5. Dance of the Swans
The statues look down with tears in their eyes,
They cover their ears and can’t hear her cries
The sun was framed in a blue tinted cloudless sky. The gentle breeze fanned a cool breeze of air across the horizon, making it a rather pleasant afternoon as Don set Mark and Sarah down at the motorway services. Sarah-Jane was still buoyant.
“I’m hungry, let’s get some eats”
“Okay, but we’d better walk into the town, it’s not far and these places are well pricey” Mark replied adjusting the rucksack on his tender shoulders.
Sarah planted a kiss on his surprised lips; she was certainly not the same shy seventeen year old he once knew. They held hands, or rather, Sarah clutched Marks hand so tightly he felt the blood flow would stop, and they walked off in the direction of Stratford town centre.
Stratford was busy as usual. It was the sort of place that tourists loved. It was always busy whatever time of the year; it was constantly crammed full of Americans, Japanese, or the odd Belgian who had got lost on the way to London. The famous well-preserved Norman castle at nearby Warwick was one of the main attractions, but there was the river and Nature Parks, numerous historic buildings and quaint streets jammed full of gift shops; plus of course the Shakespeare connection. Every little trinket in the myriad of souvenir shops carried the great mans portrait even the buildings tried to get in on the act: The Shakespeare Tavern, The Bards Head, The Playwright Rooms.. In fact every part of the beloved poet was turned into a pub, hostelry or eating establishment of some kind. Nearby Chesford claimed association with a proudly displayed signpost: ‘The city in Shakespeare’s County’. The mere fact that Shakespeare spent most of his working life in London and had probably never even heard of Chesford, seems to have escaped the city councils notice, No matter back to the plot. Mark bought two packs of sandwiches, some fruit, chocolate and two cans of coke, in one of the small shops of the small shops that hung so decoratively over the winding streets. The couple made their way to the riverbank to enjoy their snack.
Mrs Swan looked magnificent her white plumage radiant in the sun and her family drifting behind her in rigid formation, their tiny bodies hardly making a ripple on the glass surface of the water. Mark and Sarah-Jane walked alongside the river watching the gliding swan and her entourage, admiring their twists and turns reminiscent of a ballet dancer in a white tutu. They followed the winding river through the flood plain, across the little stone bridge by the theatre and made their way downstream to find a quiet place that Mark knew where no one else came. He wanted to get Sarah alone, and away from the crowds of peering eyes and inquisitive ears. She was too hyper and Mark thought a little tranquillity might calm her tortured soul.
Just after a wide bend in the river, where a small tributary leaves the main spur for ‘Price’s meadow’ a large clump of willows shelter the riverbank from the path. Mark sat Sarah down under the canopy of the largest tree. He liked this place, it was quiet, not quite off the beaten track, but hidden from view because of the hedges and trees; he had come here last summer and sheltered from the blazing July heat. Mark had never like the sun and always avoided it whenever possible. Sarah like most women with dark colouring revelled in it and spent many hours cooking her skin first to a delicate pink and then to golden brown. Mark’s skin never got past the salmon pink stage.
They lay side by side. Mrs Swan had taken her ballerinas into the reeds back to the hidden nest. Wispy clouds had just begun to enter the vista of the light blue ceiling. Sarah tried to make sense of their shape.
“There’s a dragon up there- can you see its tail” She enthused.
“Sort of.” he lied.
“See its head, over there?” Sarah pointed at the fluffy cumulus, “and look it’s breathing fire, see?”
“Yes” said Mark unconvinced.
Lying on the banks of the Avon the sun bright in its picture-framed sky, trouble seemed a million miles away but it was only hiding behind the dark trees waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting lovers. Mark was gentle with his angel. Having known Sarah since he was seventeen the two years had been idyllic. He felt protective towards her, perhaps it was the age gap, they had not even had sex until after Sarah’s seventeenth birthday, and even then, it was at her instigation. Mark had grown up during the two years relationship into a mature and responsible adult. Sarah-Jane on the other hand appeared to have stuck into the schoolgirl mode and not ventured into the world of maturity.
“Can I ask you something, sweetie” Mark spoke softly, closely holding Sarah into his body and breathing in her sweet-scented hair.
“Mmmm. “She sighed dreamily, then rolled over, brushing her skirt as she did so.
“You’ve got your serious head haven’t you Markie?”
“Yes- I need to know about Enoch, what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on Mark, I don’t like Enoch you know that”
“He’s been spending at lot of time with you lately, at the club last week-end, and I heard about the incident at church from Paul”
“Oh that! Look I panicked when I saw a spider and ran out, Enoch just happened to there, that’s all. Ask him why, I don’t know” Sarah slipped into defensive mode “What’s all this for anyway” She smiled her eyes brighter than the suns rays staring at her inquisitor.
“Spiders?” Mark knew the terror they brought on in Sarah-Jane, but never understood the reason why. Sarah smiled back at her stern faced lover, trying to distract him from his goal.
“You would tell me if he was giving you any stuff, wouldn’t you?”
“Mark!” She sat upright removing her arm from Mark’s chest.
“Don’t get all huffy, I’m concerned, that’s all” Mark injected.
“You shouldn’t even need to ask that question” by now, Sarah had stood up and was pacing up and down. It reminded Mark of his visits to the headmaster’s office at Fosters
“Look at me Sarah and tell me you’re not taking anything,” Mark demanded.
“I’m not, I’ve told you” Sarah turned round “Honestly Mark” she offered her arms in an act of conciliation- Mark took them (even though he two of his own). He really did not know why he asked her to turn round and look at him, because like most men Mark could never tell when a woman was lying. Sarah-Jane Sullivan was particularly adept at this skill; her large brown eyes were warm and inviting, her smile so sweet and innocent. She could be hiding a six-inch dagger behind her back and Mark would not have known.
He reached up to caress her and pulled her tightly into himself. She took the initiative, and stroked it gently. They made love, the lush grass sighing in unison with the exquisite movements, the low moan of distant cattle appearing to echo their approval and the sun smiling down on the joined couple as they climbed the mountain of Venus to the very summit. Even the swans came out of their hiding place to dance in accompaniment.
They danced on the wings of whispers in magic oceans of the mind.
The tender arms of silken smiles holding hands in a forest of love
Sigh, she said and Sarah moved, waiting dancers call her name
How swiftly now the forest clears and silver dreams disguise the path.
……………………………………………………..
Robert Simpson, Bob to his friends and family was still trying to work out why Lucy had left him. Sure he was angry and yes, he had raised his fist and hit her, but only once and it had not been hard – well not that hard, she had belted him a few times. He remembered particularly the can of Baked Beans that bounced of his skull necessitating the need for visit to casualty and three stitches. Theirs was certainly a volatile relationship - the children thing did not help the situation – it threatened his masculinity, his very being. He was not sure why it affected him so deeply, but it did. Anyway, why had she gone now? And where to? She was lost on her own. (The self-delusion of the average male never fails to amuse the women of this world. Bob was convinced that Lucy would be back home within a week. That was six months ago - and it still hurt!). He must have tried the mobile a hundred times that first fortnight. The last time he tried it, all he got was the unobtainable tone and the ‘No such number message’. She’s had it disconnected She must have changed the number, Bitch! Thought Bob she didn’t even give me chance to explain'
When the letterbox flapped, Bob still hurried to collect the mail even now he in spite of everything he expected to hear something, just a note would do - anything. Five letters came today, two brown envelopes, one circular of the ‘You have definitely won a prize, please ring this really expensive phone number to claim, variety; two red reminders for gas and water and an official looking business envelope from Nat West Bank addressed to Mrs Lucille Simpson. Bob stared at the manila. envelope, he knew that Lucy banked with Nat West; he even knew the account details because she used to write everything down like that in the bureau upstairs. He had once tried to contact her through the bank but obviously they refused to give him any information. Bob opened the letter making no attempt to be careful and try and hide his deception, he ripped open the envelope and read the contents:
Dear Mrs Simpson,
We have today made the necessary arrangement for your account to be transferred to our Chesford branch and can confirm the continuation of your salary credit from D.L.T on the last day of each month.
Please do not hesitate to call us if we can be of any further assistance.
Yours faithfully
Mr John Collins
Asst. Accounts Supervisor
Chesford? Where the hell is Chesford? Bob thundered to himself whilst rummaging through the bookcase for his Road Atlas. “Christ Almighty! – It’s miles away!” In fact it was 200 miles away but Bob had rarely been out of Newcastle, so the Midlands was indeed a journey too far. They had managed the coast in the past, he and Lucy; they had even been up to Scotland, but never south. That was a different country. They spoke a different language, didn’t they? Just as north of Watford is non-existent for Londoners, south of Manchester did not exist for Bob.
He sat staring at the map in his atlas glancing at the small town of Chesford, up to Manchester and then across to Newcastle. He picked the letter back up and re-read it, as if it might have changed, but no; Lucy was still in Chesford and he was here in Newcastle two hundred miles away. He was not about to go chasing after her. Why should he – she knew where he was – he had no real idea where she was living now. It had only been a mistake by the bank that had got him this far. No he could not go. Damn her! He thought he had just about forgotten Lucy, now this. I’ll be damned if go chasing after her he said to himself, ‘Damned if I will. “Trudging half way round the country looking for a needle in a haystack.” Bob was seething inside at the injustice of it, in fact what upset him more was that fact that Lucy might actually be making a success of her life without him – male pride hurt again!
“No, no, no! I won’t go” Bob continued the tantrum that only he could hear.
“I just won’t” and he threw the letter into the waste-bin.
Morbid statues turn to cry and wave their arms for all to see,
At silken chords that bind the shadows of memories
and desperate lives that fill the air of the Velvet Sun Factory…….
Larry was happy, he had finished early today, another twenty miles, or so and he would be home. He would take the van back his place as usual, come in late tomorrow and everyone would think he had not got back till much later.
“Traffic was bedlam down there” he would say when they asked him; Larry was laughing to himself the times he had pulled that one. The truth was the Fat Man knew exactly how long journeys took; he used to do everything himself in the old days, as he constantly reminded his workers. But Larry knew all the drops by heart, all the short cuts, plus he got on really well with the customers and even brought back the orders occasionally, so it was worth putting up with his games, even to the extent of him playing dodgems with the company vehicle. I suppose there might come a time when enough was enough, but for now Larry’s’ job was safe.
Just as he was approaching the traffic roundabout on the Stratford bypass, he stopped at the Pelican crossing. No pelicans were around so he drove on, and then he spotted a familiar face: ‘was that Mark with a rucksack on his back and a bit of totty in tow? – Yes it was Mark Hero and that gorgeous girlfriend of his what’s-her-name (When it came to females, Larry could never remember names - face, clothes, bust size, inside leg measurement, and what colour their underwear was, but not their name) He honked twice on the vans’ horn.
Mark turned at the noise to see the white van with red lettering: ‘Pointers Inks Ltd’ and a beaming Larry waving through the driver’s side window.
“Quick Sarah, here’s Larry from the factory, we’ll get a lift all the way home”
They climbed into the cab and were greeted with a jovial smile” The wanderers return eh. Good weekend you two?”
“Yeah not bad thanks” Mark answered, “Going back to base then?”
“Nah – don’t be silly. I’m finished now. I’m off home, I’m still in Taunton me and that’s official,” Larry laughed
“I don’t know how you get away with it” Mark commented, shaking his head.
“Experience that’s what it is lad - once you know the roads you can find your way anywhere. In and out before they know it, Lightening Larry they calls me” (Mark had never heard anyone call Larry ‘Lightening’; Wrecker, Lazy, but not Lightening) “If there’s a short cut I’ll find it
This job is booked for ten hours, is it my fault if I finish it in six?”
“Can you drop us at Sarah’s’ place first down by the square?” Mark said nodding slowly, still flabbergasted by the arrogance of his colleague.
“Yeah fine–are you up for some beers then?”
“Yes if you like, where you going?”
“Larry’s place – I got plenty in”
“Hey! What about me” Sarah-Jane eventually interrupts the cosy chat” I am still here you know!”
“Yeah, babe I know, but I promised your mom I’d get you back safe and sound before seven” Mark tried to placate his unhappy sunshine girl.
“And sober” Larry joined in
Sarah was sulking now; you know that rather pretend sullen look that women can throw up at a moments notice. She undid the ribbon in her hair, tossed her head in a preening gesture showing off her dark flowing locks to best advantage. She folded her arms and looked straight ahead.
“Do you now how sexy you look when you’re angry?” Larry ventured
“Leave her Larry, don’t tease” Mark said.
Sarah lent over Mark and pecked Larry on the cheek nearly causing him to cross the white line in centre of the carriageway “Hey what was that for?” he said
“Just for being a gentleman and not a pig like him,” Sarah replied dug Mark in the ribs and then resumed her haughty pose.
The silent treatment lasted for at least five minutes; Sarah-Jane found it impossible to be angry with Mark for long. Anyway, she knew he was right; she did not want any more hassle from her mum and certainly could well do without her father going on one of his rants because she came home drunk in the daytime. Mr Sullivan was very old fashioned and chauvinistic; women he thought should never smoke, drink or gamble; as a matter of fact he would chain them to the kitchen sink and only release them to move them into the bedroom. He was from a very old Northern Irish stock (almost Irish stew!) He spoke in the loud brash drawl that was never quiet and most people in Robert Close Close knew when Mr. Sullivan was at home, which funnily enough was usually just after closing time.
“Any news of the fire” Mark asked
“Nah, not really, I left work early this morning but the H.S.E are supposed to going in today to collect some samples, you know to try and recreate the conditions – load o’ bollocks! Sorry ‘csuse my French” replied Larry forgetting the young lady’s’ presence.
“It’s not French it’s an Arabic word” Sarah ended her silence.
“Ooh get the scholar” Larry retorted.
Sarah smiled her wonderful smile that melted icicles and Mark squeezed her hand tightly, she kissed him quickly so as not to embarrass Larry.
“Don’t you think they will find anything then?” Mark continued his enquiry.
“Nah – told you I’ve seen it all before. For spontaneous combustion to occur the temperature, the moisture, everything has to be just right, just a fluke really. It was a freak accident. I suppose they have to try to discover what happened, what chemicals were involved, that’s their job. Probably mean a re-organisation in the stock racking, more bloody work for me”
“They could always let Bobby do it he drives the fork lift” Mark was half laughing as he said the words; he knew exactly how Larry would react.
“Captain (I was in the army) Womach?” Larry was spitting feathers, there never was any love lost between Bobby Womach and Larry” Have you seen him drive? Anyway Jack told me since Bobby tried to demolish the factory they would not let him near another fork-lift, he said he either wait for me to be free, or do it himself”
“Can’t say as I blame Jack, I watched the Captain as he tried to rearrange the top office” Mark replied smirking.
The road travelled silently underneath them and soon familiar sights came into view. Larry stopped the van in the square and Mark and Sarah- Jane got down from the vehicle.
“Gissa a couple of minutes Laz” Mark said as he escorted Sarah-Jane towards her house. She was much calmer now Mark thought, and looking more like the radiant being, he knew of old. Mrs Sullivan looked out of the bay window when she heard the gate-latch and rushed to open the door, so Sarah did not have to use her key. The warm maternal smile that greeted them as the door opened, showed the extent to which her mother had missed Sarah; she might be on the verge of womanhood but to Edna Sullivan Sarah-Jane was still her ‘baby.’
“Thank you very much Mark” Edna said, “Are you coming in for a coffee?”
“No thanks Mrs S, I need to get back and change out of these clothes. I’m looking forward to a nice relaxing bath,” Mark answered.
“Yes of course – see you soon then I expect, thanks again for bringing her home safe”
“Oh mum” Sarah sighed at the way her mother was fussing “We’ve only been away for three days” she planted a restrained kiss on Marks’ cheek and went inside. Mark returned to the waiting van, where Larry was remonstrating with a man with a yellow band on his head.
“Sorry” Mark said as he clambered back inside, realising he was the cause of Larry’s’ predicament “No problemo” Larry replied doing a poor Swartzenegger impression. He accelerated away leaving the traffic warden frustrated and one short on his quota for the day.
Waiting in the darkest corner lives the memory of the mind.
Hark! I hear another calling, softly through the wings of time.
Michael was trying hard to support his weight to make Lucy’s job easier, as she lowered the pulley into the bath. Although he had recently begun to respond to her humanity in kind, he still had fits of depression. She had tried on more than one occasion to snap him out of it. She tried talking, telling him anecdotes, although she had never talked about Bob; that was one part of her life she wanted to erase from her memory. She had even tried to instigate a sexual encounter on one occasion only to be rebuffed with “I’m not in the mood”. (This was strange really, because Michael was always in some sort of mood). Lucy found his moods hard to take, but she understood what lay behind his morose, dark side and consequently was able to circumvent most of his bad humours. Lately however, Michael was on a high. This was the happiest he had been since the accident. Lucy did wonders for him and if anyone could permanently snap him out of his depression, it would be Lucy. She was his nurse, cook, cleaner, lover and friend. ‘More than any wife’ he thought, she was his entire world and his only link with the real one. She was part of his entire being. Goddam it he was in love with her!
She let the water trickle over his fine firm body. To look at him lying in the foaming bathtub, you would not know that he was disabled. His muscular chest and upper arms belied his inactive status and gave testament to his former athletic prowess. Lucy massaged the soap into his smooth back vigorously rubbing, in some vain hope that feeling may return to his spine. She gently kissed the nape of his neck, something she had done before to see if there was any response, she fancied that he did seem to feel more lately. She had read before about nerves re-growing, was it possible or was it imagination? Or was it just that Michael was now more in tune with her body and respected her feelings, anticipating the correct response. Either way Lucy remained convinced that Michael now had at least some movement in his injured limbs.
She carefully washed Michaels’ hair in the coconut shampoo and after attending to the lower part of his anatomy and rinsing him, she left him for a few moments to soak whilst she dried her arms in readiness for the haul out. She towelled him dry and dressed him, which compared to the very first time she had done it, was a hundred times faster. She was far more adept now, and Michael was much more helpful. She sat him down on the settee.
“What shall we do today then; anything planned?” she asked him
“I need you to take me into town please that's one of the reasons I wanted a bath – I need to go shopping”
“Any special or just browsing” Lucy inquired.
“Oh special – very special indeed” Michael beamed and Lucy thought she detected a playfully wicked glint in his bright eyes.
“Am I allowed to know what it is” Lucy responded getting quite curious now
“No it’s a surprise” Michael laughed, he could see the humour of keeping a surprise from Lucy when she thought that she would have to buy whatever it was for him. Michael, however, had other plans.