Learning To Wave
by Glyn Pope
An excerpt from Chapter One: 1980s
Rick was standing in the kitchen, staring out at the dusk, finishing off a bottle of wine. He was going to start on another when his wife Lesley appeared at his elbow.
“Drinking up the French wine are we?”
“There’s nothing else to do...”
“There’s plenty.”
“Like what.” He shrugged. “Talk to you?”
“There’ll be none left for Christmas.”
“Christmas? Anyway Tescos ‘ull have plenty.”
“I don’t think you’ll be here at Christmas.”
He stopped and looked at her, genuine surprise crossing his face. “What do you mean?”
“We just don’t get on anymore. You drink too much. You don’t like my friends. I’m not even going to bother with the party anymore.”
“Well there’s a relief. What party anyway?”
“See what I mean? Carry on and you can sleep on the sofa down stairs.” She left the room and then turned, “That’ll make you feel great for school in the morning.” She turned and strode out of the room. He reached for the corkscrew. “You can’t use your grandpa dying as an excuse any more. He was just a very old man.”
“Bossy cow.”
He gazed out of the kitchen window for a moment and caught his reflection in the light against the already darkening sky. Suddenly remembering a party last Christmas. He always liked to go to Philip and Elizabeth Christmas drinks and last year they had wanted to take Christine. Why did his mind play tricks like this remembering what he didn’t need to remember occupying him unnecessarily? At their lunchtime gathering on Christmas Day there was always plenty of smoked salmon and wine to break up the time after opening the presents and eating dinner. He saw them, before the event deciding who could be invited, the pair of them pompously sitting in their straight-backed chairs. Uncomfortable.
Elizabeth was cross.
“You look cross dear.”
She looked over at Phillip still holding the phone close to her ear. “That was Lesley on the phone. Asking if her friend Christine could come to our Christmas do.” They held a Christmas event annually as if they were Lord and Lady inviting the surfs.
“Well?”
"Well? I think we've got enough people coming and anyway why should we invite their friends.”
“Ah yes.”
“She said we thought we'd like her. Seems like a bit of a wimp to me. Any meaningful conversation would blow her away.”
“Oh.” He wondered if his wife felt threatened for some reason.
A while ago when Lesley and Rick where flavour of the month with Elizabeth she would have said 'Of course, bring who you like. I'm sure we'll love them.' But Elizabeth discarded people like broken toys and any way now she was trying to build up a relationship with the local prospective parliamentary candidate. He'd already been for a meal and she liked to believe that he had promised an invite back. This worried Philip a little as he had always voted for the country party.
“From what I gather,” she said sitting down on the sofa still cradling the telephone like a small rodent, “From the Handsworths. They hardly see anyone else now.”
Charles and Diana came rushing into the room, after scratching at the French windows that Philip had opened for them, from the garden and up to Elizabeth tails wagging frantically.
“I think you love those corgis more than me.” He picked up his paper to read.
The whole world and his mother seemed to be at Philip and Elizabeth’s gathering. This irritated Lesley no end.
“We could have brought her along."
Why he thought. We do see enough of her. “Elizabeth has completely cooled off towards us.”
“I wouldn’t let that worry you.”
That day for Rick was one of knowing the confusing emotions of lust and passion again. He saw a woman that he could only gaze at with a longing from afar. His eyes followed her each move. He couldn't approach her. She didn't look at him once. He wished that he were a hunchback so that she might notice him but he was invisible as water without a glass. He watched as she chatted away to a local head teacher who was equally as besotted. He had no idea who she was, where she lived, what she did. Had Christine been there, she could have told him.
Published by Turner Maxwell Books
Copyright © Glyn Pope 2009
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