The Tall Girl from Somerset 12

‘We saw each other once before he left.  And what an afternoon that was.  Empty, just empty.  No spark, no life.   It was in July in the long vacation. We had agreed to meet at Ludlow, in the bar of The Feathers, at 1 o’clock.  Ludlow is more or less the halfway point between Manchester and Bristol, a little to the west perhaps, but almost half way.  We had been there together once before and it had been a very happy weekend.  Very.  The castle, the half-timbered buildings, the old streets and us.  Never go back to a place you were happy in!  No place can give you again the happiness from before.  Never go back! Things may go well once, but they cannot be relived just because we tread the same streets, see the same buildings and walk on the same grass.’

Harvey saw Anne as soon as he entered the bar.  She was sitting at a table near the window, alone.  She looked good.  She always did look good.  He looked at her long dark hair, and her smile and the way she wore good clothes well.   ‘She’s becoming even more beautiful.’  Harvey could have given up Asia and Australia and everything else right then.  Still, he had taken his decision.  He’d taken his decision.  He could not let Jake down.  India was the next stop.

“Sorry I’m late.”  It was 1.30.

“That’s alright.  I was a bit late too.”  She had arrived at two minutes after one.  ('Why do I keep excusing myself?  Assertion.  I + and You +!  I+ U+!  Remember the  I+!')

“Good drive up?”

“Yes, it was, and the car started first time. What are you doing next year, Harvey?”  (It’s always best to go straight into things.) 

 “Well.  That’s it, Anne.  That’s what I wanted to tell you.  I’m going to Australia.”

(Perhaps it isn’t always best to go straight into things.) 
“To Australia?”   
(Manchester had been bad enough, but Australia?  Keep your voice low.  Just stay calm.  Just look calm anyway.  Pause a bit here.  Just pause.)  

‘Overland to India.’

“Overland to India?  I think you will enjoy it.  How are you travelling?  Who are you going with?” 

“With Jake.  You know.”

(No, I don’t know, but anyway.) “Good.”

“There’s one other thing I want to talk about with you, Anne.” 

(What else? He’s going off to Australia.  What else is there to say, unless he’s going to New Zealand while he’s about it?)  

“I want to ask you a favour.” (A favour?  Fat chance!)  “It’s about Jenny.” (Who’s Jenny, for heaven’s sake?)

“Who is Jenny?”

“Jenny’s my sister.”

She thought she heard a slight tone of reproach in his voice at the fact that she must have forgotten Jenny’s existence.   Anne felt guilty.  (That’s ridiculous, I’m the one being abandoned.  I+, I+, I+.  How does he manage it?  Ah yes, Jenny.  I think we met just once, about a year ago.)

“You met once, about a year ago, in Oxford.”

(That’s right.   I remember her.  She was doing “ O” Levels then.)
"I think she was doing "O" Levels then."

“That's right.  She was. Well, now she’s going to Oxford to study law. Apparently you told her all about your course and she was really impressed.  She wants to study law as well.  Because of you, really.  You’re quite a hero to her.   Well, a heroine or whatever. So I wondered if you’d mind looking after her a bit, especially at first.  You know, help her get over the first few weeks.  You know the first few weeks at university.”  (Anne knew, and she shivered. She had felt so unsure of herself and everyone else had seemed so confident and at ease.)

“Of course I’ll help her, Harvey.  Give me her phone number.”  

Having talked about Jenny and with little more to say except goodbye, they were both miserable. They had once meant so much to each other, and now so little. The afternoon they passed together was pointless. Anne hated the afternoons anyway: especially that dead hour between three and four which always took some getting through. They went for a walk.  What would have been so happy at another time – the clouds, the first sounds of rain on the leaves, the rush for shelter, then the sun again – today was empty.  Just empty. They said goodbye and went to their cars.   Anne’s wouldn’t start, and so Harvey came back.  He managed to get himself covered in oil and to get the car going.  They smiled at each other for the first time that afternoon.  (‘No, I’ve made the decision.  It’s India now.’) And then he went and she went and that was that.  They drove their separate ways, Anne south and Harvey north, and as each minute passed, they were further away from each other.  As Anne was coming into Bristol on the Gloucester Road, she saw a poster for a play at the Theatre Royal. Harvey had taken her to see it at the Playhouse in Oxford. That was in December 1964.  They had nearly missed the start.  It was at the end of the first term of her first year at university.

7 December, 1964

Although it was December, the weather was surprisingly mild and wet.  There were even one or two red roses still in flower in the neglected borders near the front door of Anne’s hall of residence.  Two brave roses.  Anne arrived at Harvey’s flat at ten past seven.

“Anne, good, you’re here.”

“Well, come on.  It starts in 20 minutes, and it’ll take us that long to get there.  And that’s running half the way. Come on. “

She turned to go and was at the top of the stairs when Harvey shouted, “Anne, we can’t go yet.  I can’t find the tickets.”

“Harvey!”

She ran back and saw him lifting up cushions and searching in books.

“Clothes on the floor!  Books in the bed! Why is your toothbrush under your pillow?”

“Forget the toothbrush, Anne.  Concentrate on the tickets.”

“I am concentrating on the tickets.  Where do you normally put them?”

Harvey didn’t normally put theatre tickets anywhere. (‘I’d better not point that out though, not at the moment.’)  It was Anne who found them.  They had been pushed into the frame of the mirror in the bathroom, so that they would be handy. She retrieved them, put the toothbrush back in its place, shouted to Harvey, and rushed out.  He ran after her. Halfway down the stairs he had to go back as he’d forgotten to bring any money.  He caught up with her as she was passing the phone box, fifty yards down the road, theatre-wards.  They ran down the High in a personal best time, and finally reached the entrance of the Playhouse.  The middle-aged man who took their tickets thought how attractive Anne looked.  She was gasping for breath, her hair dishevelled, laughing and, the Playhouse man was right, she looked very attractive. Harvey saw the man’s look, and realized how much he took for granted.  He put his arm round Anne’s shoulder, and they went into the foyer together.  Their seats were in the middle of a row, and they scrambled past a line of disapproving faces as people sitting comfortably and opening boxes of chocolates had to struggle to their feet, and, making the most of the inconvenience, closed the boxes of chocolates, dropped their hats and clutched their coats.  Anne, apologizing, moved skilfully past, and Harvey, mumbling sorry, knocked knees and ankles as he went by.  As they sat down, the curtain went up.

No more lost theatre tickets now.  No more theatre.  Anne concentrated on her driving, and she went through Bristol, up to the traffic lights at the top of the steep hill,  which she had always prayed would change to green when she was learning to drive to save the hill start, out over Bedminster Down and along the A38, home to Erewhon.

She returned to her room and her books.  They welcomed her back.  Thank God for work! 

Harvey drove back to Manchester resolutely and packed.  He was setting out, and the world was all before him.  He was to cross rivers and seas, mountains and valleys.  He was fit and young.  Buses and trains were there to be taken.  The plains of Asia were waiting for him.

Anne buried herself deeper in her work with coffee and Mozart (‘When the angels play for themselves they play Mozart, but when they play for God, they play Bach.' Yes, that was Uncle Henry) and biscuits for company.  That night she worked till half past two in the morning, and then went sadly to bed.  Sadly to bed.  What could be worse than that?