Fancy That

Well I don’t know,” Samantha was astonished at what her friend had told her, “and you say he did it all by himself.”
   “Well I didn’t believe it myself at first,” Susan replied, clearing a strand of bottle blonde hair from her face, while carefully keeping the cigarette she had in her hand clear from her eyes, “but my friend Carol down at the Nags Head swore it was true, and she should know.”
   “Which one’s Carol then, don’t think I know her?”
   “You do, you know; . . .  she the one with the big front,” Susan said, holding her hands in front of her, palms upward, in an expansive gesture, “a bit tarty if you ask me.”
    “Was she the one who had the kid last year, and no-one . . ?.”
   “That’s her,” said Susan interrupting her friend with the punch line “and no-one knew who the father was.”
   “I expect she knows.” observed Samantha.
   “I wouldn’t be too sure about that either.” Susan flicked her hair again as they both dissolved into  laughter.
   “Do you mean that . . .” Samantha asked with a splutter “she had two on the go?”
   “More like half a dozen I heard.”
   Shrieking with laughter now, the pair of them doubled up.
   “Ooh’ don’t,” shouted Samantha “you’ll be making me wet myself.”
   “Well I am already.” replied Susan, at which they both roared again.
   Susan spun round turning her back on her friend, causing her short tight skirt to ride up a little.  Half a minute later and more composed, she turned back again.
   “Ooh’ it’s awful you know, we shouldn’t talk like this.” As she spoke she tried to return her hem to its previous position, two inches above the knee.
   “I know; but half a dozen, and all at the same time.”
   “Well I don’t know about that,” Susan paused, “at least,  not ‘exactly’ at the same time.”
    It was too much.  Both of them were helpless, their laughter unrestrained, and both of them hopping about cross legged, quite oblivious of the curious looks from passers by.
   It took five minutes to restore composure to a controllable level, albeit with two ‘false starts’ when eyes inadvertently met, their owners again reduced  to abandoned convulsions.
   Hysterical laughter gradually subsided to giggles, and finally to wet eyes which were now being attended to with an old used tissue which Samantha found in the pocket of her jeans.
    Normal conversation was difficult after their moments of madness; any attempt to start was immediately halted by the spluttering of barely controlled mirth, so it was a relief when Susan said she would have to go.
   Samantha was glad her walk to the market would not take more than a few minutes.  An urgent call was required and walking would help; so long as it was not too far. She found the place she needed, and soon all was well. Inside the market she looked to see if any of her friends were in the Corner Café, but it was busy so she had to go inside to get a good look.
   “Hi Samantha.” she heard the voice, and though she could not see its owner she knew it was Jean.
   “Over here.” Jean stood up so that she could be seen above the other customers.
   Samantha pushed her way through, squeezing where she could, ‘Excuse me-ing’ where she needed to, and making an altogether closer pass than was required to one young man, who responded by reaching round and smacking her on the bottom as she got through.
   “I’ll tell your dad when I see him.” she said with mock anger.
   “He’d have done the same as me,” he replied, a beaming smile on his face “and he wouldn’t have let you through without a squeeze and a cuddle.”
   “Did you see that young Tommy?” she said to Jean when she got to the table “Cheeky young pup . . . thinks he’s God’s gift.”
   “Well he is a bit dishy you must admit, and I saw you pushing against him as you pretended to squeeze through - go on admit it, you do fancy him a bit.”
   “Yes I suppose he would do for a while, but he’d have to smarten up a bit.”
   “Well you can’t expect him to get dressed up to work on his dad’s fruit and veg, can you?”
   “No I suppose not, anyway he’s a bit too young for me; he’s not twenty yet, and I think I fancy his dad more than him.”
   “You watch your step with him, you know what he’s like, anything with a skirt will do for him, young or old.  No wonder Tommy’s like he is, he’s just trying to follow his old man.”
   “And from what I hear he’s catching him fast.” Samantha laughed.
   Something caught her eye, and she saw an arm in the air, and then another familiar face.
   “Here’s Irene.” she said to Jean, and they both shuffled round a bit to make room for her.  At thirty, Irene was the oldest of this little group of friends; worldly wise, and sharp. There were half a dozen girls in their clique who lived in the same locality, used the same pubs, and occasionally, the same boyfriends.  They all worked in the town centre so they met up when they could.
   Irene snuggled in.  There was not much room at this busy time of day, so they did the best they could.
   “Anyone else coming today?” she asked, pert and precise.  She had a certain manner, a certain ‘jé né sais quoi’, which made her that bit different from the others in the group, a little superior perhaps, at least in her own mind.    Having been married twice gave her some kind of an edge on the others.  No matter that one ex husband had divorced her, and the other went fishing one day and never came back. She still acted as unofficial leader.
Samantha spoke up “I’ve just seen Susan, and she’s not coming.” and in spite of herself she started to laugh. The other two waited, somewhat impatiently for her to stop, and to share the joke.   In a minute they were all laughing, but somewhat less extravagantly than before.  Somehow in the re-telling, Samantha could not rekindle the giddiness that she and Susan had shared. The sparkle was missing, that spontaneous spark, that can light up the night.
   “She started to tell me about Pete Wilkinson.” said Samantha, trying to be  serious. “Have either of you two heard - seems he’s been up to his antics again?”
   “No, I haven’t heard anything.” said Jean.
   “Nor me.” said Irene, straight faced “What did she tell you?”
   “Trouble is that somehow we got on about Carroll from the Nags’, and she never finished about Pete, but I remember she said that this time he was on his own.”
   “I’m not surprised his wife couldn’t put up with it.” continued Samantha.  “It’s not so bad if he’s on his own, but he usually takes someone with him.”
   “Usually a woman.” said Jean rather curtly, a surprisingly serious look on her face.
   “He once asked me.” said Irene, the corners of her mouth just giving away the smile she was trying to hide.
   “I hope you didn’t.” her two friends exclaimed in unison.
   “Of course not,” she answered feigning anger “but I don’t mind telling you that if it had been three weeks later when that useless pil’ . . . , when Jim walked out, I might have gone, just have for the hell of it.”
   “Well you never told us . . . why didn’t you tell us?” asked Jean.
   “Well you know, it was all a bit frantic at the time, and you were all doing your own things, you know what I mean.”
   For a few moments Irene was back to that time when her first marriage was in its death-throes, and remembering that short secret fling she had had with Peter Wilkinson.  It was never serious; was never going to lead anywhere, but at a time when she needed solace, he had been the one to provide it.
   Quickly she cleared her mind of those memories, lest she should inadvertently let the cat out of the bag.  It was her secret and she wanted it to stay that way.
   Jean on the other hand was having different thoughts. Angry thoughts.
   “Aren’t men bastards?” she said out loud to her surprised friends; not because of what she had said, but because of how she had said it.
   Jean was perhaps the least outstanding one in the group.  Far from being unattractive, but with low self esteem, she felt unattractive.  She was usually trailing the others when it came to aspirations. She was not pushy or assertive; never the leader but happy to be lead.
   “What’s got into you all of a sudden?” Irene asked, surprised that Jean was looking quite upset. “Of course men are bastards, everyone knows that, but it’s the way they are made the poor lambs; it’s in their nature.”  Irene was showing her advanced knowledge on the subject “But not all of them you know; they’re not all that bad.”
   “All the one I know are.” she said firmly.
   “Oh dear,” chipped in Samantha, “what’s been happening now?”
   “It’s that Steve - he’s done a bunk the little sod.”
   Steve was six foot two, built like a prop forward, and, as both Samantha and Irene had discovered in earlier flirtations, he was certainly not little anywhere. However, the term suited the moment.
   “What’s happened then?” Samantha leaned forward, displaying some concern.
   “Oh’ you might know; same as usual.  As soon as he’d had it away he was looking for the exit signs.” Jean looked at her friends, and almost smiled. “I wouldn’t mind if he had made it clear at the start, that that was all he wanted.  That’s fair enough, I can give as good as I get, but he was making promises, and like a bloody fool I was believing him.  Then last night he told me he was off; said that six months with the same woman was as much as he could take.”
      Jean looked at her friends “Can you believe it? . . . Am I so terrible?” She looked up again wearing a strange expression; that smile which she had managed to suppress moments ago was trying to break through again, brightening up her gloomy face.
   “And do you know; he had the cheek to wait until after; you know, after,” she give her friends a knowing look, “ didn’t have the decency to tell me before he took his pants off.”
   Suddenly the grin broke through, then she laughed. In a moment they were all laughing.
   “P’raps I’ll give Tommy a try, eh?” she said wiping her eyes; though neither of her friends could tell if they were tears of laughter or sorrow.
   It was another crisis met, another crisis dealt with, and soon, dry eyed again, Steve was consigned to history.
   “Ooh, look at the time. Got to go girls.” It was Irene speaking, as she gathered her bits and pieces. “Duty calls”
   Irene was manageress of what she called a beauty salon, but in fact it was really just a shop selling a range of cheap cosmetic merchandise.  She had some style herself; kept herself in fashion, and in fairness she did give her customers (clients, she liked to call them) lots of good advice.  Consequently it was a busy little place, which not only pleased herself and her ‘clients’, but also her boss.  It provided her with a good income, and kept her in touch with the wider world of fashion.
   Soon they were all outside the café.  People thronged between the market stalls, as Irene, cigarette in her mouth, waved goodbye.  Jean, now unburdened, and ready in her own quiet way for life’s next encounter, was preparing to take her leave, back to her job at M & S.
   “What are you going to do with yourself this afternoon?”  she asked  “I can ring in and tell them I’m not well if you fancy going somewhere.”
   “No thanks.” Samantha answered, for a moment tempted. “No, I’ll go home and see if there’s anything on the tele;  there might be an old film or something.”
   With that Samantha was on her own again.  She liked meeting up with her friends, but always felt a bit left out when the each returned to their jobs.  At the moment she was the only one of the group unemployed, thanks to government cut back’s, world recession, EU regulations, and her old boss deciding to retire.  He had run a little shoe repair business just outside the market building for years and years.  Her mother had worked for him first, and only gave it up herself a few years ago. Samantha had tried one or two jobs after she left school, but nothing had inspired her, so when her mother told her she’d had enough; wanted to put her feet up; they just changed places.
Now he was gone, the little shop was gone, and Samantha’s modest income had gone too.  Of course she picked up a few pounds on the dole, but it wasn’t enough.  
    It wasn’t enough, she knew all too well.  Not only the money, but her life.  At twenty three she was in a cul-de-sac.  She could see no way forward, but didn’t want to go back.  She was in limbo, and perhaps for the first time in her life, she was just a little frightened.
   She looked around her as she wandered between the stalls.  Everywhere there was something going on.  People talking, stall-holders shouting, lads carrying, pushing, pulling, wheeling.  Music coming from somewhere and its sound merging from time to time with the public address announcements, so that for a few moments, neither could be heard.  All around her there was colour; every colour under the sun. Fruit and veg. over here, ladies fashions there; while in front of her rolls of carpets rose high above.  And always the constant sound of a thousand voices.  Voices of busy people going about their business, dashing from stall to stall; people with a purpose.
   Suddenly Samantha felt lonely, and made for the exit.  She was normally quite confident, and had never before felt disadvantaged.  It had not bothered her when, at the end of her school days she had finished with very modest qualifications, and no desire for further education.  Her only thought then was ‘school is over, now its time to live’.
     She had been pretty as a child, gorgeous as a teenager, and now she was a beautiful young woman. She had never been short of boyfriends, and had learnt, at a surprisingly young age, that she had what the boys wanted.  It was a discovery which she used to her advantage. If they wanted it enough they would have to play the game her way. So life had been good for her, never at anyone’s beck and call, doing pretty much what, and with whom, she wanted.
     But somewhere things had changed. For the first time she felt that there was something was missing.  Having a good time was not enough; her life was going, but she was going nowhere.  What she needed was a challenge, a new direction, something unexpected. ‘Who knows’, the thought struck her ‘perhaps that challenge was just around the corner, maybe even standing next to me’.
   “Hello Samantha.”  a voice broke into the private world, where for a few minutes she had been hiding.  “I haven’t seen you for ages; how’s things?”
   “Well well well.” Samantha answered, startled and surprised. “Peter Wilkinson!, we’ve just been talking about     you.”
   “Oh’ yes; and I suppose you’ve been giving me some stick; most people do.”
   “Well I wouldn’t say that, but you do seem to get people talking, don’t you?”
   “Aye’ I know, but most of it’s rubbish; people think they know me but they don’t really.”
Samantha smiled at the man before her, tall, quite well built but not broad, his fair skin tanned to a light brown by sun and wind, his fair hair bleached almost to white.  She knew him to be about thirty five, but he looked ten years younger.
   “No need to ask how you are.” she said “You look great; where have you been hiding yourself?”
   “Just come back from Spain, been there all summer again; nearly live there now.”
   “Are you back home for the winter then?”
   “No, I’ve just come back to pick up a few things, see the folks, and then I’ll be off again -  there’s no way you’ll catch me over here in the winter.” he added for good measure.
   “I can see it’s doing you no harm; but anyway, what’s all this about that we’ve been hearing about you Pete?” getting to the subject of her conversations with the girls, and the subject that was at the front of her mind.  
   “I can’t imagine what you’ve been hearing, but I’m here to sort a few things out, find a new partner, and then I will be off.”
   “What kind of partner are you looking for?” Samantha asked, her question hiding a feeling of envy. She couldn’t thinking, if only briefly, that a spot of sunshine would be no bad thing.
   “Someone; preferably a lady, who is prepared to work hard to help make my little venture successful, and if that person wants to put some money in the kitty, there’d be some return for her efforts as well.”
   “And what if that person has no money?”
   “Then she’ll have to work that bit harder, won’t she?”
   He was smiling at her, and Samantha didn’t know if she was being led, or having her leg pulled.
   “You interested?” he asked.
   “I don’t know, it’s a bit ‘all of a sudden’, and I can’t think. In any case;” Samantha paused to get the words right,        “you haven’t said what kind of a partner you are looking for.”
   “Ah’ . . . so that’s bothering you is it?.  Let’s just stop for a minute.” he said.  He described his ‘little venture’ as he liked to call it.  Holidays with a difference for people who like to get out and do things, rather than spend all their time on the beach, or in the pool.
   “What kind of things?”
   “Lots of things.” he answered “Pony trekking, cycling, canoeing, rock climbing, walking.  All the things that people do over here, except that over there they do it in the sun.”
   “It’s a small staff,” he continued  “so everyone mucks in.  We all do whatever needs doing.”  
   “What about . . . ?” Samantha started to ask, but Peter stopped her.
   “Now let’s deal with the problem that’s worrying you.” sensing her unfinished question.  “It’s important that, whoever I take, we can get on.   If we can get on ‘very well’, that’s even better.” He smiled, looking directly at her.            “It doesn’t have to be all sex, sand, and sangria - if you don’t want it to be,” he said with a wink “but it’ll add to the fun if you do.”
   Three weeks later Irene and Jean and Susan and Wendy and Judy, were in the Corner Café.  
   “Can you believe it.” It was Irene holding court, “She told me she was going on a short holiday and this came in the post today.” She fished in her handbag, and then producing a card.
   “I got one as well.” said Jean.
   “And me.”, “And me.”, “And me.”, said the others.
   “I can’t believe it, after all the things we said.”
   “What does yours say?” Jean asked “let’s see if it’s the same as mine?”
   Irene picked up the card. “Ooh I’m so angry, Pete Wilkinson of all people, and behind our backs too.” She started to read.
               
            “Dear Irene,

Wish me luck.  I feel my life has started again - at least a new chapter.

            I’ve got a new job, a new partner, and a life in the sun.  
            Love from Samantha and Pete”
   
    “Mine’s just the same.” said Jean.
   “And mine.” said the others.
   They sat in stony silence for a minute or so.
   Irene thinking it might have been her.
   Jean thinking if only it could have been her.
   Wendy remembering the time when it was her.
   Another minute and then, spontaneously, they all burst out laughing, and in that moment all hostility was gone, each in turn wishing their friend well.
   “Well I think it’s great,” said Jean, summing up, “and I love her.”
   Irene picked up the card once more, read it again and smiled.
   “Fancy that.”  she whispered wistfully “I suppose we all do.” and then, a sudden change of mood as she looked down at her wrist watch, “Oops,” she said, “ time to go.”