She leaves work early that Thursday, arriving half an hour before the agreed appointment time. She drives on past his house, through the town; down-at-heel pubs and grey terraces fronting the road; belching chimneys and dusty factory gates; the heavy fumes of a hydrocarbon plant.
The town gives way abruptly to flat countryside decorated with purple willow herb. She pulls into a narrow country road, stops the car, watches the hands of the clock on the dashboard move too fast towards the hour. Liz is scared at the prospect of meeting such an auspicious person. The habitual hesitation and drying up of her thoughts will make her as unattractive as she has always known herself to be.
The man who opens the door to her is tall, over six feet, well-built, imposing, with dark curly hair and a close beard.
‘Hello. You must be Liz.’ He smiles and the corners of his eyes crease into crows’ feet. His voice has the hint of an accent that she cannot at first place. It’s not local. ‘I’m David. Come on through to the living room. I’ll make some tea. How do you like it?’
‘Milk, no sugar, please.’ She smiles. While he is gone, her eyes take in the normal clutter of this ordinary room – books, records, videos, photos, an illuminated fish tank. Similar to her own home in fact. What else did she expect?
In no time at all he is back.
‘Thanks.’ She takes the steaming mug and puts it on the table in front of her.
‘Are you enjoying the course?’
‘Well, we’ve only had three Saturdays so far… but it’s really good… exciting. It makes me think, rather than just accept everything I was taught as a child.’ Liz pauses. ‘I don’t know how I’ll manage with the essays though. It’s ages since I wrote an essay… and they never were my strong point! We had to churn out facts, rather than come up with a work of literature.’
‘You’re a nurse, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I’m attached to the local surgery. I’m not full-time but, even so, with the family…’
‘How many children do you have?’
‘Two – a girl and a boy. There’s only Rebecca at home now. Tim’s at university.’
‘We’ve one at university as well. Caroline’s at Cambridge. Lydia’s still at home, doing her A levels.’ He gives a rueful smile. ‘I don’t know who’ll be more glad when next summer is here and she can put them behind her.’
‘And go to university?’
‘Oh yes, though not Cambridge. She doesn’t want to be near her sister.’ They laugh. Behind them the fish tank murmurs soothingly.
The door opens abruptly and his wife is there, just in from work. In time, Liz will become used to these regular interruptions. It is as though she is checking up on him… or her.
‘Liz, this is my wife, Nicola. Nicola teaches at the high school.’
Liz smiles and Nicola murmurs a welcome. There is an awkward pause and she is gone.
‘Well, I’d better tell you a bit about what we’re supposed to do. The requirement is three essays for each part of the course. You can do more if you wish, though I doubt you’ll have time. We could maybe discuss one or two of the other titles here in our tutorials. What I suggest is that you look through the list and think about what you’d like to start with… one of the essays on the Old Testament prophets, maybe. We’ll discuss it next time you come. How often would you like to meet?’
‘It’s up to you.’ Her mind reels at the thought of even one essay. It is years since she has had such an assignment.
He laughs. ‘Well, let’s say every two weeks. Less often than that and we won’t get the work done. More often won’t give you time to complete each essay, nice though it would be for me!’
They finish their tea and she turns to examine the fish, while he gives her a commentary on their names and habits. At last, she gathers together her file of papers and reclaims her jacket from the back of the chair. When she leaves, she glances behind her as she turns out of the drive. He is still standing at the porch watching the car retreat into the distance.
Thus is set the pattern for each meeting. A fortnight later, after the preliminaries, of which there are many, they settle to a perusal of the essay questions. Together they consider the possibilities and she chooses a title. She will read around the subject, prepare the essay and bring it on the next occasion. It won’t be easy, finding the time to study, so she resolves to rise early and take advantage of an hour uninterrupted by family obligations.
He talks about his job, the folk he meets from day to day, but she always feels as she knew she would – unable to express herself, words slow to flow. But this is no different from how she has always been in company. In time, however, the awkwardness decreases a little. They become friends, in a distant, undemonstrative kind of way. He the lofty moral man, existing in a different sphere. That is how she sees him anyway. Maybe that’s how such men like to be seen.
‘We’ll go in here today,’ he says to her on one occasion, holding open the door to a room in the back of the house. They’ve been meeting for more than a year now and she struggles less now with the essays than she used to do. ‘I must get round to tidying,’ he says, by way of apology, as they enter the study. He bends to remove piles of correspondence from the settee to allow her space to sit. The letters join an unsteady pile on the carpet. Behind her, the burbling fish tank has been replaced by a tall bookcase, grey with dust and cluttered with unevenly stacked volumes. He switches the telephone onto the recorded message, so they will not be disturbed. The room lends itself to confidences.
‘I’ve had a number of bouts of depression myself,’ he says later in the afternoon. His words come as a surprise to her, both the fact of it being a problem and its acknowledgement. But, on reflection, perhaps it is only natural that he should unburden himself to her. She is, after all, a nurse. Perhaps he senses that years of listening to patients has made her a good listener.
She is at a loss how to reply. ‘Your job must be very draining,’ she says. ‘All things to all people.’ It provides the opening he needs.
In time, she talks a little about her own problems.
*
He sits in his study staring out of the window at the empty bird feeder as it blows to and fro on a scrubby bush. Across the unmowed grass, crisp packets spiral with sweet wrappers and come to rest in the flower bed. A crushed cigarette box thrown over the low wall proclaims ‘SMOKING CAN SERIOUSLY DAMAGE YOUR HEALTH’. He is oblivious to all these signs that summer is here again, the folk of the town out and about and filling the streets with litter. He can think only that this will be the last occasion that Liz will be calling to see him. He can’t understand how the last three years can have come to an end so quickly.
‘Thank you for all you’ve taught me,’ she says, when she leaves. She has stepped onto the path and, on the doorstep, he is head and shoulders above her.
‘I shall miss our meetings.’ He smiles at her to disguise his wretchedness. Desperately he tries to think of words to delay her departure.
‘I’ve bought you a little present.’ She pushes a slim book, carefully wrapped, in his direction. He takes it, staring at the neat gold pattern of the paper. A moment’s hesitation and she stands on tiptoe and kisses him on the cheek. His heart leaps, but, before he can respond, she hurries to the car like a startled rabbit. The engine revs and she sets off out of the drive, scattering pebbles. At the gate, she turns and gives a tentative wave. He lifts his hand in reply and it hangs in the air like a blessing until she has pulled out into the traffic and disappeared round the corner.
‘Your tea’s ready.’ Nicola’s voice calls from the kitchen.
Still he stands at the open door.
‘Did you hear me? Tea’s ready.’ The words are sharper now.
He steps back into the house and the wind snatches at the door and slams it shut.
‘I’ll be through in a minute,’ he growls. Turning, he steps into his study and shuts the door quietly behind him. He sits down at his desk and sets the small package in front of him, staring at it for a minute. Carefully, he slits open the golden paper. Inside is a book of poems. On the front page she has written:
With grateful thanks for three very happy years. I hope you enjoy the poems as much as I have enjoyed our meetings. With very best wishes, Liz.
*
Dear Liz,
Thank you so much for your kind gift of the poetry. To have the poems in such a handy volume is very good.
I have enjoyed our tutorials and the discussions we have had. Our meetings have been a great help to me.
I value our friendship very much.
Yours ever,
David.
She shares his sentiments about the poetry, but it comes as no little surprise that she has helped him.
The three years have been an oasis. Now, for reasons she cannot understand, she finds herself back in the desert.