13. On the Ferry

Meeting up with the loud-mouthed Donna on the ferry taking them home....

STELLA‘S AUTUMN

13. On the Ferry

The White cliffs of Dover were a welcome sight. The return journey had been quiet and she of the big mouth, Donna, had been remarkably and uncharacteristically quiet. There had been the usual official delay in Calais which had led to their driver missing a ferry despite doing his best to catch it, meaning they has to wait for ages for the next one. Then they had been driven onto the ship and were soon on their way home.

It was time to gaze at the rolling seas and marvel. Not at the water but at the ay it represented in Stella’s mind the rolling tides of history, from the skilled artisan and his work on the walls at Lascaux, past the years of conflict between England and France and its dreadful one hundred years war which in fact had lasted for well over a century and which had seen young Englishmen floating on the Dordogne, some of them face down, gazing at the river bed through dead eyes, lifeless as soldiers after battle often are. Then there had been the steam train they’d enjoyed riding in open carriages through French countryside, an hour to wherever, and back again to the start. And finally the white cliffs surrounding Dover that marked a return to her homeland. Was she happy to be back, she wondered, or was there something left in France that she wanted in her life?

She was deep in her own thoughts when a voice in her ears interrupted them.

“I’m sorry,” it said quietly, “do you mind?”

It was the dreadful Donna, though apparently in an uncharacteristically humble mood.

“I know I can be a bit of a big mouth,” she said though hat looked to Stella like a small mouth, “and I’ve always looked upon myself as good. I mean, a woman of faith. I wondered if I could have a word with your hus… I mean, your gentleman friend?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” replied Stella, wondering what the woman might want with Percy, “I think you’ll find himself mooching over the whisky in the duty free shop.”

“So he’s a man of God who likes a wee dram?” asked Donna, the beginnings of a light in her eyes.

“Very occasionally, I believe,” replied Stella, not really knowing. It must be a fairly unique situation, she thought, she and Percival. Parents of a man in his fifties, but for just about all of his life neither of them had known where the other was. And she had no idea whether he ever touched whisky. All the really knew was years ago he had enjoyed the odd pint of beer and now, in the bar in the hotel this holiday, he had ordered the odd small beer.

“As long as he doesn’t drink too much. Tony sometimes does, you know, when the mood takes him, though most of the time he’s sober as me. I suppose if your fellow really is a vicar of a church he has to be careful… you know, it’s not the done thing for a vicar to go stumbling drunk through the streets.”

“He really was a vicar, but he’s eighty next year you know, and decided to give his collar a rest while we were on holiday, and anyway he’s retired, like I suppose your husband is.”

Donna showed signs that she might react against Stella, but she obviously had another point to make and reined herself in.

“Not quite,” she said, rather tartly, “he’s not quite that old. But I stopped by to discuss this holiday with you. There are some of us who think it’s been a bit of a con.”

“You what? It’s been wonderful” replied Stella, “what on Earth have you got against it?”

“The cave paintings. I was a bit of a student of history when I was a girl at school and I know that cave paintings were done by cavemen.”

“You really think that?” smiled Stella, “I always thought that real cavemen had no time for painting their cave walls with sophisticated drawings, especially like what we saw. No, we saw pictures created a lot more recently than what so-called naked cavemen had time to draw. Cavemen went hunting for their meat, you know, sometimes quite a long way from their homes, and that would have taken all their time and energy up..”

“Then why were we sold a holiday which included cave-paintings?” demanded Donna, the real point of her interruption of Stella’s personal reverie at last obvious. “There are some of us who want our money back from Jimsons,” she added, frowning.

“Some of us?” asked Stella, frowning, “who for example?”

“Well, there’s me and Tony for starters.”

“Both of you?”

“We’re married and speak as one,” retorted Donna, “unlike you and the vicar who seem to have nothing more in common than sleeping in the same bed in sin, if that’s what you do! And if I say something then he agrees with me.”

Stella, feeling outraged by the woman’s self-obsessed opinions, was about to say something biting but Percy returned carring a bag marked DUTY FREE and he seemed to have picked up Tony, who was carrying a similar bag, on the way.

“They’ve got litres of whisky on offer,” grinned Percy, holding his bag in front of him so she could see it, “so I bought four! Lovely!”

“I didn’t know you liked whisky,” murmured Stella, wondering why she didn’t even know that much about the father of her middle-aged son.

“I don’t ever have much. But four at these prices! I’ll goive one to Peter. I don’t know whether he likes it or not, but as he’s my son he deserves one.”

“You’ve got a son?” interrupted Donna, “I didn’t know vicars could marry!”

“That was priests, and I’m not one of those,” growled Percy, “whatever you might think, this lovely lady, Stella, is the mother of my son. I loved her back in the day…” he paused, and took Stella by one hand, “and since our reunion I’ve come to love her even more.”

“That’s embarrassing,” smiled Stella, looking at him, then nodding her head. “But yes,” she said quietly, “I guess I feel the same.”

“It’s disgusting,” decided Donna, “and you a vicar, too.”

Tony, who as usual had kept quiet, decided to have his penn’orth for once.

“I think it’s wonderful,” he said, “love after so many years. We’ve been together a long time, Donna, and the truth is if I ever loved you I haven’t for a long time now. I just stay with you because you’re like an old favourite coat, worn out but needing to be treated carefully.”

“How dared you!” shrieked Donna, her voice resounding far and wide on the ferry, making heads turn and a group of small boys look her way and start giggling together..

Tony began to walk away. “I should have said it a long time ago,” he murmured, “just listen to yourself!”

And he slowly walked away from her while she watched his back in apparent disbelief.

© Peter Rogerson 20.07.23

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