Chapter Thirteen
Much Earlier Days
It was the settling days as Michael liked to think of it. Settling into a new position, settling into a new home and settling into a new life style. Despite a kind (very, but also self-serving) offer from Mrs(?) Sheila Barry to stay with her while he found his feet he managed to procure a flat in Canford Road, Clapham. He scraped together the money for the deposit from various sources including, but not exclusively, the backs of various settees and the door pockets and back seats of various cars. And a little help from his folks. It took some adjusting to, this new life. He woke up many times in the weeks to come, not feeling himself (or anyone else for that matter), but time took care of that.
He would be the first to agree that his flat had no pretensions to a luxurious life style, but these were early as well as settling days. But it suited him, it was quiet and spacious and a few minutes’ walk both from the common and the station. The commute to ‘The Big Brash Guide to London’s offices close by Waterloo station was daily at first until he found his feet and structured his days to suit himself. No matter what time he left his flat, no matter how much time he allowed himself he was always late arriving at the office. He was always very quick to offer to go home early to make up for it, but oddly enough, he was never taken up on it. He had an endless stream of excuses for his tardiness, some of them even true, some even believable.
The railway system south of Waterloo lent itself particularly well to delays of all kinds and Michael adopted various excuses and further adopted them for his own use. It earned him the short-lived nickname, Reggie, from the character, Reggie Perrin[24] who would announce to his secretary each morning the reason for his late arrival (staff shortages, defective bogies and an escaped tiger at Chessington North to name but some).
His natural aptitude for reviewing which had blossomed in Oxfordshire now exploded fully into life in London. You name it, he reviewed it; restaurants, fringe theatre, experimental (very) theatre, art exhibitions, street food, street performances, street music, gigs, raves, museums....all were grist to his journalistic mill.
He took to London life in a way he never really had in the Cotswolds, Sarah Higginson notwithstanding. He recognised the city’s heartbeat as his own, its vigour as his own although there was not a recognisable equivalent of his dodgy knees. His trips home became rarer and rarer as the years raced by and Chipping Norton lost its one time relevance.[25]
There was the odd romance of course, one or two quite odd indeed, but on the whole his job tended to preclude such romances as many evenings were taken up with the obtaining and writing of his flamboyant yet at the same time understated reviews. Admittedly, London could have done with more Civil War battlefields, but that was just a small grumble. He did think about joining the Sealed Knot society,[26] but thought better of it; he enjoyed the Civil War best by himself. Of course if he had joined he may well have met a certain Miss Kennedy a tad sooner, but in the light of the future that is just a small grumble.
He felt fully in control of his destiny for perhaps the first time. He was content. He was happy, not deliriously happy, he doubted he would ever be that, but happy enough.
Meanwhile...
...over in East Molesey, Judith Kennedy was complaining once again to her mother about Miss Amanda Roseberry. Tyrant was one word she used, bully was another, there were others that are best imagined. Elspeth Kennedy paid no heed, her mind was elsewhere. On the delights that the WI years had brought her and the fact that she had been at the helm for some of those years brought her a special pride. But then she was the best woman for the job. Everyone said so, well not everyone, but certainly everyone who mattered.
With Elspeth leading them they had tasted wine, built birdhouses, made fascinators, quizzed politicians and gardeners alike. They had made hats, cocktails, canapés and mosaics. They had arranged flowers, decorated cakes, painted masterpieces, taken photographs, made each other up. They had learned the art of Indian head massage and they had danced! Not to mention taking part in Magical Molesey, organising craft fairs, decorating the Molesey Christmas trees, taking part in the Molesey Carnival, the Regatta, helping out local individuals and groups and even planting the local communal garden at Police Station green. She was the talk of the area; they sang her praises particularly at Molesey boat club although it’s eminently possible that may have been due to Tom’s influence and standing as vice-chairman. Life was a bed of roses she concluded.
“Sorry, what was that, Judith?”
“I said, life at St Botolph’s is hardly a bed of roses.”
“Stay with it, it may improve, you have to give these things time.”
“It will never get better; Miss Roseberry will never get better. It sucks.”
“Really! You know how I detest that expression. And Amanda is a very sweet lady. But you enjoy the work though?”
“Yes you know I do, but I just wish I was enjoying it somewhere else.”
For Judy, in spite of her battles with Miss Roseberry, really did feel she belonged in the classroom. It wasn’t the school that she disliked just the principal of it. The school and the extra-curricular activities she encouraged (line dancing, Rugby sevens, bird spotting, pastry making among them) were her whole life almost.
There was the odd romance of course, one or two quite odd indeed and usually involving the St Botolph’s teaching staff. The short-lived (in every conceivable sense) Graham Tasker, the history teacher who was frankly, past it. She dated the geometry teacher a couple of time, but he was out of shape and they just went round in circles. And the chemistry teacher, but he was not in his element. The maths teacher, Brian was very cute, but something about him did not add up. The geography teacher knew his way around all right, but the dates with the science teacher were a disaster, there was just no chemistry there. School was her life. It was just the wrong school, but there she stayed.