Danhret and Tanya had been living on a knife edge for over two years. Now for the first time in their married life they were on the point of submerging from the slough of debt that had burdened them from the beginning. It had all seemed so easy in those first heady days of their life together. Buy now, pay later the flier had promised. Well, they certainly had paid later. But now, after two years ruthless pruning they were emerging from the tunnel. With Tanya's small salary they had paid off the last of the bank payments and once Danrhet got his money for the courses he had taught that month, they would be in the black. They had planned a little celebration. Tanya had bought one of their favourite fruit juices from the market. She was disappointed that the stallholder no longer recognised her. They had been such good customers back in the days when they had someone else's money.
Tanya arrived home first. She had no time to lose if the cake was to be ready when Danrhet got home. With the cake in the oven, she set out their best glasses. This was the last purchase they had made before... Tanya wiped away a tear, this time one of joy. These glasses, indeed the few remaining things they had, now actually belonged to them. Danrhet came home to the warming smell of castle cake wafting through the house.
'Hi darling! How's your day been?'
'Not too bad. And yours?'
'Great. Tom's going on a conference to Liverpool. I've been given three extra classes for next week.'
'But that's wonderful news. Oh darling, I'm so glad it's all over. We're going to be able to save up for some of those little extras we've been dreaming about.'
'Yes, well he's one of those little extras already. This is just to say thank you for sticking by me. You're the most wonderful woman in the world.'
Even the greatest of writers would be at a loss to describe Tanya's face as the pearl necklace came out of the proffered packaging, but its glow put off the rapidly approaching dusk by at least five minutes that day.
'But darling,' exclaimed Tanya another tear beginning to appear in the corner of her eye, 'I hope you didn't overdraw to buy me this.'
'Don't worry, everything's fine. Well actually, I did overdraw a tiny bit, but only by two pounds. What's two measly pounds compared to what I'll get for those three extra classes next week.'
She threw arms around his neck.
'But I've got nothing for you. Come on darling we're going out right now, and I won't take no for an answer. I know exactly what I want, it's in the shop window right opposite my school.'
And so with the whiff of spending in their nostrils, Tanya and Danrhet ventured into the city jungle. From the top of the spiral there was only one way down. But who cares? It was such fun.
Following her beating up by what was soon to be her x-husband, we had hoped Violette would be out of hospital by Christmas. Simon wanted her to come back to our house. Had Thérèse and Guillaume been present, he would have been more than happy to let them look after her. But they were planning on a Christmas trip to Strasbourg to visit Thérèse' parents. I initially agreed but soon began having second thoughts.
I'd heard rumours about a relationship between Violette and Simon long before I came on the scene. I didn't know much about what had gone on, didn't want to know really. What mattered was Simon's faithfulness right now, not what had transpired years before. Had I asked Simon about things right away, there would have been no problem. But before long panic set in and I became convinced the whole business was nothing but an elaborate scheme to enable Violette and Simon to get back together again.
The evening before Violette was due to arrive I drank almost a whole bottle of wine waiting for Simon to return from the centre. My mind was spinning as he stood there before me a bunch of roses and his big smile on his face. Could this be play acting? I turned my back, refusing to take the roses. In the mirror I saw the smile disappear from his eager face. I turned round and poured out my venom:
'What the hell are you playing at?' You come here with a bunch of flowers and think I know absolutely nothing about your little deception?'
Simon stared at me aghast. The next thing I knew the floor changed places with the ceiling and the hardness of underneath me gave way to the fuzzy softness of my dreams. I awoke the next morning I forced a smile and those eyes began to take on a little more of their usual brightness. I sat up but someone started playing the drums in my head. Simon's hand stroked my forehead:
'Just lie down still. Everything will be fine. What on earth made you drink what you did yesterday evening?'
I tried to think, tried to explain, but the only answer Simon got were the tears that and began rolling down my face. Simon took me in his arms and in that moment I knew. I knew that whatever had gone on between Simon and Violette before we met, there was nothing, now. I knew that Simon had not betrayed my trust and felt instinctively he never would. And I knew that before Simon left for the hospital I had a lot of unpacking to do, so I'd best start right away.
Lana stared at the entry in her journal. This was no insignificant resolution of the usual kind. This was her only chance to carry on living.
Raymond had been a member of her French class for over two years. He wasn't exactly the best of students but he was only learning for fun. He was also the life and soul of most of the after class cocktails at the culture centre's bar. Lana had never really thought very much about him until the day she'd had that bust-up with Francis. In his rage he'd said things that made her feel useless, unwanted. He'd asked forgiveness the moment she'd returned home from class that night. But in the meantime there'd been the class, the drink, the smile. Raymond's eyes had fixed her own as that smile made its way across the table. It changed everything. Before long she found herself manouevering to be anywhere Raymond likely to turn up: the library, his local, the car park. He always seemed glad to see her and occasionally they walked a while together before going home. Occasionally, there were little surprises on her desk before class. Slowly but surely Lana's mind was turning towards him.
The rows with Francis were more frequent now. And they never seemed to find time to do things together. More and more Lana began to think about starting afresh with Raymond. The more she thought about this, the clearer her picture of life with him became. At first she wouldn't permit herself to believe in these dreams. The 18 year age difference between them made it impossible. Besides, she would never find the courage to brace the subject with him. Then came news that he was leaving. He confirmed this the next time they had met accidentally at the library. He was being promoted: head of overseas publishing. That's why he was leaving. Now, learning French had become a serious matter. He would be spending three months in Chartres before settling near Nantes. He would return only occasionally to Poole.
The crisis came the day Francis left for his the Hamburg trade fair. She'd really liked these gatherings and this year declined to accompany him this time. Indeed, they did very little together by now. Returning from the airport she found the letter from Raymond. It was the most beautiful thank you letter she'd ever received. He'd already left Poole; a flying visit to his family and then France. Now was the time to act. She opened a bottle of Jura Chardonnay: his favourite. She poured out two glasses and sat staring into the empty space opposite. An hour later the bottle was empty and Lana was frantically typing the words: 'A letter I'll never have the courage to send.'
Days of torment followed. How could she have been so stupid. A few brief clicks had sufficed to send the message on its way. All that remained was the despair at humiliating herself so and the hope that refused to die quietly. Francis returned five days later. She cared little but put on a show at matching his joy at being home again. During his absence she had been constantly connecting to check her mail. Today she had to wait until evening. Sure enough there was Raymond's reply.
She'd expected the disappointment to be overwhelming. Instead, she was elated. His letter had been so uplifting, so full of grace, she could scarcely believe it. All hope of a relationship was gone yet she felt loved and cherished as never before.
All this had happened just six weeks ago. She'd replied to his mail promising herself it would be the last time. But whenever she felt lonely, she'd find another excuse. Yet, she needed more than anything to be loved and Francis was still her best chance. Slowly but surely she came to realise that she was going to have to give up Raymond. That was why she'd splashed out on the holiday in the Swiss Alps. Three weeks solitude would give them the chance they so desperately needed. They'd be leaving the very next day. Francis had reciprocated: a New Year's Dinner tête à tête in one of the South's most exclusive restaurants. Right now, he'd gone to pick up the rented car they'd use to drive to the airport in the morning. She wrote the words slowly and deliberately. This was the last time she'd...
Lana heard voices outside, then the door to the flat opened.
"Darling I'm back. And guess what; I've found the answer to all our worries; someone to babysit our flat for us while we're away. Mr. Thompson used to work with us. He"s based in France now, but is back here every now and again and is looking for a small flat. I've promised him the studio as soon as it's finished but while we're away he can stay here."
Lana trembled as she took his hand. 'I just need to go and turn up the heating. Then I'll get us all a nice glass of wine.'
'Bang goes my New Year's resolution!' replied Raymond with a smile.
I hesitate to say this - touch wood, cross my fingers and all the rest of it - but our honeymoon has just finished so we know nothing of the concepts of jealousy and neglect, other than what we see around us. But I'm afraid we do see a lot around us. When we got back to Gensdouce after our honeymoon, we were thrown straight into the deep-end. Having had no contact with the outside world, we had no idea how our little village's one and only celebrity had once again hit the news. Reports of Violette's breakup with her film-producing husband had made the front pages of all the major newspapers but the first we heard was when I phoned up Thérèse to announce our return to the living. She asked us both to come round straight away and to use the back entrance. The reason soon became obvious as the front door besieged by waiting journalists hoping for who knows what. Thérèse saw us coming and opened the gate. But neither iof us were prepared for what we saw inside.
Violette was propped up on a bedrest sleeping. Her two arms in a sling and bruises all over her face.
"That's just what you can see, the rest is worse," whispered Thérèse ushering us back outside.
"Who on earth did that to her."
Thérèse pointed to the newspaper where the whole story sat emblazoned across the front page.
"She caught him with his secretary and walked out. Unfortunately, he found out where she was , downed a bottle of whisky and came to finish her off."
"But what's she doing here? She should be in hospital."
"She refuses to go near one. She doesn't want to press charges. Says he never meant to do her any real harm. She phoned her mother and she came to us for help. Guillaume drove down up to Nice to fetch her. Who knows how the press managed to find out she was here. They turned up yesterday morning."
"But what are you going to do?"
"Once she's ready for it, we'll try and get her out into a private clinic; one where they don't ask questions. Until then she stays here."
"But we can't let him get away with this. She's got to press charges."
"She's far too exhausted to discuss anything like that. Right now all she needs is rest and loving care. As soon as possible we'll get her to the clinic, but until then there'll be no talk about pressing charges and no mention of her husband, okay."
It was on the seventh day of our honeymoon that the bliss came to an end. I guess it had to come to an end some time. If we argued before the wedding, I suppose it was ridiculous of me to think we'd never do so again. But think it I did. Not for long. My knight in shining armour not only failed me, he deeply injured me in the process.
We'd just been out for a nice long walk, profiting from an unscheduled break in the weather. I went up to our room to get ready for dinner with Simon following close behind. I opened the bathroom cabinet to take out my perfume only to be confronted with a great big hairy spider. It was enourmous and spread its legs out wide to greet me. I let out a scream and raced back into the room calling out to Simon to come and kill it. The next thing I knew there was laughter coming from the bathroom and Simon coming out with the spider between his fingers saying: 'You don't mean to tell me, you're afraid of this little beauty.' Lucky for him my frying pan wasn't close by or he'd have been the one to have a beauty!
Now who'd have thought of me as a knight in shining armour. It was at best a vague concept and never one I'd ever really aspired to. Little did I dream that Morgana might see me in that light. Still, kill a teeny, weeny spider; even I could manage that. My problem was why should I kill it? When the peace was shattered by Morgana's scream, I thought there was something seriously wrong. Then I saw the spider. True, I had heard that girls were supposed to be afraid of spiders, but a grown-up woman...? My shining armour soon revealed a giant crack as I let at a burst of laughter. It all seemed so ridiculous. Needless to say there was a heavy price to pay for that mistake. From knight in shining armour I had suddenly been transformed into public enemy number one. So all you knights in shining armour out there, be warned!
Padoum advanced slowly through the maze of alleys behind London's biggest shopping street. It would have been far easier for him to walk along Oxford Street but the Christmas shopping tradition was in full swing and the crowds were out in force. Padoum was still in shock followiug his experience on the underground. The train was already packed when it came in. Padoum decided to let it pass and wait for the next one. Bama John wouldn't mind if he was a little late for their get together. After all, that was part of the African tradition. But the moment the doors were opened he was carried along helplessly on a forward going wave against which there was no resistance. Packed inside the train he tried his best to keep his elbow out of his neighbour's ribs. The effort was vain but the smile on he young man's face every time he excused himself seemed to express that he didn't really mind. Padoum tried to do the same with the owners of any one of three ribs that dug themselves into his body at various stages of the journey. As the train pulled into Oxford Street he wondered if he was ever going to make it to the exit. But once again he was carried along on a wave of popular enthusiasm and soon found himself sitting on an empty platform drinking in the few minutes quiet he was able to get.
He made his way towards the exit and out into the street. The pandemonium was terrible. Bama John's house was between Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road. Bama John had advised him to get out there. But John had to see the lights. It was the one tradition that united this sprawling city with his village at home; every evening one small lantern after another would be lit sending a ray of light and hope out into the surrounding desert. He slowly climbed the stairs to the beckoning street above him just before another wave of enthusiastic shoppers were ruminated out from the rumbling depths below. Lost to the hustle and bustle around him he stood there in a trance gazing at the bright, coloured lights. Some were winking at him, sharing with him the secret thoughts going through his mind. Londoners were so fortunate to have this beautiful tradition. Yet, no one seemed to pay the least attention to it. He remembered the story he's written just days before. It was his first one for the newspaper. Due to the credit crunch London's new Mayor wanted to keep the lights out this year. There'd been a wave of popular sentiment when the news broke, forcing him to make an about turn. Yet, these Londoners didn't even notice the lights. It seemed they would only be appreciated once they were gone.
From acrooss the busy street the strains of a familiar carol reached Padoum's ears. Another Christmas tradition more neglected than valued. It woke Padoum out of his reverie. Getting his London A-Z out of his bag he aimed for the first street that would take him down towards Bama John's house. Even his fascination for the lights could not bring him to run the gauntlet of the traditional Oxford Street crowds on the last Saturday before Christmas. Padoum's mind was focused now. In a few minutes he would be indulging in some wonderful Christmas traditions of his own: not tinsled baubles, mulled wine and beckoning Santas but human warmth, music and the joy of reunion.
Hi everyone,
Simon's getting me to dictate this card because he says he never knows what to write. We're having a great time. Beauvue is a wonderful little place and we often wander along the cliff tops and spend hours arm in arm looking out over the vast ocean. Although we don't say much, we always seem to know what the other is thinking. But we do have to be careful. The other day I lost my balance on the rocks and if Simon hadn't been holding me, I could have had a nasty fall. The weather, of course, is terrible, but that doesn't really bother us. We have more than enough to keep us occupied.
Love to all,
Simon and Morgana
