Sign of the Times (10 page)

Chapter Thirteen

In the end the previous week’s exams seemed to go OK.
 
Today was the last one, the final History of Art paper.

“Maggie!” Josh yelled to her. “Over here!”

Maggie smiled at Josh, bouncing up and down like an over eager lamb.
 

“Are we ready?” he asked.

“Think so.”

“Last one and then we are freeeeeee. Yippee!”

Sometimes Josh really did make Maggie think of what Tigger would be like if he took speed.
 
So full of energy, Maggie envied him sometimes.
 
This was his final year, being a conventional student and not a
lifer
, as Maggie called herself.
 
He specifically chose all the supposedly easy courses, Psychology, Philosophy and History of Art so he could concentrate on his principal reason for going to university, getting laid.
 
He seemed to have accomplished his objective, too, as he was often found with some gorgeous male wrapped around him.
 
The tales of his sexual exploits were endless, but Maggie knew it was all true.
 
Occasionally she felt jealous of her friend, simply because his sex life was so hip and happening and although her own wasn’t drought-like, Josh did tend to end up with the finer specimens.

“Well, what do you think?” Josh asked.

“There were a couple of Renaissance questions which took me by surprise,” Maggie admitted, “but otherwise it was all right.”

“I only knew the Impressionists and Renaissance ones,” Josh responded, “but who cares?
 
We’re frrreeeee!!! Let’s go celebrate.”
 
Linking arms with Maggie, loudly murdering the tune to
Celebration
, Josh dragged her to the student union, where a bevy of students exhibited various stages of inebriation.

“Hic, hic, hic, Maggie, hic, how many, hic, of these, hic, bloody, hic, Marys, have we had, hic?”

“In your case too many by the sounds of it,” Maggie admonished. “Same again?” she grinned.

“Play it again Sam,” drawled Josh.
 
Maggie laughed at Josh’s gobbledygook.
 
She’d slag him tomorrow about being so drunk he was talking absolute drivel.
 
No change there then.

“Maggie. Look at me!” Josh shouted.

Turning, Maggie groaned as she saw Josh somersaulting between couches, spilling drinks and attracting as many jeers as applause.
 
He always did this when he was plastered.
 
Apparently the gay kingdom loved his acrobatics.
 
She bet they did.
 

Maggie accepted her latest round of Bloody Marys from the barman and dashed off to turn Josh upright, as he’d crashed into a speaker.
 
She was surprised he hadn’t ever been barred.
 
She reckoned the manager fancied Josh and often wondered if they had some secret liaison, which meant the poor manager couldn’t bar him, especially since he was newly married and his wife six months pregnant.
 
Propping Josh up on the seat opposite, she said firmly, “This is your last one.”

She’d had to fork out a tenner to the table whose drinks he’d spilt and she’d never see that again. Josh was always broke.
 
She wasn’t flush, but she didn’t plead continual poverty.
 
She supposed all the Paul Smith and Ralph Lauren gear had to be paid for somehow, although he
did
receive lots of presents from his beaus.
 
For someone with no cash he had expensive tastes.
 
Maggie had never cared much about clothes, particularly not in the last thirteen years.
 
You were more likely to find her gracing Oxfam, than Karen Millen.
 
Her thinking was, if it was in good nick, you could wash it and it was as good as new.
 
If it was in a poor condition, you didn’t buy it.
 
Simple.
 
What she couldn’t buy in charity shops, she bought off Ebay.
 
Thank God for the internet.
 
She flipped open her phone and called a taxi.

“I’ll call you,” Maggie told Josh, as she dumped him on his bed.
 
The taxi sat outside waiting for her.

Maggie awoke the next morning with a resounding headache.
 
Why, oh why did she do this?
 
Straining to open her eyes, she searched for the light switch and suddenly everything was illuminated.
  
She hoped she had some headache tablets.
 
After a reviving shower, she sat on the sofa, with a towel atop her head and a cup of tea in hand.
 
A slice of toast and a glass of water containing soluble aspirin lay on the table.
 
She was free, at least until September.
 
She still had to work of course.
 
Usually she did bar work or waitressing to keep her solvent during the summer.

She felt certain she had passed her exams, perhaps not top grades, but definitely passed, so she didn’t have to worry about re-sits.
 
She’d already been accepted for her next course, but she was going to have to fund it herself.
 
She supposed she couldn’t expect the taxpayer to subsidise her yearning for knowledge indefinitely.
 
She’d decided to do a BA in Geography, mainly because it had interested her at school and she hadn’t the foggiest where anywhere was in the world, unless she’d actually visited it.
 
For years, she thought Florida and California shared a coastline, until she went to Long Beach on holiday
.
 
 
Now, as she sat there, on her first morning of freedom, she wondered if she really did want to go back to university.
 
Perhaps it was time to stop being the eternal student.
  
Laying that aside for now, Maggie picked up the phone and called her friend, Jennifer.

“Hello?”

“Hi Jennifer. It’s Maggie. How are you?”

“Busy.”

“Oh?”

“The usual.
 
I’ve been up since five thirty running after Mum.
 
I’ve just given her a bed bath and was about to jump in the shower.”

“Fair enough.
 
I was phoning to see if you wanted to grab a sandwich.
 
I’m coming down to Ayr.”

“I’d love to.
 
It would get me out of here,” Jennifer sounded down.

“If you’re sure you have time.”
 

“Yes.
 
I need to go and pick up some more incontinence pads for Mum, so I can spare half an hour or so.”

“Great. See you in Caprice at half three.”

“Sounds good,” Jennifer rang off.

Dressing hurriedly, Maggie was suddenly aware she was bored of the same grotty clothes day in day out.
 
Everything was faded.
 
They were good for marches and demos, but she needed some new clothes, not many, to update her look.
 
A shopping trip after lunch would sort her out.

Maggie sat in the corner of the café tugging at her hair.
 
What a mess.
 
Josh had dragged her to the pub last time she’d thought of getting her hair cut, so it was even more of a bird’s nest now.
 
She really must do something about it.
 
Now that uni had finished, she’d have time, although she would of course be working most of the time.
 
She liked the atmosphere in the pub, the banter.
 
It was a real pub, unlike the faceless chains that were on the increase.
 
Three Monkeys had character.
 
Generations of families had been going there for years and their children would most likely do the same.

“
Hello you,” Jennifer broke into Maggie’s thoughts, dropping onto the soft leather couch beside her and dumping her carrier bags on the floor. “How’s it going?”

“Better now the exams are over,” Maggie replied. “I should have time to catch up on things.”

“Like Ebay you mean?” grinned Jennifer.

“Among other things, but yeah, that’s pretty high on my list.
 
I’ve so much junk. How do we accumulate so much stuff?”

“We buy it on Ebay I suppose,” shrugged Jennifer.
 
That’s how they had met, just over two years previously.
 
Maggie was selling a beautiful, burgundy and cream throw patterned with cream elephants.
 
Jennifer had been looking for something to brighten up the lounge in her mother’s house, after circumstances dictated she live there.
 
She had won the auction and not being flash for cash, since giving up her job at an insurance firm to care for her mum, had asked Maggie if she could come and collect it, to save on postage, as she lived nearby.
 
Maggie agreed and was pleasantly surprised when she met Jennifer.

Maggie had made tea whilst Jennifer surveyed Maggie’s other Ebay items.
 
There were several Jennifer was interested in.
 
Maggie showed her the condition of the books and the foot spa, which was still boxed and the TV, which made a slight buzzing noise, but which had a reserve price of a fiver.
 
They had talked for a good few hours before Jennifer, horrified at the time, left to attend to her mother once again.

“What do you want to drink?” Maggie asked.

“I hear cinnamon lattes are good.”

“They
are
good,” Maggie confirmed.

“Can we have two cinnamon lattes please?” Maggie asked a passing barman.
“I’ll bring them over.”

“So, what have you been up to?” Maggie leant her arms on the table.

“The usual.
  
Mum’s demanding as ever,” she rolled her eyes.
 
To lend some levity to Jennifer’s situation, they pretended her mother was just a nightmare to live with, instead of the incapable, broken woman she’d become, thanks to the mytrophic dystrophy she’d developed four years ago.

“Are you still entering as many competitions?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah.
 
I spend half my day filling out postcards to win holidays or cars.
 
Imagine, me with a car.
 
I don’t think I’d remember how to drive, it’s been so long.”

“You’d manage.
 
Have you won anything yet?”

“A few things. A CD wallet, a pair of spyglasses, don’t ask!”

“OK, have you won anything useful?”

“No, although I did win a makeover session in London.”

“You’re not going are you?” Maggie was horrified.

“When would I have the time?”

“That’s true, but you know it’s all a con to make you part with more money?”

“Well, I suppose so, but you
do
get a makeover and a photo of the newly improved you.”

“Yes, but trust me, it’s a scam.”

“This sandwich is great,” Jennifer changed the subject.
 
“What did you get?”

“Chicken tikka.
 
It’s not bad, but it’s expensive in here for sandwiches.
 
£5.95. How many loaves can you buy for that?
 
You could probably buy a couple of chickens too.”

Jennifer almost fell off her seat laughing.
 

“Well, you can get enough for a meal for four for seven quid and cafes want six quid for the paltry slice on your sandwich.”

“Good point,” concurred Jennifer.
 
“Anyway, when do you start back at Three Monkeys?”

“Tuesday.
 
I told my boss I wanted a few days off first.
 
I’ve so much to sort out.
 
The flat’s a bombsite.”

“I know how you feel,” said Jen, as Maggie concealed a smile.
 
Jennifer’s house was spotless.
 
She spent so much time in it, it had to be, or she’d go stir-crazy.

“So what are you up to for the rest of the afternoon?” Jennifer asked her friend.

“I thought I’d go shopping.”
 

“Oh. Asda or Tesco?”

“No, clothes shopping.”

“Clothes shopping?
 
What’s the occasion?”

“I’m just fed up with the same old same old.
 
I fancy something bright.”

“Red?”

“Perhaps, or maybe green or yellow or purple.”

“Good for you. Top, shirt?”

“Not sure.
 
I’ll just see what jumps off the rail and says
Buy Me
.”

“There was a nice purple three quarter length shirt in Oxfam the other day,” suggested Jennifer, “might still be there.”

“No. Today I’m opting for chain stores.”

“Are you feeling OK?”

“I need a change of image.
 
I’m going to go and get this mess sorted out too,” Maggie pointed at her hair.

“Right, what have you done with my friend?
 
Bring her back,” Jennifer kidded.