by Celia Jenkins
cold tea with biscuits
“Honestly Joyce, where’s your stamina?” Winifred called
back as she reached the summit. Every year the cliff paths around Guernsey
seemed to get steeper and steeper. The two friends had been walking this way
since they were girls.
“I’m no spring chicken, you
know,” Joyce puffed as she joined her friend.
“More like an old hen,”
Winifred laughed. It was a clear day and the view was breath-taking.
Joyce took off her sunhat and used it to fan herself.
“We’ll have less of that, thank you.” Joyce feigned a mood before tapping her
friend on the arm, “What a pair we must look.”
Winifred smiled, tucking
escaped wisps of damp hair into her headscarf. The pale blue Japanese silk
brought out her eyes, grey like the sea after a storm. Joyce brushed herself
down and examined her hands carefully.
“I don’t believe it; I’ve
broken a nail.”
“Oh woe is you.” Winifred
laughed, shouldering her rucksack once more. “Come on, let’s get a move
on.”
“Can’t we sit down yet? I’m
dying for a rest,” Joyce complained, sounding more like a moaning teenager than
a woman in her late sixties. Once more Winifred was chuckling.
“And where, pray tell, do you
plan on doing that? I don’t see any benches, do you?” She shielded her eyes to
the sun, “I’ve spotted one just along the path. It’s not far.”
She set off with Joyce
dawdling behind. In Winifred’s bag a flask of tea clinked as it jostled back and
forth. The air was thick with the smell of sea air, and the paths were lined
with yellow. The gorse was always beautiful at this time of
year.
“Do you remember when the
three of us would walk these paths, all in a line like a crocodile?” Joyce had
caught up and was reminiscing about their childhood days.
“We were all so fit and
healthy then,” Winifred said, nodding.
“What about that time when we
all brought our beaus?” Joyce slapped her knee and gave a big-bellied
laugh.
“Remember it? Do I ever; I’ve
never heard a man complain so much in all my days; it’s no wonder we never
brought them walking again.” Joyce smiled at the memory as they finally reached
a bench. Sitting down, Winifred recalled those young summer
days.
“Let me see, there was you and
your John, I brought dear Arthur, and then Dorothy...” Winifred
said.
“Who was it that time? There
was always someone new with Dotty,” Joyce shook her head, remembering all the
young men their friend had dated.
“Was it James? You know; the
sweet one who was always bringing her flowers?” Winifred tried to
remember.
“No not him, it was...oh,
what’s his name? The one with the funny hairstyle, fancied himself as the fifth
Beatle," Joyce said.
“Oh, Rick. I’d forgotten all
about him." Winifred opened her rucksack to pour the tea, “Oh goodness, I’ve
sprung a leak.”
The tea flask had snapped open
and Winifred’s bag was dripping. Pouring out the little that was left, Joyce
opened the packet of digestive biscuits, which had been crushed to
crumbs.
“What a disaster,” Winifred
grumbled.
“Never mind, more for the
birds.” Joyce shook out the rucksack as a robin peeked hungrily near their feet.
Out near Saints Bay a little fishing boat bobbed back and forth, seagulls
swooping overhead.
“Dotty would have loved
today,” Joyce said, sighing quietly into her tea.
“She would; always such a
summer girl. Up and down the beach in her swimsuit. Do you remember that time we
went swimming and she nearly drowned?” Winifred asked.
“I do, but I still say she was
just trying to get a date with the lifeguard. I think she did, too. ”
Joyce and
Winifred sat in thought about their old friend. Dotty was always so bright and
bubbly, always so full of life. How sad it was that she had to be the first to
go.
“How long is it now?” Joyce
asked.
“Two and a half years. ”
Winifred shook her head. “I can’t believe it’s been that long. Sometimes it
seems much longer, but other times it’s like she just popped in for tea the
other day.”
“I know what you mean. Arthur
hasn’t been gone the year, yet I still feel I’ve spoken to Dotty more recently.
Poor Dot, do you think she’s watching us now?” Winifred asked.
“For sure; she and Arthur will
be having a right old laugh at us two puffing and panting our way up these
cliffs. I don’t know why we do it to ourselves, Winifred.” Joyce put down her
empty cup and salvaged half a biscuit from the crumpled packet.
“Well, just look at the view.
How many old girls like us manage to see this fantastic landscape?” Winifred
gestured to the horizon beyond.
“Do you see France? It is
France, isn’t it? My geography is so awful,” said Joyce.
“You ask me this every year
Joyce and every year I tell you; yes, it’s France. It won’t ever change; next
year you’ll ask again and it’ll still be France on the horizon.” She peered
intently out to sea. “Though my eyesight is getting worse and worse, I can only
just make it out.”
“Now who’s the old hen?” Joyce
dug for another biscuit, “It doesn’t seem right, does it? Being here without
Dotty. We didn’t make it last summer, that was just after your Arthur went.
Before then it was the three of us.”
“You’re right, it is odd only
being us two. Like tripod with a leg missing.” Winifred packed up the flask in
her bag which was drying nicely in the afternoon sun. “The brains, the brawn and
the beauty, that’s us.”
“Oh yes? Well Dotty is the
beauty, most certainly, and I suppose you fancy yourself the brains, so does
that make me the brawns?” Joyce laughed to the sky, glasses going askew as she
tipped her head back.
“Well, I suppose if you don’t
want to be the brawn you could be the… the bothersome one,” Winifred smiled,
jumping energetically from the bench and heading down the path, “That’s quite
enough of a rest I think, or are you going to be bothersome and trail
behind?”
Begrudgingly, Joyce followed
along the path.
“Ok, if you say so Winifred,”
Joyce tried to keep her friends pace, perking up suddenly, “When we get back to
Icart point, can we have an ice cream please? Pretty please?”
***
Joyce felt like her knees had turned to jelly as she
reached the end of the path. A little over clouded, the sky was dark with the
promise of rain, yet on she walked. After the mistakes of her last hike, Joyce
had donned a pair of good walking boots and shorts instead of her skirt.
“I bet you’re having a right
old laugh at my knobbly knees, aren’t you Dotty?” It was three years to the day
that her friend had died, and Joyce was walking alone along the cliffs. Had it
really been so long ago when all three friends had run along these paths, all
short skirts and ice creams melting down their wrists? Some days Joyce half
expected to see Dotty jogging towards her down the path, chattering about her
latest romance. This fanciful image not quite out of her head, Joyce looked up
to see a familiar face.
“Winifred? What are you doing
here?”
“Oh, you know, just having
some time with Dotty.” Winifred smiled, patting the empty seat next to her on a
brand new bench. Joyce sat down and admired the view.
“This is new,” she said,
motioning to the bench.
“I commissioned it, for
Dotty.” Winifred smiled from ear to ear, turning to reveal the little plague set
into the seat. It read To Dotty, who so loved these cliffs. One day we’ll be
together again; the Brains, the Brawn and the Beauty.
“Oh Winifred, it’s lovely.”
Joyce touched the gold lettering before gazing out to the horizon once more. The
clouds seemed to be dispersing, a blue sky bursting forth to illuminate their
day. From the tumbling cliffs right down to where they grey sea rocked and
swayed, birds swooped through the air and bumblebees moved lazily between
flowers. The hazy scent of heather crept up from the rocks, and in a field
nearby, three inquisitive rabbits basked drowsily in the
sun.
About the author
Celia Jenkins is a freelance writer, specialising in writing for
children, light-hearted romance and travel writing. She also moonlights as a
café girl, senior caregiver, and language teacher. In her free time (ha!) she
likes reading, knitting, cooking and hitting the gym. @CeliaJWriter www.celiajenkins.com
No comments:
Post a Comment