Diary of a Provincial Lesbian Read Online Free PDF Page B

Nic. ‘So pick an afternoon. I’m all yours.’
    ‘But the thing is Nic... ’
    Georgie interrupts, ‘The thing is Nic, the bloke next door has asked her to join his Neighbourhood Watch Scheme a couple of afternoons a week, Margaret doesn’t feel she can put in the required amount of time with the gardening.’
    Stunned I manage to nod my head, ‘I really can’t this year, Nic. Any watering or weeding you need help with... ’
    ‘And even that may be a problem. You know, I need the car for work and it’s a good two mile walk to your house,’ Georgie says.
    Nic beams. ‘I quite understand. No problem. To be honest I rather fancy having a shot at the prize on my own this year. I feel lucky. Got the bronze. Been there, done that. I say skip silver, go for gold. Mind over matter. I’m visualizing that golden trowel mounted on a dark oak plaque above the lounge fireplace.’
     
    Later when they’ve gone home I ask Georgie how she knew I didn’t want to enter the competition. She said, ‘I heard you practising your speech in the back bedroom. Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want to do it?’
    ‘I thought you’d be annoyed. Nic is your best friend.’
    ‘Nic’s quite capable of winning her golden trowel without any help from you. Just one thing, I wasn’t lying about the bloke next door and the Neighbourhood Watch. He’s popping in next Tuesday about five o’clock to speak to you. You don’t have to say “yes”. You can say “no”.’
    But could I?
     
     
    Feb 12 th
    Georgie off to Argyllshire this morning. As always when setting off to vistas new, she was remarkably cheerful. She says that it wouldn’t do for both of us to get miserable and someone in the family has to maintain a stiff upper lip.
     
    Feb 14 th
    A splendid day! Got up and fed the cats. All in good humour, even Tilly who allowed me to rub the top of her head with my chin after her usual ‘Nood norning’. ‘Nood norning Tilly,’ I said. Must watch this. Could become an embarrassing habit. ‘Nood norning’ is becoming second nature to say while ‘Good morning’ is starting to sound like a greeting in a foreign language. Made cup of tea and allowed myself, as it was a rather special Saturday, to add two chocolate bourbon biscuits. Took this back to bed. Ate both bourbons before tea cool enough to drink. Allowed myself two further bourbons. Opened the bedroom curtains and lay in bed listening for the postman. Ours is a quiet street apart from the seagull cries and I can hear the postman when he is several houses away. He whistles old tunes made famous by singers like Connie Francis and Pat Boone which I imagine could be very irritating for his partner (if he has one), but is useful for alerting those lying expectantly in bed to his proximity.
    This morning he was whistling San Antonio Rose . Mum used to have this on an LP by Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys. A very long time ago. I know not how I remembered so much information, I just did. Perhaps some early babyhood memory of Mum dancing round the sitting room on her own.
    Up my front steps the postman clumped. Clump, clump, clump! Clatter! went the letterbox, followed by a soft thud as the post landed on our patterned coir door mat.
    Listened for his retreating clump, clump, clump . Once, several years ago I whizzed down to collect the post wearing only bra and pants. Met postman’s startled eyes peering through letterbox at me. Disembodied voice says, ‘This one won’t fit through the box, what shall I do?’ ‘Just leave it on the step please,’ I’d called out before darting hunched into the sitting room. Letterbox clattering shut. Was mortified. Heard postman’s exclamation, ‘Blimey! She’s a big girl!’
    Bills, bank statements, a jiffy bag, but yes, there it was. Georgie had remembered - my Valentine’s Day card. Took card and jiffy bag back to bed. Opened card - two ducks sitting next to each other on a squashy red sofa kissing with open beaks. Words: