Calendar Girl (19 page)

Now she is cold.

Saz was halfway through her third cup of tea before the subject of Maggie was even raised. She’d looked all through the house – the spare room, the one she was “interested” in, she’d met Keith’s kids as they ran out of the door to a party – and pretended delight at the prospect of sharing a house with three teenagers.

“No really, it’s brilliant – you just never meet young people otherwise, do you?”

She’d looked at the garden – ad nauseum – Annie had told her the latin name of almost every plant there, not to mention their planting dates, the likely time of maturity and how she’d cook them. Saz admired the holly bushes and “organic” Christmas tree. She’d been so enthusiastic about the garden that Annie had even threatened to take her to their allotment until Saz confessed she was “dying for a cup of tea” and followed Annie inside, assured of a night suffering from more hayfever than she’d had since she’d been forced on a nature ramble in the third year. And over tea, no gingerbread, just Annie’s homemade fruit muffins, she’d managed to discuss Caroline with Keith.

“Oh, it was just a small fling really, hardly a relationship at all. It was not long after my wife had died, I was grasping at straws. We were together for about two months when Carrie decided she really was gay after all and I realised that a bit of grief was in order.”

“Grief for Carrie?”

“No, grief for my wife.”

“Oh, sorry. Mind you, I don’t think it’s just her sexuality, Carrie has trouble enough deciding to stay in the same place for three months, let alone with the same person.”

“Yeah, well, she’s young still, maybe she’ll grow out of it.”

The kitchen door slammed and Dolores streamed into the room, dressed completely in various shades of pink – bright pink gingham skirt, faded pink silk shirt and pale pink tights thrust into monkey boots – painted white with fluorescent pink flowers.

“Grow out of what?”

“Interrupting other people’s conversations hopefully.” Annie gave her a kiss.

“Darling this is Saz Martin – she’s come to look at the room.”

“Oh, right. Hi Saz.”

“Hello.”

“Are you a dyke?”

“Dolores!”

“It’s OK – if she is she’ll be charmed by my candour and if she isn’t, then she’ll know what to expect from at least a third of our friends.”

“Yes, I am gay.”

“Good guess huh? Mind you, things were so much clearer when lesbians wore the uniform.”

Annie pulled Dolores down by the long pink scarf she wore round her ponytail.

“You can talk! Ms Femme Fatale. And anyway, as I only advertised the room in
Capital Gay,
an advert that you paid for, it hardly counts as a good guess on your part, does it? Now shut up and be nice to our guest. You could put the kettle on if you want.”

Dolores jumped up from her knee.

“Can’t, I’ve got to get changed, I promised Maggie I’d go round and see her.”

Saz suddenly became very quietly interested in her tea cup.

“Why, have you spoken to her?”

“You know I haven’t, not for ages anyway, I’ve tried calling her but there’s never any reply and I’m sick of leaving messages on the answerphone. However, I did say I’d go over some time and this is the first night that I’ve had free and according to
Time Out –
she’s free too.”

Saz looked up.

“Your friend lists her free evenings in
Time Out?”

“No, she’s a stand up, you might have seen her – Maggie Simpson?”

“Oh yeah, I saw her a few days ago actually. She was really funny. We had a drink together.”

“You were drinking together?”

“Well, just one.”

“Brilliant! Did she like you?”

“I don’t know.” Saz looked confused, the conversation wasn’t going anywhere near September.

“Dolly!”

“See Annie? Now if Maggie likes Saz …”

“Dolores! Maggie already has a girlfriend. Just leave them alone.”

Keith poured Saz another cup of tea.

“Annie’s right Dol, stay out of it.”

“Well it can’t hurt just to take Saz with me can it?”

“I’m sure Saz has got a lot more interesting things to do than tagging along with you. Anyway, maybe she’s got a girlfriend of her own.”

“Have you?”

“Ah, no, actually. I haven’t.”

“Are you looking?”

“Not really. Sorry. Look, I don’t want to be a bother, and it’s probably time I left anyway.”

“Well, where do you live?”

“Camberwell, why?”

“That’s settled then. Maggie lives in Stockwell, I’ll take you home via her place. Goody, I’m going to get changed.”

Dolores ran upstairs and the next thing they heard was the slamming of several doors and cupboards.

“Ah yes – another dressing trauma. It’s traditional around here. For her anyway. Sorry about that Saz,” Annie started to clear away the tea things. “Dolores used to go out with Maggie and she still feels very responsible for her. Maggie’s had a bit of a hard time with her girlfriend recently and Dol has this idea of finding her someone else.”

“What she doesn’t appreciate is that they love each other, even with all the crap they’ve had, I think those two are going to be together forever. I can’t see Maggie ever letting her go.”

Dolores strode back into the room and threw her arms around Annie, nearly causing her to drop the three tea cups she was taking to the sink.

“That Keith, is merely a myth maintained by one who believes in true love. Which as we all know is completely unobtainable – unless you happen to be called Dolores and Annie!”

Her hair was scraped off her face. New, even thicker black lines prowled under her eyes and she was dressed from head to toe in a black cat suit and black leather boots and jacket. She looked stunning.

“Look at you, you big butch thing.”

“Now, now, brother-in-law, don’t display your jealousy. You know I always dress down to cross the river. Coming Saz?”

Saz, spotting the best opportunity she’d seen in ages, readily agreed to the visit. She arranged to call Annie the next day muttering nice things about the house and about having to “think it over”.

“Yeah fine, it’s a shame that you’ve met Dolly now, Keith and I were hoping she’d stay out until we persuaded you to move in. Anyway, give me a call if she hasn’t done too much damage and let me know what you think.”

Saz followed Dolores out to the street where she was confronted by her transport – a gleaming Harley. Dolores threw a helmet at her and shouted,

“Get on! This is my favourite part of the day. Early evening sunset, cold wind – we’ll be there in no time.”

Saz sat behind Dolores on the bike, clutching at the leather thing in front of her as they roared through various side streets and across the river, sun just setting in the bend at Westminster and the wind sculpture on top of the NFT glowing like a beacon at the entrance to the South. When she got off the bike Saz reflected that while they did indeed get to Maggie’s flat in no time, she’d also had no time to ask anything about the elusive September, let alone her real name. She followed Dolores up the steps of the Georgian house, two baskets of well nurtured geraniums hanging on either side of the door.

“Is this a housing association place?”

“No. Good old-fashioned private sector – Maggie’s girlfriend has expensive tastes.”

“Must be hard for Maggie to keep up with?”

“I don’t know, but they seem to do very well – they’ve got all the ‘things’! Right, they’re on the second floor so she’ll have to come down to let us in.”

Just as Dolores put up her hand to ring the bell, the door opened. Maggie was obviously just leaving.

“Fuck! You scared me! What are you doing here?”

“Just come for the visit, babe. This is Saz, she said she met you the other day?”

“Oh yeah, ah – at a gig?”

“Yeah, I don’t mean to barge …”

“Look, I’ve got to go out, I wasn’t expecting anyone – I can’t … I’ve got to get some milk.”

“It’s OK, we’ll wait.”

“No, I … You can’t.”

“Perhaps you’d rather just see Dolores, I can go home, it’s fine.” Saz started to walk away.

“No, I don’t want to see Dolores, I don’t want to see anyone. Leave me alone. Go away. Leave us alone.”

Maggie started crying. Not normal crying, not the crying that went with her agitated words but a sort of soft moaning. She slid down the side of the door and Dolores caught her just before she fell to the floor. They held her between them and walked her up the stairs, Dolores alternating between comforting Maggie and abusing her for being so heavy. They went through the door to Maggie’s flat and Saz was blasted by the shock of cold air that came at her.

“This way Saz, this is her place, and through to the lounge, that’s it, just here.”

She pushed open the door to the lounge.

“God, Maggie, it’s bloody freezing in here. What’s happened, had the power cut off?”

But Maggie was in no state to answer her. The closed curtains were little protection against the cold wind blowing in from the open windows behind them and other than the little amount of street light, the room was very dark.

“The light’s over there, on the table. You get it, I’ll hold her.”

Maggie was still moaning slightly when Saz flicked the switch. She turned back to help Dolores.

Dolores who was white as a sheet and looked like she too was about to faint.

Saz followed the line of her stare to the armchair where she came face to face with September.

And so we’ve just been staying, in together. Me and the woman I live with. The Woman with the Kelly McGillis body. We don’t go out, it’s cold and dark outside anyway. There’s no point.

It’s cold and dark inside too.

I stopped answering the phone, and once the tape was used up, I just unplugged the answer machine and let it ring.

We sit here together, but she won’t speak to me. As if it’s my fault. She’s trying to make me feel guilty. And I do.

Catholicism is so similar to Judaism. As my mother’s friend Lorna used to say “There’s only a page between them.”

Neither of us have ever read much.

Sometimes I try to get up. Out and about. And I think I should tell someone, but I don’t know who to tell. She didn’t want anyone to know about that man. Or what she was doing. She didn’t want anyone to know, so I don’t know who to call.

The phone keeps ringing. It’s probably her mother. She can’t have spoken to her for weeks now. But if I pick it up,
I’ll have to speak to her. And I know she wouldn’t want that. Neither of them would want that. And I feel like I’m on my best behaviour now, I have to be, I can’t do anything worse. I can’t make it any better either.

It’s very quiet here now. When the phone’s not ringing. Very quiet. No sounds of us arguing. No sounds of us making love.

I picked her up from the floor, I didn’t think she’d want to lie there. She was heavier than I thought she’d be. Heavier than the last time I picked her up. Carried her in my arms. There was some stuff, where she’d been lying. Like she’d thrown up. But not much. I tidied it up. Tidied her up. And there was some powder. Coke I suppose. I don’t know. I don’t know about these things. She knows about these things. They just happen on the TV I think. Not really. I don’t know about the drug stuff. It passed me by. I only like beer. And gin, but only with lots of tonic and ice. I tidied it up. I want to tidy it all away. Put it all away. But I know I can’t. I have to do something. Tell someone.

It was very cold when I woke up this morning. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep. I can’t tell any more. I’m going to keep the curtains closed from now on. I don’t want him to come back. He messed up the bedroom when he was here before. He messed up our lovely bed. I don’t think I’ll sleep in it again. He’s got his money now. He should just go away. But I don’t know if he will.

I saw a funny thing this morning. I didn’t notice it before. She’s not wearing any shoes. And she was. When she fell. When I hit her. When I made her fall.

Fall from grace. Goodbye paradise.

When I ran out of the room – she was wearing shoes. And now she’s not. I don’t know why. Maybe he wanted to see her feet. I don’t understand. She liked having bare feet. Used to take her shoes off as soon as she could. And she always put them tidily away. I didn’t give her a chance that night though. I found them in her cupboard. I don’t suppose he put them there. I don’t suppose he even knows which cupboard is hers.

I’m dozing a lot. I keep dreaming she’s talking to me. Telling me things. She comes to me in my sleep, dressed like a spy. Like Mata Hari. The spy who loved me. We talk in my dreams. Talk like it’s real.

We don’t argue in my dreams.

She doesn’t lie in my dreams.

Then I was in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, getting ready for her funeral. I was wearing black, not much makeup. I’d been crying. The room was very steamy so I opened the window and there she was. In the garden, picking strawberries. I ran down the stairs and outside. The grass was cold and wet on my bare feet. She turned and smiled at me. I was so happy.

“You’re not dead. You’re not dead!”

“No, but I am very sick, I’ve got to get this ready.”

I looked down. I saw she wasn’t picking strawberries but digging them up. Only she wasn’t doing it right. She was digging too deep. She was digging her grave.

“No darling,” I grabbed her arm “No. You don’t have to be buried. You’re not dead any more.”

“But all the people are coming for my funeral. I can’t let them down.”

She wouldn’t stop. She kept on digging. She was digging her grave and kept saying she had to hurry to finish in time for the funeral. She wouldn’t listen to me. I was pulling on
her arm, trying to pull her back into the house, but she wouldn’t come. She wanted to keep digging.

I woke up. In a cold sweat. And then I realised I’d been dreaming. It was a dream. She wasn’t digging her grave after all. And I felt so good, it meant she wasn’t dead. I was crying with relief when I opened my eyes properly. And I saw her. And I knew she was right. Even in my dream she was right. She’s always right.