42. THE BIRTHDAY DO

42. THE BIRTHDAY DO

A Chapter by Peter Rogerson
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So she's having her birthday party...

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Ursula pretended to be surprised when a crowd of familiar faces emerged from the shadows of a darkened lounge bar at the Crown and Anchor where she’d gone with Primrose for a birthday drink.

Well I never,” she smiled at Primrose, “who would have imagined this!”

You did!” laughed Primrose, “but it was still worth it, trying to give you a lovely surprise!”

Ursula surveyed the faces in front of her as they chorused surprise, surprise and then laughed in the way that only appreciative friends can laugh properly. During her long tenure of the village store she’d made more friends than most people manage to make in a lifetime, and a great number of them were here.

The great thing about parties mingled with a decent amount of alcohol in the convivial atmosphere of a local pub is they are filled with joy. Usually. And this one certainly was. To start with.

I began in the shop when I was fourteen, and that was long before the war,” said Ursula to a Jones or a Smith or a Pumpkin or maybe to one of the many newcomers with a wide variety of surnames.

That would be before Susan?” asked one of the newcomers, still unsure of the relative ages of people.

Ursula nodded. “Yes, before dear Susan,” she said, “how old do you think she is?”

It was bad about that husband of yours,” put in a new voice. It was Jane, who automatically protected her daughter Susan by deflecting attention from her. Her daughter’d had a somewhat different life to most and was called backward by the ignorant and foolhardy.

Poor old Cardew,” sighed Ursula, and she smiled, “he left me with a fistful of problems, but they’ve mostly been sorted, and since his books went on general sale he’s even made me a few pennies! It turns out that he was right when he wrote what he thought might be a decent set of science books for kids with problems.”

Anyone else on the horizon?” asked a Pumpkin, “you’re still young enough to bury at least two more husbands!”

Just a minute,” called a voice from the shadows, “sh..she didn’t bury the first!”

And Ursula knew that voice at once. She’d known it since she’d first met its owner when she took over ownership of the village store before the second world war.

Greendale!” she spluttered.

I thought it would be all right to invite him, mum,” whispered Primrose hastily. “After all, he is my dad,” she added defensively.

That’s all right, dear,” replied Ursula, but her heart felt as if it might be wobbling in her chest. It was years since she’d seen her first husband, though she was well aware that Primrose had kept in touch with him.

You should meet his wife,” added Primrose in a secretive whisper, “she’s here, with him, and you’ll like her.”

Why? Because we’ve both bedded the same man?” asked Ursula, and regretted it the instant she saw how Primrose’s face dropped. “Sorry, that was mean of me,” she added.

It was!” hissed Primrose, and she made her way through the crowd. “Here, dad,” she said, warmly.

The party separated and Ursula saw Greenwood and the woman whose hand he was holding. She was, so far as Ursula could judge at first glance, an average mousy woman wearing an average mousy hat and wearing an average mousy old-lady style skirt.

So this is my replacement in your life, thought Ursula, and she shocked herself when she realised that inside her head her words sounded bitter. And she knew how wrong she was thinking it even though she still hated the man for even starting to believe she might have slept around back in the first year of the dreaded war that had somehow stolen his fertility from him. She hated him because she’d done nothing of the kind and hadn’t even been tempted to seek another man’s arms. She’d not been bothered too much about his lack of fertility, though. It had been a high cost for trying to defend his country, and she understood that much

How things change… she thought.

And they had. Cardew had been in his grave for less than five years and she sometimes felt it would not only be nice to be sharing her bed with a man, but probably well nigh essential. After all, sixty was no age at all, not then in 1980. Sixty was on the cusp of youth still!

Greenwood,” she said tentatively.

Introduce me to your ex then, Greeny,” chirruped the mousy woman on his arm. But she didn’t sound mousy. From giving the appearance of being an old-lady skirt that garment suddenly looked like a decidedly severe skirt. A school ma’am skirt, and not any school ma’am skirt but the sharply pleated one chosen by women with a penchant for wielding canes in the sad old days when that’s what such women enjoyed doing most.

Brenda, my love, this is Ursula. And Ursula, this is Brenda.”

I know the secretary bird standing behind her,” said Brenda in a grating sort of voice. “Such a pretty name, Primrose, which is more than you can say for Ursula!”

And Brenda’s such a council-estate sort of name,” smiled Ursula with artificial warmth. They weren’t getting off to a good start if they were going to be any kind of friend after this moment.

Now ladies,” tittered Greenwood.

What has become of you? Ursula was shocked at the way the mousy woman seemed to have converted Greenwood into a matching mouse but without the severe vocal undertones.

Is this it, Greeny?” demanded Brenda, “have we met your little shop-keeper and can we go?”

Happy birthday, Ursula darling,” said Greenwood and Ursula flinched when she noticed Brenda viciously squeezing Greenwood’s fingers when he used the word darling.

Thank you,” smiled Ursula, and “we must meet up some time and exchange news. Are you still clerking at, what was it called, Dustcrotch and co?”

He owns the firm!” snapped Brenda, her skirt pleats dancing along with her heartfelt indignation as she attempted to be a few inches taller than her five foot two. “Are you still unemployed?” she added cattily. “Are you looking for a position behind a counter? I hear Woolworth’s are taking on...”

No,” smiled Ursula, “I’m a novelist. You must read one of my books some time...”

One of my books? I’ve only written a half of one, but she won’t know that! Snooty cow!”

Come on then, Greeny!” barked Brenda, and still squeezing his hand she tugged him towards the door. “We’re not used to places like this! Let’s go to a proper establishment where you can buy me some champagne!”

Bye-bye then, Ursula,” muttered Greenwood as he was towed mercilessly from the Crown and Anchor.

See ya,” replied Ursula, and she shook her head.

I thought you said I’d like her,” whispered Ursula to her daughter. “What has she done to that man?” she added, “he used to have a mind of his own!”

I’ve seen it before,” came the sombre tones of a voice fresh to the conversation, “many times, I have. It’s what a bad woman can do to a good man, and needs discouraging.”

It was the Reverend Jude Pernicle and his beard was freshly trimmed and perkier than ever.

Happy birthday, dear parishioner,” he said, almost booming, “I saw the Bishop today and he said that all is well in Swanspottle! Will you permit me to acquire some spiritual comfort for you, in an appropriate glass, and maybe the right to see you safely home after this evening’s joyous festivities?”

She looked at him, and slowly nodded.

You know,” she said, “there’s absolutely nothing I’d like better...”

© Peter Rogerson 21.08.18




© 2018 Peter Rogerson


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Added on August 21, 2018
Last Updated on August 21, 2018
Tags: pub, party, Crown and Anchor, Greenwood, catty wife, vicar

A WOMAN OF EXCELLENT TASTE


Author

Peter Rogerson
Peter Rogerson

Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, United Kingdom



About
I am 80 years old, but as a single dad with four children that I had sole responsibility for I found myself driving insanity away by writing. At first it was short stories (all lost now, unfortunately.. more..

Writing