I wakened on Friday morning to something wet, rasping along my petite nose...


Changes
Chapter 34
By Susan Brown

Everyday seems a little longer
Every way love's a little stronger
Come what may
Do you ever long for, true love from me
Everyday it's a-gettin' closer
Goin' faster than a roller coaster
Love like yours will surely come my way
A-hey, a-hey-hey
Love like yours will surely come my way

Buddy Holly

Previously…

‘Do not betray my trust.’

‘I won’t M’lady. Can I offer you tea?’

‘No time. Have to sort out the music for the Sunday service. Do you know that they actually wanted someone to play the guitar in evensong? I blame Churchill. ‘Lost the election in ’45 and let Labour in. Country gone to the dogs ever since; must dash, lookin’ forward to seein’ Fifi in oils. Good day t’you.’

She sailed out of the door with a nod and strode off down the road towards the church. After a few moments, the women were back out on the street and the birds appeared again. The sun shone and all was right with the world–I hoped!

And now the story continues…

I wakened on Friday morning to something wet, rasping along my petite nose. I sneezed in reaction and opened one eye and there before me, was one tabby cat with a spotless white “shirt-front”. It was quite small–still a kitten I would say, had lovely big green eyes and a very pretty face–and it was looking at me inquisitively.

‘Hello, puddy tat.’ I said, trying to be friendly. It was wearing a collar and attached to it was a name disk. Squinting, I could just make out the name, Gabi.

‘Well, Gabi, what do you want?’

She just looked at me and meowed and jumped off the bed.

‘Bye.’ I said to her retreating rear end, tail held vertically.

Turning over, I found that Abby had deserted me too. I smiled at the delicious things we did last night. Afterwards, we had a shower together; it’s amazing what you can do with a loofa and a bar of soap–but that’s another story.

I heard the tinkle of cups and saucers coming upstairs and sat up. My nightie had ridden up around my neck for some reason so I had to do a bit of a wiggle and wriggle to get things back in place again.

‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ said Abby walking in, still in her nightdress and robe with a tray and drinks.

‘What’s the time?’

‘Seven-thirty.’

‘That’s the middle of the night,’ I exclaimed.

‘Not in’t country, m’dear.’ she said in a faux Devon accent.

I sat up in bed and Abby put the tray on her bedside table, took her robe off and joined me in bed.

I had stayed the night at Abby’s and we had had, shall we say, a late night. How she could look so bright eyed and bushy-tailed after last night, I would never know. Me–I ached in places that I never knew existed!

‘So,’ Abby said, handing me a cup of tea, ‘what are you doing today?’

‘Well, I must do some more work on Fifi and I want to pop into Katie’s to sort out the letter I have to send to Olivia. I’m seeing the doctor, Marcia Sinclair about my gender problems. Millie’s meeting me later down at the quay to see about a gallery–you know that empty place next to your pottery shop. Then I have to rush home and make the cottage presentable for Dawn and the clan’s visit tomorrow. After that, I’m going to treat you to a slap up dinner–via the fish and chip shop. After that, who knows?’

‘So you are having a quiet day then?’

‘Mmm; oh and Jo’s meeting me at the salon after I see Millie, I need a service on my hair and Jo’s coming to cheer me on. Talking about service; I still haven’t got my Beemer back from the mechanic. The time he’s taking to repair it, I could have had another made and shipped over from Germany.

‘He is a bit slow isn’t he?’

‘Mmm; anyway what have you got to do today?’

‘Well first I need to ravish you––’

Some time later, we got up and after prolonged goodbye kiss and cuddle, I left her to do things with the cats prior to going to work and went home. I found Mrs Pearson busy doing the housework, which was good as it meant less for me to do. Glancing out of the window into the back garden, Mr P was mowing the lawn using a hand lawnmower. He was so red in the face with the effort, I wondered if he was about to have a seizure.

‘Mrs Pearson’, I yelled over the noise of the Hoover.

She looked at me and turned it off. ‘Yez’m?’

‘Is Mr Pearson all right, he looks a bit red in the face?’

‘It be scrumpy?’

‘Scrumpy?’

‘Yez’m.’

‘What about scrumpy?’

‘’E be aven more than a drop last night, always makes ’im red come along a mornin’.’

‘Strong stuff this scrumpy, is it?’

‘Ooh aah. Strong ’nuff to strip paint.’

‘Blimey–I mean–gosh. Do you like it?’

‘Ooh yez’m; only half-a-pint tho’, else makes I a bit giddy.’

‘Shall I make your hubby a coffee?’

‘Never drinks it, drink o’ the devil ’e says. Tea, now that’s different. Likes a drop of tea ’e do, ’m.’

‘Would you like a cup?’

‘Yez’m; only four sugars–lookin’ after me figure.’

‘Erm–right, and Mr P?’

‘He has six. Likes ’is sugar do my ol’ man.’

She started her Hoover again and I went to make the tea, pleased in the knowledge that, at last, I could actually understand half of what she was saying.

Later, I went up to the studio to continue work on Fifi’s portrait. As usual, I became totally engrossed in my work as I tried to tease out the right expression on Fifi’s face. I wanted her to look aristocratic–slightly haughty–and yet have a twinkle in her eye to show hidden depths. As usual, I had to work quickly because acrylics require speed. Luckily, the judicial use of a water spray bottle helped kept the paint usable for a bit longer, giving me more time than I would otherwise have. When I paint with acrylics, I mix my paint in little Chinese cups, mixing more than I need most of the time so that, if later, when the paint is dry, I see spots that I missed, or the paint has dried unevenly, I can go back to the cup of that colour and do a touch up.

It was great to be back in the swing of things again. For too long I had not been able to paint like this. Fleetingly, I worried about Lady Fairbairn’s comment about looking forward to seeing Fifi in oils, then I shrugged as I realised that she probably wouldn’t know the difference.

I glanced at the time. ‘Oh hell,’ I said, as I quickly put my unused paints into a zip lock bag to keep them moist, cleaned my brushes, took off my smock and hurried downstairs. Mr and Mrs P had already left, so I grabbed my bag and left the cottage. I was soon in Katie’s office, slightly breathless, but that was my fault for being late.

‘Hi, Katie,’ I said as she came out of her room.

‘Oh good, I was just going to ring you. I thought you’d forgotten.’

‘No receptionist today?’

‘No, Lisa’s got a bug. She often gets a bug, but there you are. So come you in and let’s get this letter sorted out.’

We sat on the sofa and she handed me a type-written letter.

‘I suggest something along these lines. It would be better if you handwrite it, though.’

Dear Olivia,

I am shocked and surprised at the contents of your letter. I have made it clear to you and your father that I do not wish to continue to be married to you. The fact that you are pregnant does not alter this.

I am very disturbed that you should even contemplate terminating the pregnancy at this late stage. Morally, ethically and legally it is wrong that you are considering this course of action. I must warn you that if you have an abortion, or for some unaccountable reason, you lose the baby, I will contact the authorities and show them the letter that you sent to me.

I am sorry our marriage did not work out and feel that it is time for us to both move on. I will not be answering any further letters from you and therefore think it best that any future communication should go to my solicitor.

Yours sincerely,

Samantha.

I looked up at Katie. ‘It seems a bit on the formal side.’

‘I think it has to be. You don’t want her to get the wrong idea.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Are you happy with the wording?’

‘I have no choice really.’

‘All right. Do you want to write it out and then I’ll get it posted for you.’

I sat at Katie’s desk and, after taking my Sheaffer fountain pen from my handbag, wrote it out in longhand. I should have felt more upset, but I think my emotions regarding Madame Olivia had dried up somewhat. I just wanted all the nastiness to come to an end.

After finishing the letter and passing it to Katie, I had to rush off as I still had a lot to do today!

As I arrived at the surgery I gulped slightly, wondering if Ms Cringeing-Drawers would be manning–no, personning–the reception desk.

She was. She looked up as I approached. Was it my imagination, or did she seem to flinch slightly at the sight of me? As I was going private, the waiting room was empty; a fact of which I was glad as I didn’t want a scene.

‘May I help you.’ she said with a watery smile; she didn’t in any way, shape or form sound the least bit friendly.

‘I have an appointment with Doctor Marcia.’

‘And you are?’

She knows damned well who I am! ‘Samantha Smart.’ I replied smiling, not wishing to rise to her bait.

‘One moment, please.’

She squinted at her screen, typed something and then looked up.

‘Your appointment was for half past.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid I am a few minutes late–’

‘The doctor is very busy––’

I banged my fist down on the counter, making her jump. ‘So am I, please let her know I’m here, now. As one of her private patients, I am sure that Doctor Marcia would not wish you to keep me waiting.’

I could sense her struggle from her face. Eventually, when she saw that the lady was not for turning, she picked up her ’phone.

‘H—hello, doctor, Miss Smart is here for her appointment––all right.’

She put the phone down.

‘Go through, Miss.’

I was becoming irritated–I knew I was. She was goading me, but I tried my hardest to stay calm.

‘Thank you; oh, and by the way.’

‘Yes?’

‘Be very careful what you say about any private information that you might be privy to at the surgery. I would hate to see you lose your job and be prosecuted for an offence under the data protection act–or any other act that I can think of. Also, if I hear you say Miss like that again, I will not be responsible for my actions.’

I didn’t wait to see her reaction, but just headed for Marcia’s door, knocked and entered. I knew that I had made an enemy today, but after all I had been through, quite frankly, I couldn’t give a damn. Marcia looked up as I walked in.

‘Hello, Samantha, please take a seat.’

Smoothing my skirt under me like a good girl, I sat down.

‘Well, I’ve had your test results through and if you lead the life of an angel, you should live until at least a hundred and five. Let’s do your blood pressure. I like to take several readings over a period of time so I can see an overall pattern.

She fastened the cuff thingy round my arm and pumped the rubber bulb doodah.

‘Hmm.’

She did it again.

‘Has something upset you? It seems a bit high.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t seem to hit it off with Ms Cringeing-Drawers.’

Marcia laughed.

‘Got under your skin has she? She has that effect on people. She is on a warning; much more upsetting of our patients and she’ll have to go.’

‘I don’t want her to lose her job on my account, but she does seem to have an attitude problem.’

‘I know; she has personal problems, but I won’t go any further. Just let me know if she does anything else to upset you.’

‘Okay.’

‘Right, I have the number of someone you ought to see. She’s a psychiatrist and counsellor who specialises in gender issues.’

‘But I don’t have any issues.’

‘Probably not, but she will help you decide on what course of action take and give you some ideas as to what options are open to you.’

I took the card; it said Dr Brenda Carson and her name had a multitude of letters after it.

‘Okay, I’ll give her a ring.’

‘Was there anything else?’

‘Not really. Thanks for all your help.’

‘That’s what I’m here for. So how are you getting on with Fifi’s painting?’

I looked at her askance. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Let’s face it, secrets around here are as rare as square eggs.’

She laughed. ‘True. So how is Lady F’s little darling’s painting coming along then?’

‘Not bad. I’m quite pleased with the progress so far.’

‘I can’t wait to see it.’

‘Mmm, let’s hope it lives up to the hype. Anyway, must dash, got to see Millie–’

My friendly receptionist wasn’t around so at least I was spared any poisoned glances coming my way. As I left, I had visions of her down by the quay with her head firmly held in the old stocks that had been there for hundreds of years. She was being pelted with lots of lovely, smelly rotten fruit, by all the patients she had insulted over the years; what a happy thought!

I went down to the harbour and sat outside the “Bide-A-While Continental Tea Room”. A bit of a contradiction in terms there, but nothing unusual in this strange and quirky place. I sat, occasionally sipping my tea and drinking in my surroundings and the comings and goings of the passers by while I waited for Millie.

A fishing boat was moored alongside the quay: aboard, a couple of fishermen were mending their nets while the ever-present gulls were looking down at them sideways, more in hope than expectation of a late morning snack. There were holidaymakers sauntering along, taking in the view or making their way down to the beach. Their kids, tagging along with ice creams melting in the sun, were desperately trying to lick them before they melted clean away and dripped on their summer clothes. Parents with bags, fold-up deckchairs and all the paraphernalia deemed necessary for a day on the beach, struggled to get everything down to the warm sands before dropping it all in a heap at their favourite spot.

Elderly men and women, sitting on the bench seats, seemed happy to soak up the sun and doze the day away. It was a typical summer’s day and I loved it. I would keep the images in my mind and one day would recreate them, probably deep into the winter, when storms were raging outside, and–

‘Hello, Samantha.’

Rousing from my reverie, I looked up, squinting slightly in the strong sunlight. ‘Hi, Millie!’

‘Sorry I’m late, had to meet a lady about a barn.’

‘That’s all right. Fancy a cuppa?’

‘No time really. Have you finished yours?’

‘Mmm, shall we go?’

I stood up, left a tip on the table and followed Millie through the crowds. As we passed the pottery, I saw Abby beavering away at her potter’s wheel. She looked up as we passed and we gave each other a quick wave.

‘Right, this is it,’ said Millie as we stopped next door to the pottery. The shop was quite large and was the mirror image of Abby’s pottery. Already I had visions of my gallery here but didn’t want to run ahead of myself s it might not be suitable or too expensive. Millie fished out some keys and unlocked the door.

Inside, the premises had been stripped of everything and was just a large empty room with an office in the corner and a door next to it.

‘Okay then, this is it. As you can see, it would be ideal for the purpose you have in mind. It was decorated only a few months before the previous tenant left and the floor–being polished wood–is clean and functional. Look, I’m sure you don’t want to listen to me rabbiting on endlessly, so I’ll pop next door for a few minutes and have a natter with Abby, while you have a nose around.

‘Okay,’ I said rather distractedly, my mind already leaping ahead in great bounds. I looked around, wandered into the office, where a table and chair had been left behind. Then I opened the door which, I discovered, led to a kitchen and beyond that, a loo. It was all clean and well looked after.

Returning to the main shop, I went to look out of the front window. Being off to the side of the quay and just before the steps leading down to the beach, a lot of potential customers passed this way. I loved the fact that both the quay and the beach with the sea beyond were visible from here. Turning back towards the shop, I imagined paintings on the walls in my minds eye–not just my own, but those of other local artists too–and lots of people in here looking, and hopefully buying, the works of art. My thoughts were interrupted when the shop door opened and Millie returned.

‘Hi, Millie.’

‘So, what do you think?’

‘It’s just what I’m looking for. Am I okay with the usage?’

‘I had a word with the council. They were thrilled that you were thinking of opening a gallery. As I said before they do like to have a bit of culture here, so there won’t be any problems on that score.’

‘Now the big question, how much?’

‘That will be discussed in a few minutes. The owner’s coming around and then you can crunch figures. Look, I’ve got to go and see a lady about a cow shed, so leave the keys with the owner and give me a ring with your decision, okay?’

‘Fine.’

After a hug and air kiss, she was off leaving me in the shop to carry on dreaming about my plans and wondering how much a place like this would cost rent-wise: could I afford it? Okay, I had some money behind me and I might get a bit more from the divorce, but I wasn’t holding my breath there. Anyway, if the rent and rates were too expensive, my capital would be eaten away very quickly if things were slow. That led to another thing that I had to sort out. How to get my old paintings stored at what was my home? I needed those to fill the walls and hopefully give me an income. I was gazing at the far wall, wondering how I ought to present the paintings, when the door opened again. I looked around in surprise.

‘Abby.’

I rushed over to her and we spent a few moments locked in an embrace that made my toes curl. Anybody would have thought that we hadn’t seen each other for months! After untangling ourselves I looked at her fondly.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ I told her. ‘I’m waiting for the landlord to arrive and need a bit of moral support. I’d just love this place and being just next to your pottery is a wonderful bonus. Mind you, I bet the location means that it’s horrendously expensive.’

‘Oh it is.’

I looked at her curiously. ‘Is it? Oh hell, I suppose you must have the same landlord. Is it a he or she.’

‘She.’

‘Is she nice or nasty. I’ve heard lots about nasty landlords.’

‘The worst. She’d kick you out if you don’t pay the rent on time.’

‘Wow, she sounds awful. If you don’t mind my asking, how much do you pay?’

She looked at me and gave me a strange smile. ‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing? I don’t understand.’

‘I own the place next door.’

‘Oh––OH, does that mean you own this place too?’

‘Yes, love.’

‘H—how much do you want for rent?’

She looked at me as she stroked her chin, thoughtfully.

‘Hmm, prime location, in very good order. Ideal site, a real peach of a place–I could not accept anything less than twenty thousand a year.’

I gasped. Looking at her in her clay-splattered smock, I realised that you couldn’t really mix business with love or pleasure…

‘I—I can’t afford that. Couldn’t you bring it down a bit, after all we near enough live together, don’t we?’

‘Yes, honey, but I have to have twenty thousand for me to survive, anything less wouldn’t do.’

My heart sank. I loved this place but I had to be practical. ‘I’ll have to let it go then,’ I said sadly. She opened her arms and we had a bit of a cuddle.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said, frowning.

‘What?’ I sniffed, looking up at her lovely face.

‘Why you can’t pay twenty thousand a year, it’s not that much.’

‘Maybe not be for you, but it’s a hell of a lot for me.’ I said, kissing her.

‘So, you’re not willing to pay twenty thousand kisses a year to have the place?’

‘It’s not that I don’t want to it’s just––what did you say–?’

I looked at her beautiful face, she was smiling slightly.

‘D—d—do you mean it?’

She nodded.

‘I can have the place?’

‘Only if you keep up with the rent. Mind you, one kiss short and you are out of here!’

I squealed with delight and was soon paying the first instalment of my rent–it was hard going, but someone had to do it!

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.