Susan's Party Fiasco

The remains of that summer were spent in the ancient garden, in the long grass against the tumbling stone wall.. not any soul had I ever seen other than on Sundays ..when the congregation walked directly beneath the low, bedroom window, so low, possible almost, to touch their hats.

One of those Sunday mornings, had Susan's head out of that window ..she, naked and I. behind her.. right behind her. Gave her credit.. as the sky pilot leading his flock passed, she said "Oh! Good morning Vicar" in her best, privately educated, voice. He hesitated momentarily, looked sharply up at her, asking

"When are we going to see you and your husband in Church!"

She had tried to wriggle back on seeing them emerge, purified, after their Hymns of Thanks and Forgiveness had echoed exaltedly up into the pinnacle of high roof rafters.. but had refused to let go my grip on her.. Unfortunate, could not see the expression on her face during that short exchange of words...

Imperceptibly, she became more of the woman she was, had been, used to be. Not another person lost, discarded by Society.

We were in Saffron Walden one Saturday evening, in one of the smart Pubs where inevitably she was to see people she had known in her previous existence.. People who knew her antecedents, who had known her husband, who looked at me with some surprise.. possibly with some misgiving, conceivable with some disdain.

Felt very sad for her as she hesitantly approached these sleek, stuck up pigs.. knew she would get a condescending reception, she did.. Asked, "Why bother?".. did not know.. obviously thought she could go back, be accepted as she was, as she had always been.. but all this too late.

There had been Lambs Conduit Street in her life. Institutionalised with Tom, someone who shared her desire to escape through drink, to escape into each other. Tony with the beard and the long ingratiating line of chat, myself, the streets with hard pavements, a existence such people knew nothing of and wished to know nothing.

Susan... all over for you. One of us now... not one of them

She refused to accept this.. insisting she would 'throw a party'

Sat down.

In her meticulously neat handwriting, pen with a square tip, sent out invitations to all the people "she used to know". The same as always having done in the past. Dutifully I went along with this charade, getting the drink in, getting the food in. She arranged the "sitting room" as she had always done, as if, apparently, the past... some dream.... overlooking my presence...the reality of now.

All the middle class overtures came to the surface . Flower arrangements, discreet candles along the winding flagstone path, coloured folded serviettes, the correct crockery, the most beautiful cutlery. All this had been stored away, now triumphantly reincarnated ..

Waited ...we could hear nothing at all .. Not a rustle from the wind... not a chirp from the crickets, not a croak from the frogs...

Silence, fragmented as the Church clock struck Nine.

Susan lit a cigarette, sent me out on the dark, damp, deserted road in case they "missed the cottage".

Ten. p.m. ... put my hand over my mouth rather than say "I told you so". Not one person on the long list deigned to materialise at "Susan's Party". She had been totally ignored, rubbished.. crushed. A certain cruelty.. how had she deserved this? What had she done?

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