Authors: Tom Davies
Bums on Seats (19 page)
*************
Simon halted the anonymous-looking Ford Mondeo in the lay-by next to the multi-storey car park, leaned across and opened the door.
“Morning, Josie. Are you OK?”
The girl climbed in and slammed the door. “Hello, Simon. Yes, I think so. I didn’t recognise the car.”
“I’ve hired this for the day. My own car didn’t seem very suitable. If it rains, it sometimes has a little leak down the side of the windscreen. You look very smart, I like your outfit.” He resolved to keep her mind off the reason for their journey.
“Thanks. I’ve told my Mum I’m going to London about my nursing course. So I’ve dressed to look the part,” and she had. But she’d also made herself nice for Simon, with lipstick, mascara and a dab of perfume.The trouser suit had an elasticated waistband, which, she thought with a shudder, might be more comfortable for the return journey. It was only 9.00am and there weren’t many people about yet. She leaned across and they exchanged brief kisses as they turned towards the bypass.
“Well, here we are, Josie.”
They were half an hour early. He’d managed small talk for a while, but in the end had switched on the radio. She sat quietly and tried not to feel frightened about what was to come. When there wasn’t much steering to do she clasped his hand, like a child seeking comfort.
“I’m coming in with you, Josie.”
“You won’t be able to wait. There are no facilities for long waits.”
“I know, but I want to walk you in. Put this note in your bag. It’s my mobile telephone number. Fifteen minutes after you ring me, I’ll be coming back to the clinic for you. I’ll leave it on standby, so I can be reached any time.” They walked in together and he stood while she registered her attendance. “You’ll be all right, Josie!” He kissed her without embarrassment, smiled and left.
There was little time to think heart-searching or gloomy thoughts. In ten minutes she was undressed, examined, given a pre-med pill and was on a trolley in an ante-room. It was just as well, she thought. She began to feel incredibly relaxed.
Simon found a car park ten minutes from the clinic and took a bus to Covent Garden. He’d booked a haircut with a barber he’d visited for years. He liked London and his visit today would surprise nobody. Antonio put his hair into shape, advised him on an investment strategy, forecast the outcome of this year’s FA Cup Final and relieved him of £15 pounds in 30 minutes flat.
The air was cold, but the sun bright. Simon strolled to Trafalgar Square, then walked via Piccadilly to Park Lane. All those people, but nobody stopping to speak to anyone. He crossed into Hyde Park and made his leisurely way to Marble Arch. The last of the daffodils were bending in the spring breeze. He took the Tube, descended into the man-made anthill and racketed along the tunnel for three stations. Back in sunlight, he looked for a café and sat inside the window with coffee, sandwiches and a car magazine. It was 1.15 pm. Halfway through the last sandwich, his phone rang. It was 1.45 pm…
“Simon, can you come for me? Ask at Reception.”
“I’ll be ten minutes, Josie.”
When she emerged from a corridor with a nurse, Simon was shocked. Her face was completely without colour, her eyes protruded and she looked totally shattered. He hurried forward and she managed an unconvincing smile.
“Thank you nurse, the car’s right outside the door.” Josie clung to his arm as they made the short walk and she lowered herself gingerly onto the front passenger seat.
“Is the seat all right at that angle?”
“Yes, I think so. I just feel a bit numb down there at the moment.”
Simon hurried round to his side and joined her in the car. “Are you all right, Josie?”
“I just want you to drive away from this place, Simon.”
It took about half an hour to clear the suburbs and be on the way to Pucklebridge. She said nothing, but looked in control. Simon concentrated on driving and gave her a smile from time to time. “Simon, would you stop at the next place with toilets, please?”
Two miles further on he pulled into a MacDonald’s car park. As they walked into the building he asked, “Could you manage a drink?”
“Yes, I’m parched. Would you get me a large diet Coke to drink in the car?”
Shortly after, they sat in the back of the car and sipped their drinks. In a while he said, “Do you want to talk about it Josie?” It was clear to him that she wouldn’t be able to get any such comfort at home.
“It’s terrible, Simon. Not the operation. You don’t know anything about that. But when you come round. I was in a small room with two other girls, who’d just been done. It’s all so … impersonal. The staff are very nice, but they keep coming to inspect you. They care about you, but no one mentions the babies … what about the babies? Then, after a bit, you start to feel different from before. Stretched and pulled about … and sort of empty.” She gave a small sob.
Simon set his drink on the floor and put his arms around her. “You’ve been very brave, Josie. You’ve done the hard bit. You’ll soon be all right.” He reached for the box of tissues.
Josie dabbed at her eyes. “Simon, what have we done? What have I done? It’s wicked, isn’t it? Our priest said our bodies are sacred and life is sacred, and now I’ve…” She burst into tears.
Simon was much touched. More than he would have believed possible. Josie was in the trauma of deep grief, and obviously wracked with guilt, probably induced by childhood indoctrination. All he could do was, literally, offer a shoulder to cry on. He held her tight and made soothing noises.
Receiving this basic animal comfort just made Josie open the floodgates. She howled and clung to him, eyes and nose streaming down her face. At first Simon tried, unsuccessfully, to keep control with the box of tissues and kind words. But, somehow, her wretchedness bypassed his intellect and touched his own heartstrings. Without any real warning, a sob passed his own lips. He abandoned his efforts, pressed his cheek to hers, held her tightly and cried with her. He’d not felt such anguish since the death of his mother. Together they cried, Josie for her baby and all the babies that would never be and Simon for all the injustices done in the name of modern living.
In a while, Josie felt much better. Remorse assuages guilt. Women understand these things better than men. She dabbed carefully at her eyes. No matter how she felt, she mustn’t rub them any more. She still had to face Mum, and she’d pick up on crying instantly.
When Simon dropped Josie at the end of her road a little colour had returned to her cheeks. She was, unlike Simon, who still felt upset, quite composed. She waved, walked the short distance to her house and let herself in. Her mother came to meet her. “You don’t look very well, my girl! Period?”
“You always know, Mum!”
CHAPTER 20
The Jumbo flirted with sparse fluff balls of cloud, ungraciously dispersing them to nothingness, and continued its long descent to Kumbi airport. Chloe gazed through her window with the rapt attention of a child peering into a kaleidoscope. She loved flying, but this was the best. Ten minutes earlier Zombek had appeared a vast canvas of random colours and shapes. Great swathes of brown were delineated by irregular and unfathomable boundaries: a modernist painter's dream. Now it was a world in miniature, rapidly getting larger. It became green forest, increasingly punctuated with brown and red buildings. Boundary lines transformed to roads, arteries of commerce. Then, ants scurrying along them transposed to lorries and cars. It was a magical metamorphosis.
There was an audible rumble as the pilot lowered the landing gear and the airspeed forced the wheels to rotate. Chloe looked to the rear and saw the flaps emerge from the wings. The plane banked and turned to align with the runway. She sat back, checked the seat belt and gave a small sigh. The special little pleasure was over. Still, she looked forward to the impending heat and smells and sheer African-ness of Zombek. It had been four years.
He waited for the passengers to descend the long steps and spotted her easily: tall, willowy, blonde in the English style, about 30 years old â attractive, self-assured.
“Hello, Ms Hodgekiss, I'm Mark Kwame, Captain in our Army Education Corps. I'm assigned to easing your path.” He smiled and produced credentials.
Simon had told her to expect such courtesies and the expected responses. She returned his smile, looked briefly at the identity document and said, “Thank you for meeting me, Captain. Where now, then?”
“To the VIP lounge where your travel documents will be dealt with. Meanwhile, my driver will collect your luggage.” He opened the rear door of the car for her, then joined a uniformed corporal in the front. The air-conditioning dispatched freezing gusts around her ankles as they crossed 500 yards of baking concrete to the terminal building. Twenty minutes later she was checking in to Kumbi's best hotel.
“Thank you very much for the ride, Captain Kwame. The arrangements were great.”
“Not at all. I am told you are helping our country. It's the least we can do. Would you care to call me, Mark?”
“Oh, thank you, I'm Chloe.”
Kwame had been briefed to be super-efficient, helpful, and to remain professional at all times. Unlike Veronica Hamlyn's visit, this was not a situation where his special skills were required. “You'll be shown to your room now. Your luggage will be with you shortly. Connie Masame will meet you here at seven o'clock for dinner. She has your itinerary. I and my Corporal will provide all transport throughout your stay.”
“Thanks again, goodbye for now.”
The excellent room was one of a number designed to cater for business executives. As with the public areas, it was air- conditioned. Entry was by swipe-card controlled security lock. Chloe propped a pillow against the headboard and stretched out. Great! She'd requested a day journey, as she hated âred eye' flights. She reached for the hotel facilities brochure and shortly telephoned the housekeeper. “Hello, this is Room 437. I have some dry cleaning.”
“I'll send someone immediately, madam.” Within minutes there was a discreet tap. Chloe looked through the spy hole, opened the door and handed over the trouser suit she'd travelled in. How luxurious! She really was very pleased to be here as Pucklebridge's representative for the undergraduate selection process. She extracted the wodge of CVs from her briefcase and settled back to scan them again, working slowly through the unfamiliar names. Adebe, Bwana, Dinka, Ebuja, Fashuâ¦
An hour later she stopped. Time to make leisurely preparations for her dinner date.
At five minutes to seven the telephone rang. “Room 437⦔
“Is that you Chloe? This is Connie Masame, I'm at Reception,” boomed the voice.
They'd spoken long distance by telephone several times; she sounded extremely cheery, somewhat larger than life.
“Hello Connie. What sort of skirt are you wearing?”
“A long one, Chloe. It optimises my shape. Ha, ha, ha!”
“How cold is the AC down there? Will I need long sleeves?”
“I always have long sleeves and long clothes, Chloe.”
“So I won't need my thermals, then. That's good, Connie. I've not got a short one I like for evenings. I thought I might have to come down in my swimming costume! I'll be down in a minute.”
“Ha, ha, ha!”
Connie, probably about 35 years old, proved to be nearly six feet tall and must have exceeded thirteen stone. Her bosom and bottom were immense. She was considered very attractive in Zombek and was to draw admiring glances throughout the evening.
“Great to meet you at last, Chloe.”
“Good to meet you, too, Connie. The telephone is instant. Email is useful for information. But you need to look someone in the eye to actually make contact.”
“That's exactly what I think, especially if you can do it over the rim of a glass. Ho, ho, ho! Shall we go to the bar before dinner?”
Chloe had a Cinzano and lemonade with plenty of ice. Connie joined her and asked the barman for two cocktail cherries with hers. The barman, instantly besotted, flashed inane grins throughout their stay.
“Well, Chloe, after all the kids took their A Levels during the first week of May, the Minister ordered, on a confidential basis, a special quick preliminary marking exercise. We've finished it. Everything is also being done in the normal way. But we've got a very good idea of the outcome. I coordinated it and I've got up-to-the-minute lists with me.” She beamed her huge smile.
Chloe was impressed. She doubted that it would have been possible to do the same in England. But, even in this small country, it was a good achievement. She looked at Connie anew and tried to see past the big grin and rumbling laugh.
“That's really great, Connie. You must be an excellent administrator. In a sentence, how do things look? I'm all agog!”
“I wish you'd say these things to The Minister, Chloe. Ho, ho, ho! Well, by our marking norms, 320 pupils achieved sufficient points for entry to Pucklebridge. But, at examination time, all pupils were asked if they'd like to be considered to go to England. Of the three hundred and twenty pupils who qualify, two hundred and twenty said yes. So I think that's our total catchment for consideration. What do you think?” she asked displaying her only self doubt of the entire evening.
“I think you've done wonderfully and that we should go through to the dining room now. That barman's eyes can't stop undressing you. If we stay, the hotel will be sending you a bill for the glasses he drops!”
“Ha, ha, ha! That's the story of my life, Chloe. Let's go, I could murder for the Chef's Sirloin Special here!”
The restaurant decor was superb. Live trees in sunken tubs complimented heavily carved wooden furniture. The lower half of an entire wall supported a backlit aquarium, teeming with exotic fish and water life. The ceiling was a myriad of tiny down-lighters, giving the impression of a tropical night-time skyscape. General lighting was provided by lamps concealed in Zombekian tribal masks, mounted on totem poles scattered throughout the room.
Chloe maximised the experience by asking Connie to order for the entire meal. It turned out a happy decision.
“So ⦠Connie, what do you suggest we do about undergraduate selection?”
“I think you should see a sample of the best and a sample of the worst. Say, the best twenty and the poorest twenty, from the two hundred and twenty remaining catchment. We could interview the best tomorrow. Then see the poorest on the next day. You would then know about our entire spectrum. What do you think, Chloe?”
“I think that's very sensible. It's what I would have chosen to do.”
Connie, a competent optimist, always ready to take a chance, had already organised things in the manner suggested.
“I've booked two meeting rooms in this hotel for the next two days. One of them is large enough to act as a waiting room. We'll use the other for the interviews. It's best here, Chloe. Not everywhere in Kumbi is air-conditioned. And we have all the facilities. You can fax or email colleagues. I can get in touch with our colleges. And, I didn't say yet, the Minister himself asks that you meet him in the late afternoon of the day after tomorrow.”
Chloe said, “That's all fine, very professional and helpful.” She privately deduced that Connie must have taken a chance on her ideas about the interviews being accepted, but didn't mind. She did wonder, though, just exactly what the Minister wanted to achieve.
“This steak is wonderful, Connie. I wonder how the Chef produces it.”
The big woman beamed with pleasure at Chloe's enjoyment. “I've asked before. It's been soaking in his special marinade all day. He won't say what's in that, other than that its base is Zombekian jungle herbs. I expect he learned it from a witch doctor! Ha, ha, ha! Tell me about your life in Pucklebridge, Chloe. Is it wonderful in England?”
Chloe managed a few headline sentences including one about her academic colleagues. This latter immediately switched Connie onto her own life.
“I'm now in my third marriage. Ho, ho, men!They are a need, but sometimes they drive you mad.”
Chloe topped up the wine glasses. “What happened to the others?”
“My first husband was vertically challenged, as they say. He's still a bus driver. I was much too powerful for him. He didn't know what time of day it was when we had a row. I always won and in the end we split. We married too young! I still speak if I see him and he always smiles. I think he's happier now with a school cleaner. Ha, ha!”
Connie had the engaging habit of finishing her sentences with laughs and smiles. It was infectious. Chloe laughed along with her. A surprising thought popped into her mind. Simon would have enjoyed being present! “What happened to the second husband?”
“I decided to go for a big guy. I wanted someone to carry me over the threshold of life! Ha, ha! The problem was, the bed wasn't big enough, and he didn't like me working so much. My job takes all the time I have and in the end he left me for a woman who didn't work and who would look after his every need. When I want sex,” she continued with a broad grin, “I want it there and then. But he couldn't manage instant desire. And the damn bed size made things worse. Ha, ha, ha, ha!”
Chloe, typical product of her background, wasn't accustomed to such up-front confidences from people outside her immediate circle. But Connie was just frank, without malice and amusing. So Chloe sat and smiled and waited.
“My present husband is wonderful. He fits in the bed and he looks after the home. He doesn't work; I'm the breadwinner. He likes cooking and doing housework and the bed is just the right size. Ho, ho, ho!”
At this point, the waiter came to remove the dessert dishes. “Everything to your satisfaction?” he asked. He accompanied the question with a flashing smile at Connie.
She carried on and on in her amusing way, over coffee in the lounge. Chloe was, literally, you might say, hugely entertained. As they parted for the night she speculated that Connie's third husband might well leave her, due to perforated eardrums. In that event, what bizarre personal specification would number four have to fulfil?
*************
“Yes, I slept very well, thanks. How about you, Connie?”
“Oh, everything was fine at home. My husband was waiting up for me. I just printed out some computer lists with interview times, for us. Then went to bed at about midnight. My man let me go to sleep straight away. Probably pleased for the rest! Ha, ha, ha!”
Chloe set the scene for the day. One can, after all, have too much of a good thing. “I think you should always be present throughout each interview, Connie. We don't want the students distracted by having to impress a foreigner! If you detect any difficulties whatever, then you take appropriate action. OK?”
“Fine! As you can see, I've programmed for fifteen-minute interviews. And I've allowed us two short breaks. We should finish the morning stint at one, for lunch. Are we ready to start in five minutes?”
A few minutes later Connie ushered in Daniel Adebe. His âA' level and GCSE scores accumulated to 18 points by Zombekian standards. One of his subjects happened to be Economics. Chloe gently probed his understanding of determination of price by supply and demand, and then led him into Government intervention in the cycle. The lad gave a good coherent response. At the end of fifteen minutes of further exchanges, Chloe was quite satisfied that he was well up to Pucklebridge entry standard. He seemed well balanced, friendly and determined. They thanked him for coming.
“I look forward to seeing you in England in September, Daniel. Goodbye for now.” The boy solemnly shook hands and left.
“Well, that was a good start, Connie.”
“Very good! I don't expect much difficulty today. The next student we see is in a wheelchair, but I've met her before. She'd be a good undergraduate. You need to decide if Pucklebridge can cope with her situation, Chloe.”
“Oh, at Pucklebridge we believe that people are often disabled by their physical environment, rather than their bodily circumstance, so we go to extremes to remove all potential barriers. My judgement will be made entirely on the basis of her academic ability and attitudes to study and life. Let's go to the door together and invite her in!”
Mary Ebuja proved to be bright, independent and confident. She was particularly computer literate. After ten minutes, Chloe said, “Well, Mary, I think you'll be a very good undergraduate. I've no more questions of you. It's your turn now. Ask me anything you like.”
“Thank you, Ms Hodgekiss, Chloe. Are there any other students in wheelchairs?”
Chloe mentally applauded the girl's intelligent way of introducing the topics of stairs, toilets, bedrooms and outdoor journeys between lecture rooms.