November 1971 (part 1)

Two

Amelia's house, later that night

"Mother, we're home."

"You know where to find me."

Alice and Amelia shared a glance. Of course they knew where to find her- Catherine, Amelia's mother and Alice's aunt, spent most of her life sitting in her chesterfield armchair next to the television in their front room. Without even going into the room, the girls knew that she was sat in that chair at that exact moment, with an overflowing ashtray on the side table and a face full of makeup. In her nineteen years of life, Amelia could never remember seeing her mother without makeup.

"How was your day?" Alice asked gingerly, as she sat down on the edge of the sofa. Amelia closed the curtains before joining her cousin.

"Same as every day. Have you seen the news?"

"No, what happened?"

"Just more politicians talking about putting an end to violence, et cetera. I wish this stupid shite would just hurry up and resolve itself."

"Mother, they're calling it a guerrilla war. It's not going to just go away."

"It might," whispered Alice. Amelia smiled- Alice was the most important person in her life, her younger cousin and soul mate. Abandoned by her mother at just thirteen, she had clung to her older cousin ever since, and they were almost the same person.

"It won't," replied Amelia curtly. Just because she loved Alice with her whole heart, she wasn't going to be soft on her. Amelia was a great believer in the cruelty of the universe since Arthur's departure, and wasn't going to let her cousin go into any sort of war unarmed- whether that battle was political or emotional warfare.

"Amelia, you are too gloomy. Alice, will you find something for dinner?"

Alice left silently.

"Mother, Arthur's replacement started work today."

"Jesus Christ, he's only been gone a few weeks! What's the new person like?"

"Oh Mother, he's awful!" Amelia exclaimed. "So obnoxious, and conceited, and cocky... and he's English!"

"Your manager is a fecking i***t. He hired an English boy in the midst of all this?" She gestured to the muted television. "You may have to start looking for another job- you'll still need to help me with the bills when the Ardee goes out of business."

"We won't close down, Mother." Amelia kicked off her shoes, and then immediately put them back on upon seeing her mother's cutting expression. "But I think I should leave anyway. This Jonathon is insufferable."

"He's attractive, then?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You only complain about men who ruffle your feathers. When you first started at the Ardee you moaned about Arthur every night until he took you out."

"This is different. He is quite possibly the worst person I've ever met."

"So it was a long day, then?"

"Well to be quite honest, I only spent about half an hour with him."

"Amelia" Catherine started laughing; her voice was hoarse. "You've let your mind run away with you again. Overexaggerating everything... pass me those cigarettes."

Amelia took one out of the packet as she gave them to her mother, then waited for Catherine to hand the matches over. They both silently inhaled the menthol smoke, then breathed it out like dragons. Well, Amelia saw them as dragons.

Her mother was, and always had been, the strongest presence in Amelia's life. She dedicated her life to teaching Amelia how to be decisive, and independent, and strong-willed, and how to be her own validation. She refused to admit defeat, even when her daughter spent three days in bed crying about the sudden departure of her boyfriend of just four months. Catherine remembered how good it felt when she realised at twenty four that she was proud of the woman she'd become, and desperately wanted that pride for her daughter. You may not like this woman as you read more about her- I know that I wouldn’t, were I not the kind of woman Catherine wanted to raise. But I, like Amelia, have been raised by a woman whose presence both terrifies and empowers me, and so maybe I will write more kindly about Catherine than I perhaps should. Please be patient- I am trying to be accurate.

"Give the boy a chance."

"He called me sweetheart!"

"Well he's from England. They do things differently there." Catherine was always convinced she was right in her prejudices, one hundred percent of the time.

"Mother, you've never been to England."

"My friend has." Ash fell onto her hand, and she knocked it into the ashtray.

"Which friend?"

"Alice!"

Alice scurried back in. "We could have a roast?"

"It'll take ages. My bag is somewhere in the hallway, go down to the chip shop. I fancy a sausage."

Alice and Amelia snickered. "I'll go up to change," said Amelia.

"Good, I'm sick of you clumping around in those shoes." Catherine stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray, and contemplated another before closing the packet. "And remember what I said- give the boy a chance."

"No chance," Amelia laughed, and went up the stairs as quietly as she could. She hated making unnecessary noise in the house, and the floorboards were creaky. Her bedroom was as messy as she'd left it that morning, and as she collapsed onto the pile of clothes covering her bed, she thought about what Catherine said.

"She can't be right," Amelia said to herself. "He's insufferable."

But the logical part of her brain- however tiny- reminded her that Catherine was rarely wrong.

Two

Amelia’s bedroom, the next week

Her eyes were sleepy and dry as she rolled over between her sheets, and she only opened one to check the clock next to her bed. 8.30am- that was fine. She had time. She winced a little as her feet touched the floorboards, lifting and then resting them back down, into her slippers this time. Amelia hated mornings. She would never be a morning person.

“Mother!” Amelia called down the stairs. “Please make me some tea, I still need to wash my hair!”

Twenty minutes later, she arrived in the kitchen, dressed in her bland work clothes with wet curls stuck to her cheeks. She grabbed her scarf and coat from the back of a dining chair, and wrapped herself in the fabric. “We really need to get more heating in this house.”

The tea sloshed over the side of the cup as Catherine slammed it down in front of her daughter. “Are you going to pay for it then?” Amelia was mute. “Alice! You’re going to be late!”

“I think she left already,” offered Amelia, taking a cigarette from Catherine’s packet. Her mother snatched the little box out of her hand as she took one, but was too late: Catherine was holding an empty box, and the last cigarette was in Amelia’s hand. She scowled, and took another packet out of the top drawer.

“Who’s at work with you today then?”

“Eileen, of course. Maybe Matthew.” Amelia frowned- her match box was empty, so she took one of Catherine’s matches too. “I think Jonathon is still hiking, so-” Oh god, what was his name? He was a boy who worked with Amelia very occasionally, a friend of Matthew’s son… Anyway, he was filling in for Jonathon for a few days. Apparently there was some sort of eclipse or something and he simply couldn’t miss it. 

“How was it yesterday? Without Jonathon,” asked Catherine.

“Brilliant,” said Amelia moodily, through a mouthful of tea and smoke. “No one flirted with me obnoxiously, and I still have coffee in the jar!”

“Are you going to leave your hair like that?”

Amelia glared at her mother. “Seriously, Mother, it’s pissing down with rain outside!” she exclaimed. “If I do something nice with it, it will only look exactly like this when I get to work.”

“You’d look so much better if you let me cut it for you.”

“No.”

“Not even just a little off the bottom?”

“No!” Amelia was irritated- why did her mother always decide that nine in the morning was a good time to say these things? Now Amelia would spend the day worrying about her hair. She held the tea tightly between both hands, and felt she was being frozen from the inside. “I have to go.”

“Now?” Catherine hid her dismay well, but when Amelia and Alice were both gone, she was lonely. Sometimes I think she only insulted them because then they argued back, and it kept them in the room longer.

Amelia nodded, gulping the rest of her tea in a single motion which scorched her mouth. “I’m supposed to be picking up some milk and newspapers from the shop on my way in.”

“You won’t be late, will you?”

“No. Shall we have chips again tonight?”

“Will you stop spending all my money?”

Exasperated, Amelia slammed the door behind her, then opened it immediately after. “Have a good day, Mother,” she said, much softer.

Catherine smiled. “Love you.”

Amelia sat in the car for several moments, waiting for the heat of the engine to melt the thin layer of ice which had settled on her windows. Once it did, she found herself wishing the freeze would creep back across the glass and shield her view. The entire world around her was grey- people say that a lot when they’re writing, don’t they? But I don’t mean this metaphorically. I mean that everything she could see was grey, that sort of murky grey when everything is veiled in mist, where everything is almost hidden and only half there. The headlights on her second-hand car weren't very bright, and she drove a lot slower than usual. It felt that the world was hidden from her.

“You’re late.” Eileen didn’t look up from her crossword book as she jokingly scolded Amelia, but her cheeks lifted into a smile.

“The fog is really bad,” explained Amelia. “I had to drive really slow.” She dragged her scarf off her neck, and started towards the staff room. “Who else is here?”

“Everyone,” replied Eileen.

“Everyone?” Amelia didn’t bother to hide her dismay.

“Well, I think so.” Eileen seemed distracted. She was probably just struggling with her crossword puzzle. “I’m not sure if Jonathon is here today, but Matthew hasn’t brought anyone else in to cover for him. And, speaking of Matthew…” She gestured behind Amelia, from where Matthew was approaching. “Look busy, and pretend you’ve been here for a while.”

“You’re late,” Matthew stated as he drew closer.

“I’m not!” rebuffed Amelia. “I just haven’t taken my coat off yet. I’ve actually been here for twenty minutes.”

“Your coat is wet.”

Eileen chuckled, and Amelia sighed. “Sorry boss,” she said amicably.

“I’ve left a list of tasks for you both in the staff room,” he informed them.  “I’m heading to a meeting in another town today. If you have any questions, please don’t call me.”

“Noted.” Amelia headed over to the staff room, joyful that she would have some coffee left to wake herself up with.

Once she had scalded her mouth on coffee, Amelia headed outside. She wasn’t entirely sure what Matthew wanted her to do with the noticeboard, but she decided that refreshing the writing and doodling on it should take up enough time that it would make her seem busy. She was cross-legged on the ground, eyes half open, thinking about a book she’d just finished reading. The heroine was a duchess, trapped in a loveless marriage in 16th century England, who embarked on a love affair with her childhood friend- a lowly marquess. Amelia thought as she doodled of how it would feel to be the duchess- to wear a dress which brushed her ankles, and how it would feel to have the hands of a man she hated rip it off of her. She then imagined the soft touch of a man she loved, undressing her first with his eyes and then with his delicate hands, his hair tickling her face as he bent down to kiss her with lips that tasted of sweetmeats and desire-

“Do you need any help with that?”

She slumped. Of course Jonathon would arrive in the midst of her fantasy. “No,” she snapped. “Shouldn’t you be inside?”

“We cancelled our 10.00am viewing; nobody turned up.”

“Of course. I thought you were still hiking.”

“I got back this morning.”

“And you came into work?” Why couldn’t he have granted her just one more day of peace?

“I just can’t stay away.” His hair was speckled with tiny drops of the fine rain; a strand fell forward from behind his ear and he tucked it back immediately. “It must be the warm welcome I always get from you.”

“Ha.”

“So, can I help?”

“No!” The annoyance was hot in her veins, climbing up her cheeks. “Why are you out here?”

“Because it’s cold, and raining, and I thought you could do with some help.”

“It’s always raining.”

He kneeled down next to her. “Still. You shouldn’t be out in the rain.”

His being so close to her made her uncomfortable in a way which was hard to understand. He wasn’t quite touching her- he never had- but he was close enough that the cold air was made less frigid between them by the heat of his body. She was grasping for words, but found nothing. He edged closer, and his arm was pressed gently against hers. She clutched the chalk in her hand tighter, feeling its dryness between her fingers, the fine dust falling and leaving speckled blue marks on her trousers.

“I’m used to the rain,” she told him in a voice so calm it didn’t sound like hers. “You, on the other hand…”

He laughed melodically. “I’m an outdoors man, me! Hiking, camping, sailing… you’re never outside for longer than it takes you to walk from your car to your front door.”

“And you know that for sure, do you?” She felt the aggravation quickening her heartbeat again, as his gaze landed on her face and she allowed it to linger for a moment, before pulling her eyes away and focusing on the notice board.

“You’re predictable,” he told her, to her disapproval. “I know you better than you think.”

As he leaned across her, still touching her, adjusting the lettering on the noticeboard, she became acutely aware that only a few layers of clothing separated his skin from hers. She imagined, once again, how it would feel to be the duchess, with Jonathon the forbidden marquess. She pictured his skin- she was sure it was unblemished, except for maybe a few scars- she knew his body told many stories, and for a moment that made her feel sick she started telling them to herself.

And then he moved.

Her irritation flooded back- if it wasn’t already enough that his every word pissed her off, now he had her picturing him with his clothes off. Her grip on the chalk tightened and she felt it snap between her fingers.

“Well, I’ve been out here long enough,” he announced.  “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work too?”

She decided that maybe she could keep her infuriating thoughts at bay- if only she kept listening to him speak.