thinks; could give up cleaning job. Could go back to setting alarm clock for eight o’clock instead of six-thirty.

July

July 4
^th

Tilly is enjoying an Indian summer. She loves my meadow. I watch her make her way through the long grasses and waving stems of meadow buttercup with look on her little round face of absolute sensory delight. And then she flops. And rolls onto her back. And stares at me from this upside down vantage point with a mad good humour. She’s happier without Georgie's two cats. Realise now that with all their boisterous health and energy they cramped Tilly’s style. Thinks: what is Tilly’s style? Tentative and hopeful.

This afternoon went on beach. Initially thought
not a good idea
as being the weekend it was even more crowded than usual. Found a space on one of the dunes. Was prepared for every eventuality. Took a towel, a cushion, a sun umbrella, sun tan lotion, a sarong, sandwiches, a bottle of water and my book. Experienced profound sense of satisfaction. This has been my first summer on the beach in years. Georgie never wanted to go on the beach. Said beaches abroad had spoiled her.

I snoozed with my book open over my face, then sat up and ate my sandwiches, regretting I hadn’t made twice as many. Surveyed beach as if it were my very own domain. Family parties paddling in the shallows; the real swimmers were further out. I watched one intrepid swimmer; woman with a shocking pink bathing cap, two white rubber daisies over each ear. She had a broad swimmer’s back and cut through the water with a powerful crawl, powering between a man and a woman who were both doing a sort of sit up breast stroke while chatting to each other. They got a face-full of sea. Choked, flailed and shouted. Strong swimmer pile-drives on.

I was thinking
typical, there’s always one who spoils it for everybody else
when woman reached shallower water and stood up. Instantly I recognised Nic’s Simone. She hadn’t seen me. She strode out of the water. Behind her, the two engulfed swimmers were still remonstrating. Simone shouted back over her shoulder, ‘Sorry.’

Man yelled, ‘Sorry’s not good enough.’

Simone turned, hands on hips. ‘How about very sorry?’

Man looked disconcerted. His trunks were being tweaked by his woman friend. ‘Let’s leave it John,’ she said.

He said stiffly, ‘I suppose it will have to do.’

Grinning, Simone came up the beach. I realised that the small heap of clothes and beach bag lying on a rainbow striped towel about six feet away from me were hers. As she reached for her towel I said, ‘Hello Simone.’

Now she looked disconcerted. ‘Margaret. Hello.’

Dried her face and shoulders. Spread her towel out again and lay on her stomach facing me.

‘Look, what can I say?’ She tossed a small sea shell in my direction. ‘Very sorry?’

I imitated the man in the water, ‘I suppose it will have to do.’

The ice was broken.

We chatted about Nic and her garden plans; new patio, an arbour, possibly a folly if Terry, their odd job man, could put it up in time. Simone said, ‘It’s all double Dutch to me but the garden looks great. A winner.’

I didn’t ask about Georgie, although I wanted to, but as Simone got dressed she said, ‘You know Georgie and Stella won’t last. The woman’s too high maintenance. Fine to see her one week in three when it’s all fresh and lovey-dovey - another matter when it’s day in, day out. You’ll see, Georgie will come crawling back.’

‘I don’t want Georgie crawling back.’

She stared at me as if I was mad. ‘Why ever not?’

‘Georgie finding me a welcome relief because someone else is exhausting or not as great as Georgie thought she was isn’t the basis for a good relationship. I want more than that.’

‘But you’ve been together ten years - you can’t still expect love’s young dream?’

I mumbled, ‘But love has to come into it.’

‘Oh yeah, love. Different kinds though. Look at me and Nic. Nic waits on me hand and foot and treats me like a goddess. I behave like a goddess. Not to everyone’s taste but it works for us.’ Simone began to rub frosted body lotion over her shoulders which made them sparkle. ‘Fancy coming over for dinner one evening?’