7. Jimson’s Coaches.

Plans for a holiday trip are made

STELLA‘S AUTUMN

7. Jimson’s Coaches.

It had been an awkward night even though Stella had slept well, but somehow invading her subconscious was the knowledge that a man in pink pants was sleeping next to her.

They had nervously climbed into bed, neither of them wanting the other to think they were peeping, and at their ages neither of them particularly wanted to. But nevertheless Stella slept uneasily and was wide awake while Percival was still snoring.

She had never been one to waste her time lying in bed once she was wide awake, so she climbed out of bed, making absolutely sure she wasn’t disturbing him, and went down the stairs to make herself a cup of tea, which she sipped sitting in her personal seat in the front room.

She’d barely made herself comfortable when she heard the unmistaken sounds of an old man descending the stairs, and she sighed..Was this what it would have been like if things had turned out differently and she and Percival had remained together for the past more than half century?

“There’s water in the kettle,” she said before actually seeing him in the doorway, “you’ll have to make yourself a cuppa if you don’t mind. I’m done in already!” Which wasn’t in any way true but she didn’t want him to get the idea that if he called to see her it didn’t mean that she was his slave.

“Lovely,” he said, and dressed only in a pair of pink shorts he made his way to the kitchen in order to explore the tea-making facilities.

“You never did take those awful pants off,” she said when he returned and was sitting on a chair that faced Stella.

“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” he replied, “a man’s got to keep his secrets, you know.”

“You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before, you know” she commented.

“Ah, but that was above fifty-odd years ago,” she reminded her.

“And I’ve forgotten all about it,” she rejoined with a grin, “now what were you talking about last night? Caves, was it, in France?”

“Lascaux,” he told her, “in the Dordogne region. There are other things there too. I read somewhere that they’ve got a heritage railway, run by enthusiastic amateurs.”

“So that’s what you want to see: smoky old engines polluting the atmosphere? And using ancient pre-historic art as an excuse?”

“Not at all!” he replied, frowning, “I’ve always been fascinated by ancient man and the things he did, his hunting and fishing and hos faith and by all accounts the caves at Lascaux were more like an art gallery than a place for infantile daubing.”

“And you actually want me to come along with you? And maybe die of boredom?”

“Now then, babe, you’ve got me all wrong if you think that.” He sounded aggrieved, and she felt sorry that she’s sounded so critical.

“Tell me about the girl you put into the pudding club hile you were supposed to be in rehab?” she asked.

“I don’t want you to feel bad about me, but it really was all her and very little me. Jane, she was called, and really very pretty, but she was the Principal’s daughter. It went about that a lad called Denis had done the dread deed and I’m sorry to say he was soon off the scene even though I might have saved him by confessing even though it was more Jane than me, and that’s a fact and not an excuse.”

“And she had a baby?”

“So I heard. A daughter, if rumour got it right.”

“And you don’t want to take Jane to France with you? I mean, she might be more academic than I ever was. She might prefer it.”

“I’ve been out of touch since back then,” he said shortly, “and I want it to stay that way. But I did hear that Denis actually claimed responsibility. Anyway, it’s all a long time ago and the best thing I can do is forget it ever happened.”

“Even though there’s a grown woman out there with your genes in her make-up, wondering why her mum did it with Denis?”

“Yes. Now France. Please say you’ll come with me because I won’t go on my own. I don’t want to and there was a time when I wanted to spend my whole life with you and now at the dead end of it I wish so sincerely that I had.”

“And it’s just the caves that are drawing you? Not a way of being close to an old women who might still be young like I was so many decades ago?”

“I’m a realist, babe. We’re both old enough to be dead!”

“Speak for yourself! I’ve got stuff to do yet before I pop my clogs! And if I had a bucket list France wouldn’t be on it.”

“But you will come? Please, babe. Or can I call you darling?”

“Don’t you think of it! Look, Percy, for the sake of I don’t know what I’ll join you. I’ve got a passport that I hardly ever use, so it’ll at least mean it wasn’t a waste of money.”

‘“Thanks, babe. You’ll never know what that means to me. I only hope there are some seats left. Shall we pop to the depot today, you and me?”

“Go on, then. If you must.”

And that’s what they did, the two of them in Percival’s Reliant three-wheeled car, to Jimson’s Coach Tours in a nice modern facility and with a secretary who was all smiles until they told her what they wanted.

“I’m afraid all the seats for that have gone,” she sighed, “I’m dreadfully sorry.”

“Oh dear,” sighed Percival, “I suppose we’ve left it a bit late. But I was hoping, and so was Stella.”

Just then the phone on her desk rang and she picked it up to answer it. Percival helped Stella out of the seat she’d been sitting for such a brief time in, and they made their way to the door, both, for different reason,s feeling a little let down.

“Just a moment,” called the secretary, “do you believe in coincidences?”

“Sometimes,” nodded Percival.

“That phone call was a person saying he must cancel two tickets due to ill health. So there are two vacancies after all, a married couple… I assume you two are man and wife? You just look the part.”

“No,” Stella said before Percival could reply, “though we’re together, as you can see. Is that a problem?

“Not at all!” smiled the secretary, “ let me fill in the paperwork and if you pay the deposits you will be fine to go. It’s a popular tour, is the Dordogne one. Very popular indeed. Your driver will be Bill Weigh. He’s very popular. Noe, are there any special dietary requirements?”

And so it was that arrangements were made and they returned to Percival’s car clutching a sheet of paper.

“Well, so far so good,” he murmured, “now all we’ve got to do is await further instructions and we’ll be on our way. I really hope you like it. I really do.”

So do I, thought Stella.

© Peter Rogerson 07.07.23

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