No one to talk to. Thats such a strange feeling, murmured her mother, her face half-lit by the glow outside the window.
Mum, what are you on about? sighed her daughter, Sarah. I call you twice every day, dont I?
Oh, darling, I dont mean you, said Margaret quietly, her voice heavy with faraway sadness. Its just all the old friends and familiar faces from my time are gone. Grown thin in the air, you might say.
Oh, Mum, dont be daft, Sarah replied, a tinge of irritation hidden under concern. Youve still got your classmate, Ruthand honestly, youre so lively and modern, you hardly look your age. Come on, whats gotten into you?
But you know Ruths got terrible asthmacan hardly manage the phone before the coughing starts, bless her. She lives all the way out in Westbridge, the far end of town. There were three of us, you remember me telling you? But Lucys been gone for ages now. Even last night, Jane from next door popped in. Lovely woman, she often brings fresh scones or biscuits when she visitsyesterday she nipped down the bakery especially. She told me all about her grandchildren; we laughed over cups of tea. And yet, Janes a good deal younger, at least fifteen years. Her school stories and memories are all from another world. A different England.
I just wish, sometimes, there were still someone my own age to have a long natter with, Margaret confessed, knowing inside that her daughter could never wholly understand. Sarah was still youngher world waited outside the window, full of bright, urgent days. She wasnt carried away by old memories, not yet. It wasnt Sarahs fault. She was a good woman, caringjust not of Margarets time.
Mum, Ive got tickets for the chamber music evening on Tuesday. Didnt you say you wanted to go? Dont sulkwear your claret dress, you always look stunning in it!
All right, Sarah, youre right. I dont know whats come over me. Good night, love; well chat in the morning. Try to get an early nightyouve not been sleeping much, Margaret said, changing the subject.
Okay, Mum. Night, Sarahs voice fizzled out, swallowed by the phone.
Margaret sat staring at the woven tapestry of streetlamps and shadows swirling across her window.
A spring when shed been seventeen. School daysso many wild plans, as if there were all the time in the world. Her friend Ruth had fancied John Whitby; John fancied Margaret, and would ring, shyly, in the evening, calling her out for long walks under the copper London skies. But Margaret had only ever seen him as a friend, not wanting to lead him on.
Later, John went off for his National Service. Came home, married, settled in Ruths old house with its rose athwart the gate. Those were the days of home phones and coiled cordsshe could remember the number, oddly clear now. Without thinking, Margaret dialled the old digits. The phone took its timenothing, then a faint crackling, like wind in long grass.
A voice on the wire, quiet and a little rough with sleep.
Hello? Whos speaking?
Had she rung too late? What impulse made her try? Perhaps hed forgotten her altogetherif it was even him at all.
Good evening, Margaret said, her voice wavering with a dry, trembling croak.
Soft static again, the strange hush of unseen currents, untilsuddenlyan incredulous, gentle voice:
Margaret? It cant bebut it is, isnt it? Id know your voice anywhere. How did you find me? The wonder in his tone made the years dissolve. Odd, I just happened to pick up tonight
John, you recognised me! Joy swept through Margaret like young sunlight. No one had called her by her first nameonly Mum, Gran, or Mrs. Worthington. Only Ruth, perhaps, still remembered the old Margaret.
But just Margaretthat sounded light and spring-bright; it made all the years vanish into the evening haze.
How lovely to hear you, Margaret! How are you these days? He sounded genuinely happynot a hint of awkwardness, as shed feared.
Oh, do you recall Lower Sixth? That time you and Charlie Summers took Ruth and me on the rowing lake? Charlie blistered his hands on the oars, poor thing, and tried to hide it. Then we had ices on the embankment, the fairground tunes drifting over Johns voice was a soft thread, half-dream, half-memory.
I rememberof course, Margaret laughed, the years falling from her in a tumble, and that camping trip in Blackwood, with the whole form? How we couldnt get the tin of beans open, starving!
John chuckled, ghosts of old fires flickering. Oh, Charlie managed to bash it open in the end, didnt he? Then he played his guitar round the campfire till dawn. That made me want to practisenever got very far, but the urge was there.
Did you learn? Margaret asked, alive with the buoyancy of those remembered nights, every recollection winding around her, making her younger.
John pressed on, his words warm and familiar. For goodness sake, I can hear in your voice, youre happy. Family, grandchildren? I bet youre still writing poetrydo you remember? Melt into the night, awake with the dawnthats the line that stays with me. Always full of hope, Margaret, you were the sunshine. Always looking on the bright side, giving warmth to everyone around you. Your children and grandkids are luckyhaving you is a real gift.
Oh, Johndont tease! My times almost gone, its all
He interrupted, laughing. Nonesense! I can all but feel the energy coming through the lineIll have to let the phone cool down! I dont believe for a second youve run out of spark. Your time isnt over. Not yet. The suns still shining for you, Margaret.
And the breeze blows the clouds along just for you. And listen, the birdstheyre singing for you, too.
Margaret blinked, feeling a lump at the broad kindness of it. Oh John, youve always been the romantic. But what about you? Its all me, me, metell me your side
But then the line stopped; static twisted through a click, and the silence was absolute.
She sat, hand cradling the receiver. She wanted to ring back, but it was late. Another night. Another world.
That conversation with John left her buoyed and strangely clear-headed; the past seemed to slot into place. The shrill ring of her phone startled her as she poured herself teait was her granddaughter.
Yes, darling, Im awake. What did your mum say? No, Im in the best spirits. Me and Mum are off to a concert this week. Will you pop by tomorrow? Goodsee you then.
Margaret drifted to bed, already piecing together lines for new poems as sleep beckoneda gentle, wild-eyed sleep.
Morning scattered across her windowpanes. She set off to see Ruth, just a few stops on the tramshe wasnt past it yet!
Ruth looked up as Margaret knocked, surprise and pleasure on her pale face.
Youve finally come, Margaret! And you brought an apricot tortemy favourite. Well, come on, spill all the news, Ruth coughed, patting her chest before quickly waving it off. New inhalers helpinglets have tea! But, you look younger somehowwhat happened?
Margaret set about slicing the torte, grinning. Can you believe it? My fifth youth! I rang up John Whitby last nightby accident, really. Remember, your big school crush? He remembered everything, started talking about those daysId forgotten how much we got up to. Why so quiet, Ruth? All right, is it your chest again?
Ruth stared, drawn and silent. Then she whispered, almost afraid: Margaret dont you know? John died a year ago. And he moved, left that old house ages back.
Youre joking! Margaret set the knife down. But he knew everythingdetails only he and I would know. Before I called I was sad, so lost. But afterit felt like Ive still got living to do, that theres still so much to taste and touch. How can that be, Ruth?
I heard his voice. I heard him sayThe sun shines for you. The wind chases the clouds for you. The birds are singing for you.
Ruth simply shook her head, wonder and doubt twisting across her face. At last she managed: Margaret, whatever happened last night, it sounds like John found a way. He always did have a way with words. Maybejust maybehe managed to cheer you up from somewhere beyond. Whatever it was, its workedyou havent looked this alive in years.
One day, someone would gather your weary heart and patch it gently together again. And then, youll remember: you were happy all along.
