In Pieces (31 page)

The car swung past some large wooden gates and into a gravel drive; Mr Johnson dropped her under the big yew tree in front of the whitewashed house. Everything looked so green for this time of year. Must have been all the rain of which Mr Johnson had complained. The taxi driver waved across the lawn and Mary noticed her grandmother crouched over the flowerbed. She waved back without standing up.

‘Hello, Mr Johnson. How's Sarah?'

‘Oh, she's fine, thank you, Mrs Somerset.'

‘Good, good. Tell her I'll ring her about the fair. I've done a couple of sponges, but I want to let her have a chocolate cake too.'

‘Right, I will. Sounds delicious.'

‘Not for you, mind. For the cake stall.'

‘Ah well… It was worth a try,' he grinned. Mary noticed that his tummy bounced up and down as he spoke; he resembled a telly-tubby, she thought. ‘Must be getting on. Bye then, Mrs Somerset.'

‘Goodbye, Mr Johnson.'

He waved a cheery hand in Mary's direction and slowly drove away.

‘Hello, Gran.' Mary bent to give the old lady a kiss. ‘No, don't get up.'

‘Yes, I must. I've been weeding away for the last hour. My old back can't take much more.' Mary noticed how neat the freshly tended bed looked. She gave her grandmother a hand up. ‘Well, let's have a look at you… You're obviously not getting enough sunshine and fresh air,' Elspeth scolded. ‘You shouldn't work so hard. I keep telling you.'

‘I know, you're right. But it's tricky, Gran. Wow, it's good to be here.' They walked arm in arm back towards the house.

‘It's good to have you here. You know, it's almost six months since you last came to see me.'

Mary felt a pang of guilt. ‘I'm sorry, it's just been so busy.'

‘But not just work, eh?' Elspeth had a wicked twinkle in her eye. ‘Clearly this Simon Simpson is quite something.'

‘Oh Gran. It's not that serious, really.' Mary frowned. Who was she trying to fool? After all, Si had been the main reason she'd decided to come and see her grandmother. She needed to talk to someone who could give her good advice.

Elspeth pursed her lips and snorted quietly.

‘What's that for?' demanded Mary.

‘What's what for?'

‘You know perfectly well. I know what that snort means.'

‘So why are you asking then?'

Mary giggled. ‘Okay, you're right. It is a bit serious. I'm not quite sure what's going on… So, I need your advice.'

Elspeth sighed. But inside she was delighted to find herself still needed. ‘Well, darling, all in good time. Let's have a nice cup of tea and you can tell me all about it.'

Mary clung more tightly to her grandmother's bony arm and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I knew you'd understand. You are wonderful, Gran.'

‘Nonsense. Just doing what grandmothers are meant to…' she smiled. The two women went in through the back door and in the cool of the spruce nineteen fifties kitchen busied themselves making tea.

~

Si was enjoying his newfound freedom. Endless days stretched before him with no deadlines or pages to fill. He no longer had to worry what Dougy or anyone else thought; he could do as he wished, when he wanted. The initial euphoria still hadn't worn off and it was almost a month now. The work ethic had shrivelled within him almost without a whimper. It had been much easier than he'd expected.

Part of the thrill had been the rediscovery of London. It might be a difficult city to work in, but it was fantastic for those with time to enjoy it.

Si stopped before a window. Something childish stirred within him.

Boots Galore
, he read on the glass. Beyond the pane, racks of individually stitched cowboy and biker boots marched towards him. He noticed that only one of each pair was displayed. It gave the scene a faintly medical air, as if the shop sold artificial attachments for the one-legged. But suspending his disbelief, and reminding himself that where there was one boot a second would be close by, he pushed open the door.

It wasn't boots he was in search of. He already had a pair of plain black leather boots, soft to the touch and hand-made in Mexico. He'd bought them when he went for a two-week holiday with an old girlfriend.

Sun, sea and sex, the brochure had advertised. They certainly got the first two, but even the holiday company couldn't rescue their disintegrating relationship and there was little romance. By the time they returned on the charter, they'd decided to ‘stay friends'. Even that didn't happen. Si hadn't seen her for a couple of years and had no desire to now.

But he had brought back the boots, of which he was rightly proud. Not that he'd had much chance to wear them until recently. Thrusting young journalists wore brogues or practical DMs.

What had drawn Si into the shop was the sight of a bootstrap. Ever since his Lou Reed-dowsed teens, he'd loved the idea of bootstraps—studded pieces of leather and chain gratuitously fastened around a boot—and he knew that what his Mexican boots really needed were bootstraps. Just like the ones in
Boots Galore
.

‘Are you a dancer?' asked the shop manager, who was blonde—dyed probably—late thirties, flirtatious, but hard-edged. Si couldn't work out if she was taking the mickey. He hardly had the taut body of a professional athlete. She'd probably seen straight through his assured street-wise questions about bootstrap use and expense, and took him for a City executive, closet queer, or a fetishist. Or even all three. Si imagined many of her customers fell into these categories.

Her lingering gaze made him blanch.

Was it just his imagination that an ironic smile played around the corner of her painted lips?

‘Sorry?'

‘Do you want them for a stage performance?'

‘Oh, I see what you mean.'

The woman raised a practised, finely-pencilled eyebrow.

‘What makes you think I'm a dancer?' Si felt flattered for some inexplicable reason.

‘I don't. I've no idea who you are. You could be the Archbishop of Canterbury for all I care.'

‘What? And wear them under my cassock?'

‘Yeah, why not? I'm sure priests wear stranger things than that…'

Why not indeed, thought Si. He bought the straps, some with large silver studs to go across the front of the boot. He left the shop with a spring in his step.

Glancing at his watch he saw he had just enough time to get to his meeting with Ricky. A late afternoon drink and then maybe a film in the evening. By the time he got out Mary would be leaving work and might be on for some dinner. Why hadn't he cut loose earlier? This new life was great.

For the first time in years he was able to relax completely. He slept better, read the books he wanted to, and as a result had started to get things into proportion. It was hard to recreate even temporarily the state of mind which had been his every day reality until so recently. How had he allowed himself to be convinced by the gods of ambition and public success? It was clear that true meaning lay elsewhere.

It hadn't taken him long to realise that Ricky had known this all along. Far from being a wastrel, the Californian used his time wisely. He pursued his true path—to be a rock singer—and avoided distractions.

Of course, the biggest distraction was a routine job which ate up the best part of the day and sucked out all energy so that the remaining hours were needed for recuperation. Even through his convert's zeal, Si recognised that for some people the two went hand in hand; the working day was the pursuit of the true goal. But for him it hadn't been the case. He knew that from the way his spirit grew daily now that the shackles had been removed. New and exciting dimensions appeared before his open eyes; whereas before he would have perceived them but myopically, now he could take time to study their forms and recognise the vast possibilities.

Ricky had initially been a help as he embarked on his new life; not only had he been available to talk things over during the day, but he had also pointed Si towards stimulating reading matter, just what the situation required. Although Si had soon tired of Ricky's trite American self-fulfilment guides, they had steered him in a new direction and had stimulated his interest in the spiritual and religious inner life. Si found himself reading a couple of hours every morning before starting the rest of his day.

Even his mother's initial dismay about her son ‘dropping out', as she put it, evaporated when he explained what he was reading. She enthusiastically recommended several titles to him and offered to send him copies of other books. The irony was not lost on Si. He hoped his father wouldn't be too upset. But it took a lot to disgruntle the old man. His son's career change would probably do no more than inspire a thoughtful pipe in the garden.

Si was still no closer to discovering what he should do when his money ran out, but, as he said to Mary, he was seriously engaged in research.

~

‘Jane, Jane, come back… Jane…' Si and Mary watched a young mother chase after her wailing toddler. They exchanged a look, the same thought in both their minds. No, they were nowhere near even contemplating kids, although marriage, or at least co-habitation, seemed increasingly feasible,
even to Si. But no hurry. He certainly wasn't planning to broach the subject. How could one hurry anything on a day like this? God, it was good to be in London when the sun was shining.

They lay on a grassy bank in Battersea Park appraising the rollerbladers whooshing past.

‘Crap, not bad, crap…' Three teenage boys moved along the hot tarmac in ungainly fashion.

‘Now that's what I call skating,' said Mary admiringly. Si followed her gaze and watched a muscular guy in baggy shorts and little else apart from a personal stereo twirl and sashay among the pedestrians. His motion seemed effortless, motor-driven. Mary's eyes opened even wider when wonder-boy shimmied past executing a perfect pirouette in front of them.

‘Okay, okay… You'll overheat if you're not careful.'

Mary laughed sexily. ‘Come on then, lover, you cool me down.' She rolled over on her side and placed her elegant pale hand on Si's chest. It looked so small compared to his bulk. Si reached up and gently pulled her head towards him. Their kiss, now so familiar, was slow and tender. Mary closed her eyes and pushed herself across the ground so she could feel his body against hers. ‘That's better; I feel like I've had a cold shower,' she lied when they finally came up for air.

Si lay back and watched the sky. He loved feeling small and insignificant like this. Mortality gave him a much greater buzz than any chemical-induced experiences.

‘Penny for your thoughts?'

‘I was just thinking…'

‘Thinking what?'

‘Oh nothing.' Mary hit him softly on the chest. The great bone-lined cavern seemed to echo within him. ‘Well, about life, how short it is and yet how long.'

‘Profound.'

‘No, it's not. Everyone knows it. I just wonder how many people enjoy knowing it?'

‘Well I can tell you that I for one do not. The thought of growing old puts the willies up me…' Mary giggled. ‘An unfortunate expression. I don't actually mind having the willies put up me, in fact I quite like it.' She started to slide her hand down Si's chest and onto his belly. Laughing, he rolled over to face her. ‘Old age can't be a lot of fun, can it?'

‘Depends on your health, I suppose. I rather fancy the idea of looking back on a full life knowing you've done what you wanted to achieve, and that soon you'll be forgotten and on a higher plane.'

‘How morbid. What do you mean by that? Are you getting spiritual on me? You sound like your mother when you say things like that.'

‘God, don't say that. Anyway, I can't possibly sound like my mother, she only speaks in Tongues at the moment… I can't possibly compete. I don't even know what Tongues is.'

‘Nor does she from what she told us last time we went down. But your mother's great. You shouldn't knock her. She's honest about herself, and what I really love is that she just doesn't care what anyone else thinks of her. I wish I could be like that.' Mary looked wistful.

Si was surprised. He'd never heard Mary express any regret about her character in the past. Her self-confidence was one of her great qualities. ‘I don't want you to be like my mother. God, no way.' He opened his eyes in mock horror as the thought sunk in. ‘I couldn't possibly go out with someone like my mother. I like you just the way you are,' he sang teasingly.

‘Oh, you big softie. You're quite romantic when you want to be. I think this stopping work thing was a good idea.'

Si thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, so do I. I feel so much more alive. I think more; I enjoy doing simple things more. I even sleep better. I wonder how long before I start getting bored, though?'

‘Make the most of it, you lucky fool. I'm jealous, you know. Deeply jealous. There's me slogging off to work and you chilling out at home doing nothing.'

Si looked offended. ‘Not nothing. I'm working out what to do next. That's quite different from idleness.'

‘Of course it is darling, of course it is.' Mary's raised eyebrow and twinkling eyes belied her sincere tones.

‘No really, I'm not just wasting my time. I need to do this. To get my life in order. I thought you understood that?'

‘I do. I was only joking. I love the fact that you're always there when I want you, and you're so much happier. It's great, for me too, you know?' She pushed him onto his back. Si watched a small bird—a sparrow perhaps?—fly overhead. The balmy warmth of the day washed over him. A dark object suddenly blocked out the sky, a lock of hair tickled his forehead and soft lips pressed against his. What a life, he thought gratefully.

~

‘Okay, I'm down in London Wednesday and Thursday. So let's do this long-promised lunch Thursday.'