Something Overheard
Sue and I started out in our teenage training days, sharing learning experiences, some quite serious and upsetting, but lifted by many light moments of the simple joys of being young and free. Parting company after two years to lead our own lives, it was good that over the past four decades we could catch up on occasions. This time, however, I found her rather distant, unlike her old jovial self. I felt rather uneasy, for even though the visit was planned, I felt rather as if I had dropped in at an awkward time.
Sue lived just over an hour away by car and as she had never learned to drive, I would go to her small neat semi-detached house. Down the side a manicured lawn was edged with spring flowers, of narcissus, crocus, grape hyacinths, hellebores and several others I recognised but could not put a name to. Sue was a careful gardener, delicately picking out all traces of stray grass and weeds which dared to strife beyond the cover of soil. With her fancy gloves, flowing skirts and old straw hat, she resembled someone from the pages of Country Life, even though her Eden was measured in metres, not acres.
She was by the sink as I approached and came to greet me at the door, wearing another purple flimsy skirt, topped with a white billowy blouse, a patterned scarf holding her long hair back from her face. This was Sue’s style. Her feet were dressed in leather open cut sandals decorated by Portuguese embroidery.
‘Lovely to see you. Come on in. Were the roads busy? Would you like a drink?’
It was as though her greeting was practised, trying to be warm as always, but I noted that her features are changed since our last meeting, and she is looking more like her mother who I knew for many years. The telephone rang while the kettle hummed to itself. She apologised and answered it in the hallway.
‘Yes, all right then,’ I heard. ‘Tomorrow will do. No, don’t come here, I’ll bring it with me. No, Thursday won’t be suitable because!’
As her voiced reduced to a whisper, the kettle noise increased as it came to the boil, so I didn’t gather what she was doing on Thursday. Sue returned.
‘Sorry about that. Just the library reminding me my book is due back.’
I mused on the truth of that, considering the conversation I had heard. We sat in the conservatory overlooking her beloved green patch backed by a stone wall where clematis was in bud, preparing to rampage along the trellis. Pots of ferns and hostas thrived in the shady corner by the unused garage. Soon, a selection of sandwiches was on offer, with a homemade Victoria sponge. Catching up was all time-consuming and an hour had soon passed by. Sue had many outside interests, living on her own now. She was lucky to be on a good transport network, or had friends to collect her. Curious about the conversation which couldn’t be mentioned, I asked about her plans for the rest of the week.
‘Not much on this week, actually,’ she informed me. ‘Housework tomorrow, you know, routine stuff, then I shall take that library book back on Thursday, I reckon.’
‘So’ I thought, ‘she remembered the ruse of the library book. I wonder what she is really up to?’
I questioned her present choice of books.
‘Well, I have just read a good historical novel. I have it here somewhere’ and she knelt down to fumble through a pile of magazines and papers on the lower shelf of a wicker table.
Then, the telephone rang again. Tutting, she excused herself but on the way passed me a paperback entitled ‘The Queen’s Ladies’ depicting a lady in Elizabethan dress on the cover. I glanced through it, but Sue’s raised voice attracted me ….
‘I’ve said tomorrow! Yes, I see him on Thursday. I’ll be there, so stop hounding me!’
I turned back the pages to view the story resume inside the front cover and noticed the absence of a library stamp card. In fact, a faint pencil mark stated a price of 35p. This wasn’t a book on loan at all. Why was she weaving a story? We went back far enough to be truthful with each other. Sue looked flushed on her return, and suggested another drink. We gathered up the plates and I followed her back to the kitchen. I was curious to know who she didn’t want coming to the house the next day.
‘Are you really alright, Sue? I mean, since Dave, it must a bit difficult.’
‘Well, I haven’t told you all,’ she disclosed. ‘Dave’s brother is adamant that money invested by their parents was in Dave’s entrust while Jim was overseas. I am sure he is telling the truth, but He wants copies of the will and other financial papers. I am taking them to him tomorrow. I don’t want him coming here, because he’s too fond of his whiskey and could be difficult to deal with. I’m meeting him in town where he shouldn’t be able to start anything. Then I’m seeing the solicitor on Thursday.’
‘Oh, Sue, you should have said. Perhaps we could have advised you, but if you are seeing the solicitor he’ll sort it out… at some cost though, I’m afraid!
‘Yes, I know, but I want it out if the way. I didn’t want to be telling you as I felt I should deal with it myself. The sooner I get him off my back the better! There was no love lost between Dave and Jim, I’m afraid.’
It was time to leave. I got my coat and bid her farewell, but she hesitated and returned to the conservatory.
‘Here, Sherlock Holmes, take the book home to read. You’ll have gathered it isn’t from the library!’
We hugged and parted.
‘No more secrets!’ I warned as I drove away.
