22. Arthur and a Cat

THE POETESS Part 22

I could tell from the way his eyes bulged that Arthur was devouring my new shorts with greedy eyes, and I found it quite flattering. A girl does like to be admired even when she’s left the first flush of youth far behind! The washing machine was making all the right noises and the smell of steak and kidney pies filled the kitchen, reminding me just how hungry I was

I felt good about myself. I knew that even then, in my thirties, I was blessed with what they call good legs.

“Cool down, Arthur,” said Rosie with a little giggle. “I never knew a pair of new shorts was such a big thing!”

“I’m sorry,” he said rather shyly, reminding me of Mike, “the last thing I’d call them is big, and it’s just that I haven’t been this close to so much beauty for a very long time. You see, I was married but it didn’t work out and … to cut a painful story shorty, I’m divorced.

“That’s said,” murmured Rosie, checking the pies in te oven, “was it something you did?”

He gave a short laugh. “Something I didn’t do, more like,” he mumbled.

“So that’s why you’re actually sleeping in your car every night?” she probed, realising that his experiences may well have been both personal and painful, but unable to stop herself being inquisitive.

“Er … yes,” he muttered, and stood up. “I’d better be going,” he said, “I’ll pick up that washing that you’ve put on tomorrow after work, if you like.”

“I’ve put a pie in the oven for you. And they’re good pies from the butcher in Brumpton. No supermarket tat for me! Would you feel more comfortable if I took these shorts off?”

“No. They’re lovely. And I’d love a pie,” he said, sounding more like a shy schoolboy about to receive a lecture on the subject of good manners than an efficient employee of the library service in town.

“And are you sleeping in that car tonight?” she asked.

“Why? Er, I suppose so.”

“Because it isn’t right. Everybody deserves a home, or at least a corner to call his own. Do you need a room for a short while? I’ve got a spare and if you pay your way you’re welcome to it.”

He looked decidedly uncomfortable. He didn’t know this woman from Eve, and she might be one of those vampish creatures who will use a man and then drop him. A bit like Angela, the vampish creature he’d recently found himself divorced from., though in all truth she didn’t look that sort.

But neither had Angela when she’d been sweet sixteen and he’d fallen head over heels in love with her. Maybe the overuse of lipstick should have warned him. But this woman, this researcher after Egyptian cat deities, with her hair so long she could sit on it and eyes that sparkled with humour, didn’t look like that at all.

“Er…” he mumbled.

“You don’t have to,” she said, “just a room and no hanky panky unless one of us gets desperate…”

Why did I say that? I wasn’t likely to get desperate and if he did I wouldn’t have a clue what to do… lie back and think of England, I suppose...that’s what they say women used to do when their husbands had masculine needs and they weren’t in the mood.

“It’s kind of you…” he muttered, “I really do need a corner to call, well if not my own somewhere to lie may head.”

“Can I ask a personal question?” she asked, taking the pies out of the oven and switching it off.

“I suppose so.”

“When you say your were divorced because of something you didn’t do… that’s got me wondering what on Earth that might be.”

“She wanted children and I didn’t until we could afford them, and there’s only one way a man can make sure he remains childless and that’s to keep his body to himself. That’s all.”

“Oh. I see.”

“So if you can read between the lines, you’re safe enough when I’m around,” he grinned.

“Eat the pie while it’s hot, and then I’ll show you your room,” murmured Rosie. “It’s only small, but at a guess a bit bigger than your car, and there’s no en suite, so we’ll have to queue for the bathroom if we both want it at the same time.”

“Why are you doing this for me?” he asked.

“Well, there are a few reasons, I suppose. You need clean clothes every day, and I’ve got a washer which you’re welcome to use. And you look sort of lost, which is a shame. Oh, and you’ve got a week’s supply of aftershave on your chin, and it could do with being diluted.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Bad may be the wrong word, but yes,” she told him candidly.

“I’m sorry…”

“That’s all right, as long as you wash it off. And as for more reasons why I’ve offered you my box-room, I sometimes hanker after a bit of company myself.”

She wandered over to the bin with the foil trays the pies had been in when she finished her own, and right next to it was the window. She looked out and there, arrogantly strolling across her long lawn as if it was stalking its prey, was the ginger cat.

“Come here,” she said, and pointed. “See that cat? The ginger one? That’s why I was in the library. I don’t know what he’s called because there aren’t any other houses that close and it must have a home. But I want to call it something and I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be an ancient Egyptian deity, the way it looks at me some times as if to make it quite sure that I understand who’s boss!”

“I see what you mean,” he grinned, looking out. “It looks cared for,” he added, “and I reckon there might be other houses closer than you think. Look over there, through those trees,” he pointed down my lawn and across the stream, “isn’t that smoke?”

It was. I’d seen it before, times many if the truth was to be told, but it hadn’t registered with me. Yes, of course! I probably wasn’t as isolated from the rest of the world as my dreams suggested. And it had taken this stranger to point it out to me. What I’d assumed was woodland stretching away for ever was probably only a band of trees separating me from a council estate!

“I wish I’d asked Mike,” I said, “he lodged here for a while, before he got married, and he did maps for the council. He’d have known.”

“But it might have wrecked your illusion?” asked Arthur.

“Like you did, seeing the smoke?” grinned Rosie.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be silly! Now let me show you the little room you can have. Come on: up the stairs.

“This house looks to be quite old,” he murmured, sounding appreciative.

“It is! It was a ruin when I spotted it, but the men who rescued it did a really good job. Come on! Straight ahead is your room, mine is the one on the left and turn right for the bathroom. I hope you’ll be comfortable. The bed’s already made up, just in case.”

I didn’t say just in case of what, though. I might not have lived an adventurous life, but I have had dreams and sometimes a tall dark stranger enters into them with a glint in his eye and a mysterious bulge in his pants…

© Peter Rogerson 28.03.21

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