 |
| The bagpiper at the Scottish border |
For more, go to... http://travel.iafrica.com/destin/europe/693489.html
Monday 13 December 2010
Deep Scottish Love
For more, go to... http://travel.iafrica.com/destin/europe/693489.html
Tuesday 7 December 2010
Retail Therapy
“I can stop shopping anytime I want. Despite what my husband says.” Picking up her latte, Sarah scanned the crowded coffee shop for the waiter. “But you have to understand. These boots… They’re just perfect. I saw them on the Nine West website this morning.”
“I don’t need to ask if you’re going to buy them or not,” Juliet replied. “Knowing you, you’ve probably phoned ahead and reserved your size, just in case they sell out before we finish work today.”
Sarah nodded. “I’ll show you online once we’re back at the office. The price isn’t too bad. And there should be credit available on Matthew’s card.” She loved having a joint account. Plus there was always the personal one her husband – or Juliet – didn’t know about. Just the thought of those gorgeous shoes left her slightly breathless.
Finally, the waiter drifted into view. Juliet, spotting him first, lifted a hand and indicated for the bill. “Sarah,” she started. Paused. “We’ve been colleagues and friends for a while now, and I want to be honest with you.”
Surprise and concern flickered across Sarah’s features. “Is there something wrong? Is it one of your children?”
“No, no nothing like that.” Another pause. “I’ve just noticed… Well, you know I’ve always admired your good dress sense. It seems that almost every day you’ve got a stylish new outfit or new handbag or new… something. And you know I love shopping just as much as the next woman, but seriously? You’ve mentioned a number of times that you and Matthew fight about how much you spend. It’s affecting your relationship.”
Sarah lifted her Ray-Bans, resting them on top of her dark brown hair. “I’m trying hard not to be offended here, but it sounds like you’re saying I have a problem. Shopping is a perfectly acceptable pastime.” She rested her folded arms on the table.
“Everything can be taken to extremes.”
“Not in my case. End of story. Now, it’s my turn to pay.” Whipping out a wad of cash, she counted the notes, leaving a generous tip. “Alright, time to head back to the office. And you’ll definitely change your mind once you see these boots. They’re what you’d call a must-have.”
Leaving her friend no space to argue, she stood up and marched off, Juliet hurrying to catch up. Their office was only a few short blocks away, but Sarah was soon lost in thought. Those boots were lovely, and worth every cent. It just couldn’t be possible that other people wouldn’t want to buy them. Juliet was definitely over-reacting.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze, and by the time 5pm ticked into view, Sarah was ready to leave. Driving to the shopping centre seemed to take forever, and by the time she had wrestled her 4x4 into a parking spot and headed into the mall, her heart was pounding. Finally, the Nine West store appeared in view.
As she strode through the through the open glass doors, a petite sales assistant floated into view. “May I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, thanks,” Sarah replied. “I phoned and reserved a pair of boots this morning with Annie. I’m just picking them up.”
Holding her breath, she waited for the reply. What if they had sold them to someone else? “Of course. I remember speaking to you earlier. Let me get them for you.”
Sarah breathed a small sigh of relief, closing her eyes for a second as the sales assistant turned her back. Waiting for Annie to return, she spotted a handbag resting on an elegantly lit shelf.
“Those are perfect for holding your beauty products,” the assistant purred behind her, holding the box of shoes.
“I’ll take it too. It’s gorgeous.” Who was Juliet to say that shopping was bad? Or Matthew to say she had issues? He was the one with a problem, anyway. And, of course, trying on the boots, they fit her perfectly. Everyone at the office would be so jealous.
Not even so much as glancing at the price tags, she carried both items to the till. Dizzy with excitement, she barely heard Annie murmur “That will be R3 000 please”.
Take a deep breath, she commanded herself as she handed over the card. In a few moments they’ll be yours. Her hands shook slightly as she inspected the sunglasses on the counter. Perhaps it was time to buy a new pair?
It took a few moments before she realised the sales assistant was speaking to her. “I’m sorry, there seems to be a slight problem.” She held out the credit card slip to Sarah. “Perhaps you have another available?”
“Problem? That can’t be right…” Sarah frowned at the small piece of paper. “Oh!” she stammered. Insufficient funds, the wording screamed at her. Trying to maintain her composure, she opened her purse, reaching for her own card. “This one should go through.” Why wasn’t Matthew’s account working? Thank goodness she knew this one would be successful; she had checked the balance only this morning.
Carrying the shopping bags to her car, she shoved them into the boot and drove home, deep in thought. Matthew usually worked late, but on Fridays he made an exception and left the office on time. As she pulled into the driveway, she was still not certain which direction she should take. Should she confront him? But that would mean a fight about why she was spending money on clothes again. And the possibility she could say too much. Or should she feign ignorance, and go without using his card for a while? Leaving her purchases in the car until she had decided on a course of action, she opened the door to the house, calling out a greeting.
Matthew wandered into view. “Hi Sarah.” His eyes flickered to her empty hands. A small, but noticeable, gesture. “Thought you’d be out shopping now.”
Sarah tried to grin, but felt her face form more of a grimace. Decision time. “Yes. I went to Nine West, but I didn’t find anything. There were loads of lovely things of course – you know how much I love that store. But I just don’t need anything else right now. Juliet and I had a bit of a chat about all this shopping business over lunch, actually, and…” Seeing the incredulous look on Matthew’s face, she trailed off.
“You went into Nine West but you didn’t buy anything? Pass me your keys.”
“What?” She should have known she couldn’t fool her husband. “No. It’s my car.”
“I bought it for you. Now give them to me.”
For a few seconds, the pair stared at each other before Sarah finally gave in. Digging in her bag, she pulled out her keys and almost threw them at him. Catching them, Matthew marched to her 4x4, and arrived back a few minutes later with a shopping bag dangling off either hand. “Didn’t buy anything, huh? Were you going to lie about these too? I found those boxes of shoes in the back of your cupboard this morning. Unworn. Do you know how much that cost me? Cost us?” The Nine West bags landed at Sarah’s feet. “Not only that, your lies have cost you my trust. Yes, I blocked your credit card on purpose, but you still find a way to support your habit. So I have two choices for you. One. You can keep those bags. Or two, you can keep me.
“If you choose to stay, it’s on the condition that you to go to counselling, and you check with me every single time you want to buy something. Yes, even groceries. If you want to leave now, well, that’s up to you. You can go shop all you like – with your money.”
Sarah gazed at Matthew thoughtfully, surprisingly calm. “Neither of us is perfect,” she murmured. Time to bring out the big guns.
His reply was too quick, too practised. “I love you. You know that.”
“Are you sure about that? You’re giving me an ultimatum, but the only reason why you’ve let me shop for so long is because of Megan.” His face froze. A brief, sardonic smile flittered across her face. “I found her letters while I was searching through your bank statements one day. They’re looking good. The statements, I mean. You’re a good source of income. But you’ve never given me a necklace from Thomas Sabo before.” Placing one perfectly manicured hand on her hip, Sarah assessed her husband. “I’ve known about her for a while, you know. But I guess we’ve both been keeping secrets. I wanted you around just for your money; you let me spend it to make yourself feel better.”
“I honestly didn’t think you knew about Megs.” Matthew’s face had turned the colour of baby powder.
“Of course you didn’t. Otherwise I guess you wouldn’t have said anything about my spending habits. So. You wanted an answer.” Sarah picked up the bags. “I’ll keep these. I’m sure there’s another rich fool out there.”
“I don’t need to ask if you’re going to buy them or not,” Juliet replied. “Knowing you, you’ve probably phoned ahead and reserved your size, just in case they sell out before we finish work today.”
Sarah nodded. “I’ll show you online once we’re back at the office. The price isn’t too bad. And there should be credit available on Matthew’s card.” She loved having a joint account. Plus there was always the personal one her husband – or Juliet – didn’t know about. Just the thought of those gorgeous shoes left her slightly breathless.
Finally, the waiter drifted into view. Juliet, spotting him first, lifted a hand and indicated for the bill. “Sarah,” she started. Paused. “We’ve been colleagues and friends for a while now, and I want to be honest with you.”
Surprise and concern flickered across Sarah’s features. “Is there something wrong? Is it one of your children?”
“No, no nothing like that.” Another pause. “I’ve just noticed… Well, you know I’ve always admired your good dress sense. It seems that almost every day you’ve got a stylish new outfit or new handbag or new… something. And you know I love shopping just as much as the next woman, but seriously? You’ve mentioned a number of times that you and Matthew fight about how much you spend. It’s affecting your relationship.”
Sarah lifted her Ray-Bans, resting them on top of her dark brown hair. “I’m trying hard not to be offended here, but it sounds like you’re saying I have a problem. Shopping is a perfectly acceptable pastime.” She rested her folded arms on the table.
“Everything can be taken to extremes.”
“Not in my case. End of story. Now, it’s my turn to pay.” Whipping out a wad of cash, she counted the notes, leaving a generous tip. “Alright, time to head back to the office. And you’ll definitely change your mind once you see these boots. They’re what you’d call a must-have.”
Leaving her friend no space to argue, she stood up and marched off, Juliet hurrying to catch up. Their office was only a few short blocks away, but Sarah was soon lost in thought. Those boots were lovely, and worth every cent. It just couldn’t be possible that other people wouldn’t want to buy them. Juliet was definitely over-reacting.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze, and by the time 5pm ticked into view, Sarah was ready to leave. Driving to the shopping centre seemed to take forever, and by the time she had wrestled her 4x4 into a parking spot and headed into the mall, her heart was pounding. Finally, the Nine West store appeared in view.
As she strode through the through the open glass doors, a petite sales assistant floated into view. “May I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, thanks,” Sarah replied. “I phoned and reserved a pair of boots this morning with Annie. I’m just picking them up.”
Holding her breath, she waited for the reply. What if they had sold them to someone else? “Of course. I remember speaking to you earlier. Let me get them for you.”
Sarah breathed a small sigh of relief, closing her eyes for a second as the sales assistant turned her back. Waiting for Annie to return, she spotted a handbag resting on an elegantly lit shelf.
“Those are perfect for holding your beauty products,” the assistant purred behind her, holding the box of shoes.
“I’ll take it too. It’s gorgeous.” Who was Juliet to say that shopping was bad? Or Matthew to say she had issues? He was the one with a problem, anyway. And, of course, trying on the boots, they fit her perfectly. Everyone at the office would be so jealous.
Not even so much as glancing at the price tags, she carried both items to the till. Dizzy with excitement, she barely heard Annie murmur “That will be R3 000 please”.
Take a deep breath, she commanded herself as she handed over the card. In a few moments they’ll be yours. Her hands shook slightly as she inspected the sunglasses on the counter. Perhaps it was time to buy a new pair?
It took a few moments before she realised the sales assistant was speaking to her. “I’m sorry, there seems to be a slight problem.” She held out the credit card slip to Sarah. “Perhaps you have another available?”
“Problem? That can’t be right…” Sarah frowned at the small piece of paper. “Oh!” she stammered. Insufficient funds, the wording screamed at her. Trying to maintain her composure, she opened her purse, reaching for her own card. “This one should go through.” Why wasn’t Matthew’s account working? Thank goodness she knew this one would be successful; she had checked the balance only this morning.
Carrying the shopping bags to her car, she shoved them into the boot and drove home, deep in thought. Matthew usually worked late, but on Fridays he made an exception and left the office on time. As she pulled into the driveway, she was still not certain which direction she should take. Should she confront him? But that would mean a fight about why she was spending money on clothes again. And the possibility she could say too much. Or should she feign ignorance, and go without using his card for a while? Leaving her purchases in the car until she had decided on a course of action, she opened the door to the house, calling out a greeting.
Matthew wandered into view. “Hi Sarah.” His eyes flickered to her empty hands. A small, but noticeable, gesture. “Thought you’d be out shopping now.”
Sarah tried to grin, but felt her face form more of a grimace. Decision time. “Yes. I went to Nine West, but I didn’t find anything. There were loads of lovely things of course – you know how much I love that store. But I just don’t need anything else right now. Juliet and I had a bit of a chat about all this shopping business over lunch, actually, and…” Seeing the incredulous look on Matthew’s face, she trailed off.
“You went into Nine West but you didn’t buy anything? Pass me your keys.”
“What?” She should have known she couldn’t fool her husband. “No. It’s my car.”
“I bought it for you. Now give them to me.”
For a few seconds, the pair stared at each other before Sarah finally gave in. Digging in her bag, she pulled out her keys and almost threw them at him. Catching them, Matthew marched to her 4x4, and arrived back a few minutes later with a shopping bag dangling off either hand. “Didn’t buy anything, huh? Were you going to lie about these too? I found those boxes of shoes in the back of your cupboard this morning. Unworn. Do you know how much that cost me? Cost us?” The Nine West bags landed at Sarah’s feet. “Not only that, your lies have cost you my trust. Yes, I blocked your credit card on purpose, but you still find a way to support your habit. So I have two choices for you. One. You can keep those bags. Or two, you can keep me.
“If you choose to stay, it’s on the condition that you to go to counselling, and you check with me every single time you want to buy something. Yes, even groceries. If you want to leave now, well, that’s up to you. You can go shop all you like – with your money.”
Sarah gazed at Matthew thoughtfully, surprisingly calm. “Neither of us is perfect,” she murmured. Time to bring out the big guns.
His reply was too quick, too practised. “I love you. You know that.”
“Are you sure about that? You’re giving me an ultimatum, but the only reason why you’ve let me shop for so long is because of Megan.” His face froze. A brief, sardonic smile flittered across her face. “I found her letters while I was searching through your bank statements one day. They’re looking good. The statements, I mean. You’re a good source of income. But you’ve never given me a necklace from Thomas Sabo before.” Placing one perfectly manicured hand on her hip, Sarah assessed her husband. “I’ve known about her for a while, you know. But I guess we’ve both been keeping secrets. I wanted you around just for your money; you let me spend it to make yourself feel better.”
“I honestly didn’t think you knew about Megs.” Matthew’s face had turned the colour of baby powder.
“Of course you didn’t. Otherwise I guess you wouldn’t have said anything about my spending habits. So. You wanted an answer.” Sarah picked up the bags. “I’ll keep these. I’m sure there’s another rich fool out there.”
Sunday 31 October 2010
Eye on Africa
 |
| Ian and Alan arrive in South Africa |
You see, Ian Mowbray-Williams had been unceremoniously dumped – and to distract him, his opponent (Alan) started explaining his idea: he wanted to cycle across Africa. The catch? No-one wanted to go with him, and he certainly didn’t want to head off alone. At that moment, Ian’s eyes lit up, and his dark mood seemed to lift: “The football World Cup is in Cape Town. Why don’t we cycle there?” he blurted out.
Read the full story here... http://travel.iafrica.com/destin/africadest/680918.html
Wednesday 27 October 2010
Close the Door...
Alfred stared at the dull bronze numbers on the door. This is going to be easy, he thought. This is going to be easy. Keep repeating that and it’ll all be fine. It’s only Phyllis; she’s really a harmless, sweet old lady.
He snorted. Who was he fooling? That bag of wrinkles could never be construed as sweet. Or harmless. In fact, Alfred couldn’t remember ever having one decent encounter with the old bat. And today was going to be worse; he had bad news for her. Lifting a weary hand, he thumped his fist against the peeling paint.
“Oh good, it’s about time you arrived. Where’ve you been?” the old woman demanded, throwing the door open immediately, her tartan purse clutched in one hand.
“Good evening, Phyllis,” he replied, eyeing the diminutive woman cautiously.
“I’m supposed to be at the community centre by 6:00. You know that,” she continued, oblivious to the niceties of conversation. “And it’s not like you have a long way to drive, either. You live downstairs.”
Sighing, he glanced down at his scuffed black boots, collecting his thoughts. “Phyllis,” he said, “I’m sorry, I won’t…”.
“We’re going to be late if you stand in the corridor dithering,” she interjected, stepping out into the dank hallway and slamming the door behind her. Alfred instinctively took a step back. “You’re already two minutes late and we’re never going to get to my bingo on time if you stand there like a baboon. We still have to pick up the other ladies.”
“Phyllis, we won’t be able to go to bingo tonight,” he blurted, avoiding her eye. Might as well get it over with. Her temper was renowned on all three floors of the council flats and the sooner she started screaming the sooner she’d stop. He hoped she’d stop, anyway. That was debatable.
“Alan,”
“Alfred, actually,” he muttered. She can’t hear me anyway, deaf old fart.
“You are the community bus driver. You are paid to take me to my bingo every Tuesday evening and every Thursday evening. Now, let’s go.” Turning, she limped towards the lift without a backward glance to see if Alfred was following.
“The lift isn’t working,” he called, catching up with her easily. “It’s broken… again. But I’m serious,” he babbled as she prodded the down button anyway, the arrow worn away through over-use. “The bus has broken down. Have no idea what’s wrong with it, but the company’s taken it in for repairs. I tried to start it this afternoon and it wouldn’t. Just started smoking.”
Phyllis reached out a shaky finger, pushing the non-existent arrow again. Alfred closed his mouth. It was pointless; she wasn’t listening anyway. Standing in the dimly lit corridor, he wondered what to do next. Maybe he should just leave her there and take the stairs back down to his ground floor apartment. She wouldn’t be able to follow, thank goodness; he knew all about her bursitis by now. She’d told him enough times. Her knees would probably give in halfway down.
“It’s really broken, isn’t it?” The question cut into Alfred’s thoughts.
“Yes, Phyllis, the council doesn’t pay much attention to us poor people.”
“No. The bus.” She turned away from the lift, peering up at Alfred. “It was bound to happen you know; that contraption has been rattling since you started driving it. You really should take better care of it next time,” she cautioned. “So what are you going to do now?”
“Well, as I mentioned, the company’s taken it in for repairs,” he repeated, louder this time.
“Young man, that’s not what I meant.” Young man, Alfred thought, smiling slightly. Maybe she isn’t so bad after all. But then again, everyone’s young to her. “What I mean is, you’ve got some free time on your hands now. So I’ll make you a cup of tea. Come on.”
When he didn’t move, she pulled at the sleeve of his stretched grey sweatshirt. “Come on,” she repeated. “I don’t have a lifetime to wait for you, you know.” Keeping her hand on his sleeve, she headed back to her flat. Alfred had no choice but to follow her.
Casting furtive glances up and down the gloomy corridor, he prayed that someone would rescue him. And soon. Once he was behind the door, it would all over; he would be doomed to an evening with someone who smelt of sour milk. But it was too late. Phyllis had managed to dig out a single key out of her purse, unlocking the door. Digging her talons into his arm, she pulled him inside.
The first thing that hit him was the stink of dust, a spilt second before he realised the room was in total darkness. It reminded him of being inside a vacuum cleaner. She can’t have opened a window in years, he thought, choking in the stale air.
He could hear her shuffling steps somewhere to his right, and soon, a light snapped on. Blinking, the first thing he saw was a sagging bed pushed into the corner of the small room and a couple of worn chairs placed carefully at right angles. “I know it’s not much,” she said, “but it’s all I’ve got.” For a few seconds, they stood side-by-side, surveying her shabby furniture.
“Fancy some Earl Grey, then?” she asked. “I think I may have some left over from the last time my son was here.” Alfred glanced at her in surprise. He never knew she had children.
“Don’t look at me like that, lovey. I know what you’re thinking,” she said, putting a rusted kettle on the stove to boil. “I have one child. My son lives in Australia now. He’s been there for – oh, how many years now? It must be about 20. Doing very well for himself and his family. A dentist, you know.”
Alfred waited, wondering if there was more. But when no further information was forthcoming, he took to exploring her virtually empty room while she busied herself with the tea.
There wasn’t much to look at, and soon, rather at a loose end, Alfred plonked himself in a sagging chair. It was then that he noticed the faded ballet shoes hanging on the wall. “Were you a ballerina when you were younger?” he asked as Phyllis handed him an enamel mug. Glancing up to where Alfred had been looking, she nodded, lowering herself into the vacant chair.
“Yes, I was,” she replied. “But that was ages ago now. Before my daughter was born.” It almost seemed as if she had said too much, however, because she quickly closed her mouth again. Another child? But she had said she only had a son.
Curious now, he sipped his milky tea, wondering if he should ask her about it. But he needn’t have worried. Phyllis hadn’t had an audience in years, and the unexpected company loosened her sharp tongue.
“I will be turning 70 this year,” she started slowly. “That would make it 51 years ago that I last danced professionally. 19 years old should actually be the start of your career, but it was the end of mine. 19 years old, and my life fell to pieces.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, not looking up.
“I haven’t told anybody about this,” she continued, staring at the floor. “Everyone thinks I have just the one son. The only person who knew was my mother and she was the reason why this whole thing was covered up in the first place.” A few moments passed as Phyllis collected her thoughts, and finally, she looked up. Meeting Alfred’s eyes, she continued carefully.
“When I was 19, I lived in a very conservative mining community with my parents. They expected me to grow up to be the best, nothing less. So when I got accepted into to an important ballet company after grade 12, they were delighted. Their only daughter was certainly something to be proud of. They could show me off to all their friends. But…” she stopped, hesitant to continue.
Looking at her, Alfred could see it was hard to say all this; her shoulders were hunched, her mug shaking in her wrinkled hands. For the first time, he felt a surge of sympathy for the old woman. She really is a harmless, sweet old lady! he realised suddenly, giving her a warm smile. Tentatively, she smiled back.
“It was shortly before I was due to leave that I fell pregnant.” A little more confident now, she continued. “My mother, horrified at the indecency of it, sent me off to a home where I could have my baby in peace. It was easy for her to explain away my absence; I was supposed to be at the ballet company anyway.
“Eight months later I gave birth to a baby girl. Five days after that, the adoption papers had been signed and I was on my way home again. I never saw her.” The facts flowed easily and Alfred could see she had re-lived the experience many times in her mind.
“Everyone thought I was back on vacation, and my mother had me convinced that I shouldn’t tell anybody about it. The shame, the scandal if it should be found out!
So I kept my feelings hidden from my father, my sister, my friends… I just pretended that I was any normal young woman, enjoying the time off before heading back to ballet training. It was as though it never happened.
“But in reality, I was hurting so badly. I kept telling myself that she was doing alright, that her new parents would be doing a far better job than I could ever do. But all I wanted was for my baby to be with me. Even some sympathy, some understanding would have helped… But how could other people understand? They didn’t know.”
Phyllis stopped in her story, her eyes staring blankly at the wall behind Alfred, her mind lost in her thoughts. “I couldn’t go back to dancing after that,” she continued. “Everyone had told me at school that I had so much potential, that I was a born dancer. But every time I tried to put on my points again, the memory of what had happened to me came back. It was as though the grief was wrapped up in those shoes.”
“Why do you keep them, then?” Alfred asked, looking over to where they hung on the wall, collecting dust. There was a moment’s pause.
“They remind me of my child,” she answered. “If I throw them away, I may throw her away too. I know that doesn’t make much sense…” she trailed off. “But that’s how I feel.” She shrugged helplessly.
“I’ve never seen her before, although I managed to contact her adoptive parents when I was 25. They said she was doing well; a beautiful blonde girl with blue eyes and a happy-go-lucky personality. But they also asked me never to get in contact with them again. I never have.
“She’ll be 51 now. And although I’ve learnt in many ways to deal with what I’ve been through, and realised that I may never see her, I think about her constantly. I just hope that she’s happy.”
Finishing her story, Phyllis seemed to shrink into her chair, the effort of speaking having taken it out of her.
It’s quite amazing that I’ve known this woman for three years, Alfred thought guiltily, and I’ve never bothered to sit down and listen to her. It was then that Alfred put his empty mug on the scratched side table next to him, heaved himself to his feet and reached for Phyllis. For a few brief seconds, they hugged each other tightly.
She soon pushed him away, however. “It’s time for you to leave, young man. I’m tired. Don’t forget to close the door behind you.”
He snorted. Who was he fooling? That bag of wrinkles could never be construed as sweet. Or harmless. In fact, Alfred couldn’t remember ever having one decent encounter with the old bat. And today was going to be worse; he had bad news for her. Lifting a weary hand, he thumped his fist against the peeling paint.
“Oh good, it’s about time you arrived. Where’ve you been?” the old woman demanded, throwing the door open immediately, her tartan purse clutched in one hand.
“Good evening, Phyllis,” he replied, eyeing the diminutive woman cautiously.
“I’m supposed to be at the community centre by 6:00. You know that,” she continued, oblivious to the niceties of conversation. “And it’s not like you have a long way to drive, either. You live downstairs.”
Sighing, he glanced down at his scuffed black boots, collecting his thoughts. “Phyllis,” he said, “I’m sorry, I won’t…”.
“We’re going to be late if you stand in the corridor dithering,” she interjected, stepping out into the dank hallway and slamming the door behind her. Alfred instinctively took a step back. “You’re already two minutes late and we’re never going to get to my bingo on time if you stand there like a baboon. We still have to pick up the other ladies.”
“Phyllis, we won’t be able to go to bingo tonight,” he blurted, avoiding her eye. Might as well get it over with. Her temper was renowned on all three floors of the council flats and the sooner she started screaming the sooner she’d stop. He hoped she’d stop, anyway. That was debatable.
“Alan,”
“Alfred, actually,” he muttered. She can’t hear me anyway, deaf old fart.
“You are the community bus driver. You are paid to take me to my bingo every Tuesday evening and every Thursday evening. Now, let’s go.” Turning, she limped towards the lift without a backward glance to see if Alfred was following.
“The lift isn’t working,” he called, catching up with her easily. “It’s broken… again. But I’m serious,” he babbled as she prodded the down button anyway, the arrow worn away through over-use. “The bus has broken down. Have no idea what’s wrong with it, but the company’s taken it in for repairs. I tried to start it this afternoon and it wouldn’t. Just started smoking.”
Phyllis reached out a shaky finger, pushing the non-existent arrow again. Alfred closed his mouth. It was pointless; she wasn’t listening anyway. Standing in the dimly lit corridor, he wondered what to do next. Maybe he should just leave her there and take the stairs back down to his ground floor apartment. She wouldn’t be able to follow, thank goodness; he knew all about her bursitis by now. She’d told him enough times. Her knees would probably give in halfway down.
“It’s really broken, isn’t it?” The question cut into Alfred’s thoughts.
“Yes, Phyllis, the council doesn’t pay much attention to us poor people.”
“No. The bus.” She turned away from the lift, peering up at Alfred. “It was bound to happen you know; that contraption has been rattling since you started driving it. You really should take better care of it next time,” she cautioned. “So what are you going to do now?”
“Well, as I mentioned, the company’s taken it in for repairs,” he repeated, louder this time.
“Young man, that’s not what I meant.” Young man, Alfred thought, smiling slightly. Maybe she isn’t so bad after all. But then again, everyone’s young to her. “What I mean is, you’ve got some free time on your hands now. So I’ll make you a cup of tea. Come on.”
When he didn’t move, she pulled at the sleeve of his stretched grey sweatshirt. “Come on,” she repeated. “I don’t have a lifetime to wait for you, you know.” Keeping her hand on his sleeve, she headed back to her flat. Alfred had no choice but to follow her.
Casting furtive glances up and down the gloomy corridor, he prayed that someone would rescue him. And soon. Once he was behind the door, it would all over; he would be doomed to an evening with someone who smelt of sour milk. But it was too late. Phyllis had managed to dig out a single key out of her purse, unlocking the door. Digging her talons into his arm, she pulled him inside.
The first thing that hit him was the stink of dust, a spilt second before he realised the room was in total darkness. It reminded him of being inside a vacuum cleaner. She can’t have opened a window in years, he thought, choking in the stale air.
He could hear her shuffling steps somewhere to his right, and soon, a light snapped on. Blinking, the first thing he saw was a sagging bed pushed into the corner of the small room and a couple of worn chairs placed carefully at right angles. “I know it’s not much,” she said, “but it’s all I’ve got.” For a few seconds, they stood side-by-side, surveying her shabby furniture.
“Fancy some Earl Grey, then?” she asked. “I think I may have some left over from the last time my son was here.” Alfred glanced at her in surprise. He never knew she had children.
“Don’t look at me like that, lovey. I know what you’re thinking,” she said, putting a rusted kettle on the stove to boil. “I have one child. My son lives in Australia now. He’s been there for – oh, how many years now? It must be about 20. Doing very well for himself and his family. A dentist, you know.”
Alfred waited, wondering if there was more. But when no further information was forthcoming, he took to exploring her virtually empty room while she busied herself with the tea.
There wasn’t much to look at, and soon, rather at a loose end, Alfred plonked himself in a sagging chair. It was then that he noticed the faded ballet shoes hanging on the wall. “Were you a ballerina when you were younger?” he asked as Phyllis handed him an enamel mug. Glancing up to where Alfred had been looking, she nodded, lowering herself into the vacant chair.
“Yes, I was,” she replied. “But that was ages ago now. Before my daughter was born.” It almost seemed as if she had said too much, however, because she quickly closed her mouth again. Another child? But she had said she only had a son.
Curious now, he sipped his milky tea, wondering if he should ask her about it. But he needn’t have worried. Phyllis hadn’t had an audience in years, and the unexpected company loosened her sharp tongue.
“I will be turning 70 this year,” she started slowly. “That would make it 51 years ago that I last danced professionally. 19 years old should actually be the start of your career, but it was the end of mine. 19 years old, and my life fell to pieces.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, not looking up.
“I haven’t told anybody about this,” she continued, staring at the floor. “Everyone thinks I have just the one son. The only person who knew was my mother and she was the reason why this whole thing was covered up in the first place.” A few moments passed as Phyllis collected her thoughts, and finally, she looked up. Meeting Alfred’s eyes, she continued carefully.
“When I was 19, I lived in a very conservative mining community with my parents. They expected me to grow up to be the best, nothing less. So when I got accepted into to an important ballet company after grade 12, they were delighted. Their only daughter was certainly something to be proud of. They could show me off to all their friends. But…” she stopped, hesitant to continue.
Looking at her, Alfred could see it was hard to say all this; her shoulders were hunched, her mug shaking in her wrinkled hands. For the first time, he felt a surge of sympathy for the old woman. She really is a harmless, sweet old lady! he realised suddenly, giving her a warm smile. Tentatively, she smiled back.
“It was shortly before I was due to leave that I fell pregnant.” A little more confident now, she continued. “My mother, horrified at the indecency of it, sent me off to a home where I could have my baby in peace. It was easy for her to explain away my absence; I was supposed to be at the ballet company anyway.
“Eight months later I gave birth to a baby girl. Five days after that, the adoption papers had been signed and I was on my way home again. I never saw her.” The facts flowed easily and Alfred could see she had re-lived the experience many times in her mind.
“Everyone thought I was back on vacation, and my mother had me convinced that I shouldn’t tell anybody about it. The shame, the scandal if it should be found out!
So I kept my feelings hidden from my father, my sister, my friends… I just pretended that I was any normal young woman, enjoying the time off before heading back to ballet training. It was as though it never happened.
“But in reality, I was hurting so badly. I kept telling myself that she was doing alright, that her new parents would be doing a far better job than I could ever do. But all I wanted was for my baby to be with me. Even some sympathy, some understanding would have helped… But how could other people understand? They didn’t know.”
Phyllis stopped in her story, her eyes staring blankly at the wall behind Alfred, her mind lost in her thoughts. “I couldn’t go back to dancing after that,” she continued. “Everyone had told me at school that I had so much potential, that I was a born dancer. But every time I tried to put on my points again, the memory of what had happened to me came back. It was as though the grief was wrapped up in those shoes.”
“Why do you keep them, then?” Alfred asked, looking over to where they hung on the wall, collecting dust. There was a moment’s pause.
“They remind me of my child,” she answered. “If I throw them away, I may throw her away too. I know that doesn’t make much sense…” she trailed off. “But that’s how I feel.” She shrugged helplessly.
“I’ve never seen her before, although I managed to contact her adoptive parents when I was 25. They said she was doing well; a beautiful blonde girl with blue eyes and a happy-go-lucky personality. But they also asked me never to get in contact with them again. I never have.
“She’ll be 51 now. And although I’ve learnt in many ways to deal with what I’ve been through, and realised that I may never see her, I think about her constantly. I just hope that she’s happy.”
Finishing her story, Phyllis seemed to shrink into her chair, the effort of speaking having taken it out of her.
It’s quite amazing that I’ve known this woman for three years, Alfred thought guiltily, and I’ve never bothered to sit down and listen to her. It was then that Alfred put his empty mug on the scratched side table next to him, heaved himself to his feet and reached for Phyllis. For a few brief seconds, they hugged each other tightly.
She soon pushed him away, however. “It’s time for you to leave, young man. I’m tired. Don’t forget to close the door behind you.”
Tuesday 26 October 2010
A bright idea
 |
| Brighton beach |
For more, check out: http://travel.iafrica.com/destin/europe/680927.html
Tuesday 29 December 2009
Things to do in London
The following list of 10 points barely begins to cover the vast amount of 'things to do in London'. But I've put together 10 things I've enjoyed doing. So, in absolutely no particular order...
Walk down South Bank, starting at the London Eye. It's a great way to see many famous sights, such as the Oxo Tower, Tate Modern, Big Ben and Houses of Parliament. Another good option is taking a river cruise, run by London Eye and leaving from Waterloo Pier.
Take in the views of London. Try these places:
Primrose Hill
London Eye
Tower Bridge Exhibition. Entry is seven pounds and you can stroll down the two walkways at the the top of Tower Bridge, admiring the view up and down the Thames
The restaurant on the 7th floor of the Tate Modern or the one at the top of the Oxo Tower
The view from the 29th floor of the Millbank Tower rivals the one from the London Eye, though you will need to be attending (or hosting) an event.
The galleries in St Paul's Cathedral
Salsa lessons are held all over London, and are a good way to meet new people and learn a new skill. Why not try Henry J Bean's in Wimbledon on a Tuesday night? Run by Salsa Partytime, there are six levels from beginner's through to super-advanced. Also, Salsateca runs classes every night of the week around London.
Go on a London walk. This is a great way to explore London's interesting history. From Harry Potter to Jack the Ripper, ghosts to pubs, there's going to be something to interest you. www.walks.com
Sandwiches from Pret a Manger. Made fresh every day. Delicious!
The markets. I love Camden, Portobello Road and Borough markets, but they can get really crowded.
A theatre performance!!! My favourite so far is Dirty Dancing, but I've been to five in total – only three in London (the other two in Cape Town). But why not pick one that strikes your fancy?
I particularly enjoyed wandering around Westminster Abbey. It gives you a good insight into British history, and includes the interesting Poet's Corner, the tombs of Elizabeth 1 and Mary Queen of Scots, and the Coronation Chair.
Speakers' Corner. Every Sunday, anyone with something to say can stand on a box or ladder in Hyde Park... and say it. Those in the crowd can shout back, if they want. Makes for some interesting listening, but go with an open mind. Closest Tube stop: Marble Arch
Explore one of London's many parks. As I write this, it's the middle of winter and raining outside, so it seems to have been the last thing on my mind right now. But during summer, there are numerous green spaces to visit such as St James's Park, Green Park or Regent's Park. Why not search for the Peter Pan statue in Kensington Gardens or wander down to the Serpentine in Hyde Park?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)