Susan and Glenna

Raluka rang last night.. terrible state.. being the recipient of one of my famous letters, she being the bird who stole a flat from me here in Bucuresti.. concluding I would say “Oh well “ as perhaps some men would.. wipe my mouth and walk away, she is mistaken. Hardly feel there are so many people on this Planet who can afford to take a blow such as that.

After having a confrontation with this wall for the last ten minutes, a very difficult confrontation, apparently it is time to get on with the story, go back to John’s café, to Lambs Conduit street, Mickey Kelly, Bernie, Isle of Wight Bill, Jimmy Skinner, our famous man of Thailand… all the faces, quite a few of whom are now dead. Berni still kicking round the Far East, somewhere in the Jungle in Thailand, he almost eighty. Johnny Miles still out there . Those two men after being together for forty years working together were split up by two Thai birds. John and Bernie now live at opposite ends of the country ..never the twain to meet.. simply jealousy of the women, John having money, Bernie having nothing by comparison. Way the world and women go round.. women.!


Back to Lambs Conduit street, the night with Glenna, a situation to wynd its own inevitable course, okay, maybe a variation..

Became quite intense over Glenna, she moved more or less into Clapton Common with me, at the back of mind, always Susan and the kid incarcerated in Shenley hospital, so my life at the correct level of chaos for men of that age.. Men in the 40-50 bracket, apparently get themselves in deeper than other groups, only when they get to the late fifties do men start to realize how deeply involved they are, how horrendously difficult it is to extricate themselves, in fact impossible to get out of the hole they have blindly burrowed into, the “golden handcuffs” the realization, too late. Yes, I deeply in it, the palaver of visiting Shenley, driving about the London streets.. going up and down the A.1. attempting to keep two females in equilibrium.

Xmas day 1985 in the middle of Susan’s silence, I alone as usual, as always as ever, she and the child incarcerated in Shenley hospital, the hospital kept open only for Susan and Jack, the only two with no where to go, no one wanted. Susan’s mother refused, point blank, to have her and the child, Susan’s toffee nosed brother most certainly would not entertain her in his smart four bedroomed house. What! Silent Susan! what would he and his Irish wife do? how could they be expected to take in such a person…? Xmas! … More important.. “What would their friends think !”

As for myself, not even considered, as always, a none starter. They would not let me attempt to feed, wash, mother and child.. No, the hospital stayed… open. I ? only the child’s father (counts nothing in England) a fact Susan kept from him until November ’92..when he was seven years old.

Maybe having suited her to keep quiet for so long, to insist, she should have kept her mouth shut about this fact just a little longer as I had to fallen into one of my nervous breakdowns and she to kick me in the bollocks and out. Nothing unusual, many men know what I am talking about .. all still counting the cost.

Late spring, deep snow, suddenly Susan managed to extricate herself and the child from Shenley, went to Harlow Hospital, nearer to her mother at Bishops Stortford, not know how she pulled that, maybe having some intuition about Glenna, about another female face filling the void, if you like, of my existence. Arrived there one morning, she, Susan, looking better, a transition from a grey haired wrinkled ghost, a ghost which had not spoken, silent for six months, now a woman somewhat resurrected.

A brilliant sunny morning, snow reflecting through the window intensifying the light. Susan, full of it, full of herself, full of life, full of plans, full of aspirations, full of all the things we, i.e. she and I were going to embark on…. had not mentioned Glenna sitting downstairs in the car. Sussed by Susan, vaguely aware I had pulled a stroke.. beaten me to it, females have this propensity.. played her cards with the usual feminine dexterity, close to her chest.

Stuck with two of them, one upstairs in the hospital ward, the other downstairs, patiently waiting in the car, a situation which had happened to me a very long time previously in Australia. Always on my mind to put down the events of that particular day, Susan, Glenna and I.

Remember quite distinctly, quietly laughing to myself, how it tangled itself up, a bun fight in the snow. Hardly feel like laughing about anything or anyone anymore.. maybe with age has come a deeper perception ..maybe.. Hardly feel like discussing the event, exposing people to the bone, never really gone deeply into the tight, bare knuckle, bare flesh, scenario. Never been guilty of that.

Surprisingly, after the initial furor settled, Glenna and Susan became almost amicable.. for want of a better word.. amicable! one will have to think of words associated…..

Susan continued with her improvement . Discharged herself and with the child went back to her mother’s. Rather to my surprise, much to my surprise, Susan appeared at the flat, Glenna and I having breakfast or lunch.. know we were eating, sitting down in the kitchen.

She came smartly up the thirty nine steps, heard her leather shoes echoing on the hard oak, sat down as though, as if, that six, eight, interminable, silent months, had never taken place.. greeted Glenna like a long lost sister.

Perhaps it was a couple of weeks later, time is not really specific we three all in bed, the street door bell rang, a rare occurrence, looked at the clock , mid day, Susan volunteered to get up and go peer out on the big room window, heard her shouting against the noise of the traffic to whoever was below. She went down the stairs. Heard two sets of footsteps coming up, wondered who she had let in, no one ever comes to my flat unless they want something , a slight knock, on the bedroom door Susan appeared, perhaps hesitantly, beckoned to whomever it may be..

To say I was surprised at this intruding face would be a understatement, momentarily not recognizing the man standing half in, half out of the green bedroom door, Had only seen him once before, introduced to him in the pub. “The Lamb” in Lambs Conduit street, a considerable time ago, a very happy, smiling Susan at the time. She had made me struggle through the throng, disregarding how I dislike pubs, having spent a great deal of time standing out side every one in Hackney during my childhood, interminable waiting for my Mother and Father to come out. Remember quite clearly the look of satisfaction on her face as she introduced this small neat man with the goatee beard to me. “Jeffrey this is Peter…” Her Ex husband, he, no doubt wondering what she had “got hold of” this time.

Jeffrey stood in the doorway staring at the scene. Big black Glenna and I tucked up in bed, one of the few occasion in my life when I had been caught literally with my trousers down, completely off guard the way Susan had lured him up into the room. Quite obviously it was a “three in the bed and the little one said” scenario. Maybe she wanted to punish him, also one of the few moments in my life when I had been lost for words, even feeling slightly put out for his sake, me feeling something for someone other than myself..!?
A very brief visit, he quickly ran out in some disarray, out down the stairs, heard the deep down street door go bang behind him.