Well be staying with you for a bit, since we havent a penny to rub together for a place of our own! declared my old friend to me in a voice that echoed down a corridor lined with mismatched clocks.
I am a woman of restless energy, despite my 65 years. Even now, I flit from place to place in search of odd characters and stranger stories. I look back on my youth with both warmth and sorrowhow free those golden days were! One could take the train to the coast and spend lazy afternoons dodging seagulls and building castles that crumbled at high tide. There were camping trips in tangled forests with friends who sang under dripping leaves, and there were strange journeys on wobbly boats sailing any river one fancied. None of it required much more than a few pounds, a wink, and a dash of daring.
Of course, all of that has blown away in the English wind, as so many things do.
I have always loved meeting new peopleon pebble beaches as rain fell sideways, in theater queues that stretched around corners. Some of those improbable meetings turned into friendships that lasted yearscrooked, sturdy, and unlikely.
One dusky summer I met a woman called June. We holidayed in the same crooked boarding house where the wallpaper quietly peeled in floral patterns. We parted ways as dear friends, sending each other the odd card when Christmas came foggy and cold. Then, one autumn evening, a telegram arrived. It was unsigned, a single line tapped out: Train arrives at three in the morning. Wait at the station!
Puzzled but not moved, my husband and I didnt budge from bed. But at four oclock, the bell clanged and echoed like church chimes bouncing along empty cobbled streets. I opened the door, and there was June, flanked by two teenage girls with tangled hair, a grandmother in a trailing shawl, and a tired, silent man. They arranged their mountain of battered luggage in our hallway, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. My husband and I stared like rabbits in torchlight. Still, we let the whole motley crew in. June peered at me with a half-smile that ticked like a grandfather clock and asked, Why didnt you fetch us? I sent a telegram, didnt I? And taxis these days charge an arm and a leg!
Im sorry, I muttered, but I never knew who sent it!
Well, I had your address, June said briskly, so here we are. I thought wed stick to writing, honestly
June explained that one of the girls had finished school and wanted to go to university, so the entire family had turned up to support her. Well just stay here with you! No hope of renting anywhereits too pricey in this part of London, and youre so close to the centre!
I was dumbfounded. We werent even related. Yet suddenly it was bowls of porridge for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch, and stews that never seemed to feed everyone for dinner. They brought odd groceries in stained bags, but they never cooked a thing. I felt like a maid in my own home, ferrying teacups and clearing crumbs no one admitted dropping.
After three claustrophobic days, I cracked. I told June and her brood to pack up and find somewhere elseanywhere at all. Chaos broke loose. June was wailing and smashing plates, her voice rising like a siren as she hurled mugs and spoons around the kitchen. I staredhalf furious, half dreaming.
And then they left, but not empty-handed. Later I discovered my dressing gown gone, several towels vanished, andhow on earth?my largest saucepan, still brimming with cabbage stew, simply disappeared. There was just a circular wet mark where it once sat.
That was the abrupt, surreal end of our friendship. Thank heavens! I never saw or heard from any of them again. Since then, I greet new acquaintances a good deal more warily, as if they too might turn into a dream I wouldnt wish to revisit.
