The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(13)

Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in a single bed. It seemed so narrow and confirmed his status as a widower. The bedding was bright and fresh, though, and he sat on the side of the bed and looked through the sash window. A seagull strutted along the windowsill and there was a pleasant view of the park across the street.

Usually the first thing he and Miriam would do when they got to a room in a B and B was to have a nice cup of tea and see what type of cookie graced the courtesy tray. They had devised a rating system together. Obviously, receiving no cookies at all scored a big fat zero. Digestives scored a two. Custard creams were a little better coming in at a four. Bourbons he had originally rated as a five but he had grown to appreciate them, so upgraded them to a six. Any cookie that tasted of chocolate without containing any had to be admired. Farther up the scale were the posh cookies usually provided by the larger hotel chains—the lemon and ginger cookies or chocolate chip, which came in at an eight. For a ten, the cookies had to be homemade by the proprietors, and this was very rare.

Here, there was a packet of two ginger nuts. They were perfectly acceptable but the sight of them in their packet made his heart sink. He took one out and munched on it, then folded over the packet and put it back on the tray. The remaining ginger nut was Miriam’s cookie. He couldn’t bring himself to eat it.

There was still two hours before he had arranged to meet Bernadette and Nathan for their evening meal in the restaurant downstairs. He and Miriam would usually put their anoraks on and go for a walk to explore and get their bearings, to plan what they would do the next day. But he didn’t want to go out on his own. There didn’t seem much point in discovering things alone. Out of the window he watched as Nathan sloped out toward the park. He had one hand dug in his pocket and smoked a cigarette. Arthur wondered if Bernadette knew about this bad habit.

He took the box from his pocket and opened it up on the windowsill. Even though he was used to seeing it now, used to handling it, he still couldn’t relate the bracelet to his wife. He couldn’t imagine something so chunky and bold dangling from her slender wrist. She had taken pride in having elegant taste and was often mistaken for being French because of her classic way of dressing. In fact, she often said that she admired the way that French ladies dressed and that one day she would like to go to Paris. She said it was chic.

When she began to feel ill, feel her chest growing tight and the shortness of breath, she changed the way she dressed. Her navy blue silk blouses, cream skirts and pearls were replaced by the shapeless cardigans. Her only aim was to keep warm. She even shivered when the sun beat down on her skin. She wore her anorak in the garden, her face bravely tilted toward the sun as if she were confronting it. Ha! I can’t feel you.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about India, Miriam,” he said aloud. “Mr. Mehra’s story was unfortunate, but there was nothing for you to be ashamed of.”

A magpie stood on the other side of the window and stared in at him, and then it seemed to look at the bracelet. Arthur tapped the window. “Shoo.” He held the box to his chest and squinted at the charms. The flower was made of five colored stones surrounding a tiny pearl. The paint palette had a tiny paintbrush and six enameled blobs to represent paint. The tiger snarled, baring pointed gold teeth. He looked at his watch again. There was still an hour and forty-five minutes to go before dinner.

If he was at home he would have eaten by now. He and Miriam always dined at five-thirty prompt and he carried on the tradition. He set the table while she cooked. After eating, he washed up and she dried the pots. Their only day off from this routine was Friday—chippy tea day when they sat in front of the TV and ate fish, chips and mushy peas straight from the polystyrene tray. He lay back on the bed with his hands behind his head. Food wasn’t the same without his wife.

To fill his time he started to think about the next day. He doubted that he’d get his cup of tea and breakfast at the usual time. He read through the train times he had scribbled down on a piece of paper, and memorized them. He imagined Lord Graystock striding toward him with his hand outstretched and greeting him like an old friend. Then he tried to picture Miriam kneeling in the dust, playing marbles with young children in India. It was too hard to comprehend.

Time had only ticked on ten minutes, so Arthur picked up the remote control for the miniature television, which hung wonkily on the bedroom wall. He switched it on, flicked through all the stations and began to watch the last twenty minutes of an episode of Columbo.





Lucy and the Tortoise


LUCY PEPPER STOOD on the doorstep of her old home and looked up at her old bedroom window. Each time she returned, the house seemed to shrink in size. It had once seemed so spacious with her and Dan running up and down the stairs and Mum and Dad reading in the sitting room. They were always together, like those porcelain dogs that sat on the opposite ends of a mantelpiece.

Her father, once strong and upright, now seemed so much smaller, too. His back curved where once it was straight. The black hair she used to love pulling on and watching spring back into place was now wiry and white. It had all happened so quickly. The innocence of being young and thinking that your parents would last forever had been broken.

All Lucy had ever wanted was to be a mum. Even since she was little, when she used to pretend that her dolls were her babies, she had pictured herself with two kids. Whether that was a boy and a girl, two boys or two girls, she didn’t care. At the age of thirty-six, she should be a mother with toddlers by now. On Facebook one of her classmates was even a grandmother. She longed to feel the planting of small, sticky kisses on her cheeks.