The Summer of '83 Read online

  And of course I want to say something corny like: "All the poorer for not having you in it, Serena," but that would be lame and this is a joke after all, so I'll have to say something light and smart and say it soon, or it'll ruin the moment.

  But what is it like, twenty five years from now? Do I say the world's economy has collapsed, that the financial institutions these stripey shirted, brace twanging proto-tycoons are constructing around now will turn out to have been nothing more than a sophisticated con-trick? No,… too downbeat. But then I remember I was not particularly happy here in the '80's either - sure I wasn't sinking in a sea mortgage hell and torpedoed investments, but what I was was forever falling in love with a long string of women, none of whom ever knew my name, which from where I'm sitting now, back in '83, suddenly seems a whole lot worse than looking at my building society statement every year and thinking: shite!

  But she's waiting - the moment sliding away and if you want to make a decent joke, of course timing is everything. I give her a smile, as warm as I can muster, and then I hear myself, like some ham actor from a '40's movie say in clipped English tones: "It's all terribly dull I'm afraid."

  I'm a hit: she's laughing now and my heart is swelling. How I wish I could simply hold this moment than take things any further, but the times are holding on to me, and it seems each moment from now will be whatever I choose to make of it.

  "You're a nutter," she says, but flicks me a smile and a coy look that I take as permission to proceed - but carefully.

  "Shouldn't you be in class?" I ask.

  "Study period," she replies. "What's your excuse?"

  "Me? I'm meddling with the nature of space and time."

  But this raises barely a grin - too pretentious. Must keep it real! "Well,… seriously, I've attended this lecture so often I know it by heart."

  "Lucky you."

  "What time are you in college 'till?"

  She pauses before replying. I'm being too obvious now but my gambit is rewarded by that coy look again. "Four," she replies. "You?"

  "I'm here 'till nine."

  "Nine?"

  "I'm a day release student," I explain. "We get twelve hours of lectures a week - all on the same day unfortunately."

  "Ah,… then you have a job?"

  "Yes. I'm an engineer." I might have said 'designer', but I'm worried she'll think I mean fashion or something. But what's this? She's interested: she's lifting her chin, fastening her eyes a little more steadily upon me.

  "Reeeaaaally?"

  Now, it's not that engineering's a sexy kind of job - it's more that just having a job at all makes me seem a little more mature than your everyday college boy. I earn real money while the guys she's been out with so far have most likely all been full time students and dirt poor. Sure,… this is what she's thinking - trust me. Now I'm not exactly a rich man, but I can afford to spend money on her, and every woman likes to be made to feel she's worth a million dollars - it doesn't make her shallow. Anyway, that's the female side of the equation. As for the male: one side of my head may be pushing fifty - which is the side that's thinking straight, thinking ahead, and urging caution, but the other side is twenty three and thinking very little, except how much I want to show her the car, or preferably get her into it. I'm young you see and I want to wave my bright yellow, two litre metaphorical willy at her.

  "Do you need a ride home?"

  She shakes her head and I cringe inwardly. That was too much, too clumsy, but I note she's careful not to push me so far away. "I mean I don't know you, do I?" she says.

  "True. True,… "

  "Anyway," she goes on, teasing. "If you don't get off 'till nine how can you?"

  "I'll probably skip the rest of today," I tell her. "What I really want to do,… " I mean if I blow it here, I'm thinking, "is take the car for a blast over the moors - there's a little pub I know. Cosy. Good restaurant. I'll probably hang about up there for the evening."

  "Sounds nice." I can see her balancing the potential of my rather subtle invitation against the risks of being stranded in the wilds with a psychopath. "Well,… . I see you often enough in the refectory at lunchtimes," she calculates. "So, I sort of know you already, all little."

  "Yes,… you do."

  "I don't need a ride home though - I only live five minutes away."

  "Right. That's very,… convenient." My how this girl likes to tease!

  Is she inviting me back to her place? No - don't be an idiot. Her place will probably include a mum, a dad and an annoying little sister.

  What do I do? What do I do? Time is ticking. Her hands are curled around her coffee cup, her arms flat upon the table and I see her turning her wrist a fraction so she can tell the time. She's so lovely, so perfect,… but I fear I'm losing her now.

  "Study period almost over?" I ask.

  She nods, and though she does not smile, there is a look in her eyes that betrays her pleasure in the time we have spent together.

  "Sorry," she says. "I don't mean to be rude."

  Our eyes are lowered a fraction. She's waiting to see what I'll do: if I'll try to blurt in a last desperate pass. She's perhaps hoping I won't, but being terribly polite in giving me the opportunity to embarrass myself. "Well,… " I say. "Maybe you'll let me buy you coffee next time."

  She's surprised by this. It gives her the easy way out, the chance to smile and say "maybe", and retreat with both our dignities intact, also the chance of a follow up if she feels like it, or the chance to avoid me if she doesn't. Really, I wish I'd had this much sense when I was younger, instead of being so damned gauche and backing girls into corners all the time.

  "Well,… " she's saying. "If you happened to be parked down Menses Park Terrace, say just after four,… you never know,… we might bump into each other again."

  And if I'm not mistaken I think I've just scored.

  "You never know," I tell her. "And maybe if you were passing, I could ask if you fancied joining me for a meal,… at that pub?"

  "And maybe I'd like that," she says.

  She's in a hurry now, drains her coffee and with a last look at her watch, pushes back her chair, flashes me a smile, and says it was nice talking to me. I nod dreamily, and she's gone before I have time to ruin the moment by saying something stupid.

  Well, come on then! There's no time to waste. We'd better pay up, and get out of here. I know we've hours to kill before four o'clock but I remember it was always murder parking down Menses Park Terrace, and we'll probably have to circle a bit before we find a spare slot. I don't want to leave anything to chance, you see, and it'll give us an opportunity to get a feel for the car again. And maybe,… sure,… while we're there, there's somewhere else I think I'd like to show you.

  Okay, that wasn't too bad. The car goes like a dream doesn't she? A little wild on the corners by modern standards, but plenty of kick! Anyway, here we are, just pulling into a space on Mesnes Park Terrace. The college is over there, and Mesnes park is to our right. We've still an hour to kill, so I thought we'd take a look in the park because I've not been in there for ages and, well, the place is kind of special to me for a number of reasons.

  I'd forgotten how green this part of town is, all cherry trees and wide open spaces. It's just a stone's throw, and yet a million miles away from the bustle of the centre. And here,… see? Isn't this a pretty park? Look at the lawns, and the colourful borders. You won't find parks like this anywhere else in the world - it's so English, so Victorian. See the bandstand? The ornamental lake? This is where I come at lunchtimes when the weather's good. It gets me out of college, gives me somewhere quiet to be on my own and lick my wounds.

  If you don't mind we'll just sit here on this bench for a bit. We've been lucky with the weather eh? Today's exactly as I remember it: warm, and the scent of fresh cut grass. But it was always a pleasure tainted by the perpetual loneliness of being in love, and always disappointed by the reality of love's apparent indifference to me. Still,… no need to dwell on that now: I'll soon be
seeing Serena again. She'll be sitting beside me in the car, and I'll take her to that little pub. We'll talk over a decent meal and get to know one another,… we'll feel so grown up and sophisticated - then I'll bring her home and drop her on her doorstep and say: it was fun, wasn't it? I really enjoyed being with you. And she'll blush and maybe give me her number and we'll arrange to do it again sometime soon.

  What's that? I said: We'll arrange to,… what are you looking at? You look like you've seen a ghost,… .

  Woah!

  Didn't I tell you Faye was a looker? Crikey, I'd forgotten she used to wear her dresses as short as that! That's her bench over there you see? Didn't I tell you? This is where we first met. This is what I wanted to show you, just for completeness really, though it's a while yet before our time comes, and I wasn't expecting to see her today. She was sitting over there, reading Wuthering Heights. I was going through a bit of a Bronte phase myself and was reading The Tennant of Wildfell Hall - made a change from Newton's Laws and Mhor's Circle. Anyway, even from a distance we couldn't help but notice one another's books and we made a joke about swapping them when we'd finished. It was said light heartedly but - you know how these things work - I looked out for her every time I was in town after that, and in the end we did exchange books. Her telephone number was written on the very first page and the rest, as they say is history,… or rather my future.

  Look at her legs as she sits down and crosses them. Aren't they sexy? You can nearly see her stocking-tops! And the way she dangles her shoe on the end of her toes? Oh,… but she looks so pretty,… . so young and lovely! I don't mind telling you I feel a bit awkward now, sitting here, knowing I'm about to be going off with someone else shortly, and maybe you think it's wrong, but you're forgetting: Faye doesn't know me yet and it would complicate things if I were to do what you seem to be urging me to do and take my copy of Wildfell Hall out of my bag - yes I know it's in there - I've seen it too. Oh, Faye: red high heels, big bushy hair, a slash of red lip-gloss, electric blue eye-shadow. How I used to ache for you! Where did you go, my love? What happened to you? What happened to us? Do we really change so much as we age - or are we the same, and we just forget who we are?

  Okay, maybe we should move on. I'm beginning to feel a bit strange now, like I'm going to wake up. Talk to me will you. Say something. Why do you have to be so flipping quiet all the time? Oh,… I think it's too late,… we're slipping free,… . no sense in fighting it - once we start to slide there's nothing we can do to stop it,… here we go.

  Damn!

  Don't worry, it wasn't your fault. I think it was seeing Faye that did it. I wasn't expecting that at all. Let me come round for a moment, then well go back into the house and check on her. Does everything look as it should to you? I mean the shed. I could swear there was something,… oh never mind,… I think the tea was a little too strong. Do you have a funny taste in your mouth? Yak!

  So, anyway, here we are. The house is all quiet. We've been away a bit longer than I expected and everything's in darkness. There's just a light showing under the lounge door, and I can hear the TV, so I don't think I've been missed, but I'm feeling guilty about the Serena thing, so I'll salve my conscience by asking Faye if there's anything I can do. It's a little weak I know and she'll suspect me at once of something underhand but, really, seeing her as she used to be has reminded me of what it was that drew me to her in the first place . She was every bit as pretty as Serena - I'd forgotten that - but there was something else,… and I'm really glad I woke up in time before I had the chance to disgrace myself. Anyway, here we are:

  "Faye,… I was just,… "

  Okay.

  You'll have to excuse me for a moment while I think about this.

  Yes,… I can see it's not Faye. But who?… . Oh, I get it - It's Serena of course! Nice one! She's padded out a little, and there are lines around her eyes - not unattractive, I might add. Its more her expression that's so shocking - the same dull, deadness - just like Faye: those lifeless eyes reflecting nothing but the crap she's watching on TV. So,… I take it we've slipped forwards, not to our old future, but to our new one?

  Fine, just so long as I know where I am!

  On the up-side, it seems our courtship went well and we've managed to share a life together, but on the down-side, unlike my life with Faye, I've obviously not had the pleasure of remembering the best bits of it. I've gone straight from that tingling anticipation of our first date, to surfacing directly here into the featureless plain of our later years, a time when it's all been said and done, and we can barely be bothered looking at each other any more.

  "Serena?"

  She's barely aware of us,… fortunately, the TV is on so loud she didn't hear me calling her Faye.

  "Serena, can I get you anything?"

  She waves her hand dismissively. Clearly I'm disturbing her and I suspect we'd be as well retreating back into the kitchen.

  Now, given the rather shopworn outcome of both these relationships, I agree it seems I'm most likely the one at fault here, since I'm the common denominator in them both. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about that though. I mean I could do the decent thing while I'm here and try to perk things up with Serena, but since I don't remember anything of our relationship I don't know how I'm supposed to do that without her knowing something's wrong, and maybe making things even worse.

  So that leaves me wondering about your part in all of this, and how we seemed to bump into each other at that particular time and place. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I'm thinking it's you who's been married to Serena all this time, that this is your future, and that maybe lately you've been haunted by memories of a woman sitting on a park bench flashing her stocking tops and reading Wuthering Heights? A woman who caught your eye and smiled at you as you were waiting to go out on your first date with Serena perhaps?

  Okay. Fine. Well, I trust that, like me, you know what it was now that you really left back there in '83, and now we've found it we can both avoid screwing up our lives any further. It was really weird bumping into you again, and you understand if I hesitate to suggest we do this sort of thing more often? For now, I'd be obliged if you'd just put the kettle on and hand me your almanac. With a bit of luck the moon's not moved too far away from the ecliptic,…

  … . and Faye's still sitting on that park bench.

  From the same author on Feedbooks

  Love is a Perfect Place (1999) A short story by Michael Graeme - a twenty minute read: He scooped some water up and drank. It astonished him. It tasted like he imagined the most perfect water should taste, but it was a sensation spoiled by the queer fact that he wasn't thirsty even though he had walked for hours under a hot sun.

  "Perhaps we don't need food,... or water," he said. "Only when it pleases us."

  He looked around then at the land and he felt a chill. What manner of place was this? And what manner of being had he become?

  * * *

  The Enigma that was Carla Sinclair (2004) A short story by Michael Graeme (a 45 minute read):

  I was not completely unhinged. She was just a computer program, a crude simulation - at best a never ending animated cartoon with only one character and no story line. But she was "something",... a hobby I suppose you might say. Other young men had hobbies, equally obscure, though perhaps more socially inclusive. They collected camera gear, they went fishing, raced cars or drank themselves stupid. Me? I coded in my bedroom. Same thing? Well, not quite. You see, while other people's hobbies took them out of themselves, mine enabled me to climb deeper inside.

  * * *

  Lively Custard (2004) Short Story - a 25 minute read: Rogue trees are popping up all over the little town of Frinton-cum-Hardy and the residents have begun speaking in metaphors so mixed and mangled, poor Armitage, connoisseur of all things bookish, finds he no longer understands his mother tongue. And if all that isn't enough his young protege, Jenny, from the Books Galore Emporeum is having "uncle trouble"!

  * * *

  A Moth on
the Moon (2004) A twenty minute read, by Michael Graeme: Conspiracy theorists excepted, most people know the United States landed a man on the moon in 1969. What's less well known however, is that the British beat them to it, in 1947.

  * * *

  The Choices (2006) A fifteen minute read:

  I am sitting here in the lounge-bar of the McKinley Arms Hotel, by the shores of Loch Lomond, and I am staring out into the twilight at my choices. I have been this way before many times and I always seem to go wrong at this point, so you must forgive what must seem like fastidious caution, but I simply have to get it right this time!

  * * *

  Escape From Paradise Island (2007) A 25 minute read by Michael Graeme: Crime doesn't pay. That's what they try to teach you in prison, and fair enough, I might even have left there one day determined to go straight except, suddenly, I was on an island in the China Sea, gazing at a beautiful girl in a yellow Bikini. So maybe it had been worth it after all. But careful now! You had to avoid thinking things like that because they'd a nasty habit of dissolving back into reality and you'd wake up right back in that stinking grey cell: five years of your life already erased, with another two to go, and all because you'd never been able to resist the puzzle of a pretty motor car!

  * * *

  Push Hands (2008) Phil and Penny were made for each other - the only problem is they are married to other people. When they meet at a Tai Chi class they quickly realise the depth of one another's loneliness and need for a sympathetic ear. Fearful of the consequences, they go to elaborate lengths to avoid each other but their paths begin to cross with chance-defying regularity, pulling them ever more deeply into one another's confidence. Is this evidence of a mysterious power at work, or should they simply have an affair? Middle aged and married for a long time, their apparently unavoidable relationship causes them to ask serious questions of the meaning of their lives and their marriages, and finally to demand that their families respect them for who they really are. But will their families recognise them? Can they even recognise themselves?