Writing for Fun
January 2018
Not What It Seems - Anne Wilson
Christine had never truly liked her old school friend from thirty years ago. The adult habit of meeting for coffee once a month had persisted, though, and only illness or a domestic crisis ever prevented it.
Margaret Elsom had always been an overly-confident, rather self-satisfied child. Her befriending of the timid Christine early on in their secondary school had been received with gratitude by that shy young woman, who was grateful for any favour bestowed on her. With the benefit of that wonderful thing called hindsight Christine now looked back in later life with an awareness that there had also been advantages to their girlhood friendship for the more dominant of the pair too. Margaret had been easily able to exercise a degree of control that might have been lacking in a more balanced relationship. In any argument or discussion hers was always the voice that was heard and Christine had found it so much easier over the years to merely agree with her and to stifle her own personality and thoughts when in her company.
It was spring and whilst most people were rejoicing at the finish of a long, hard winter and basking in the pleasant anticipation of warmer weather, Christine sat at the restaurant table in unseasonal gloom, listening to the strident views of her companion but feeling wary of expressing her own in case they resulted in a patronising retort. Surreptitiously glancing at her watch she was pleased to see that her ordeal was very nearly at an end as Margaret slowly and ostentatiously tilted her head back and drained the coffee cup of its contents, making unattractively loud slurping noises as she did so.
The bill sat between them like an uninvited guest and it was their usual custom, irrespective of who had spent what, to divide the total equally on the basis that it would result in an equitable amount over the year. It was Margaret’s idea, of course, and one with which Christine had not liked to quibble, despite the fact that her friend invariably chose more expensive items from the menu. A quick re-calculation on Margaret’s part showed that the waiter had omitted to include a relatively substantial item and, to her credit she alerted the rather harassed young man accordingly, who was exceedingly grateful for her honesty.
‘It’s an interesting point, isn’t it?’ said Margaret as she stood up and put on her coat.
‘What is?’ replied Christine, only half-listening.
‘Honesty’. Several people in the restaurant turned round at the sound of the authoritative voice. ‘We all view ourselves as ‘honest’ but how many of us really are? I think very few people would have pointed out an error that wasn’t in their favour.’ She pursed her lips in the annoying gesture of smug self-satisfaction which had followed her obediently into adulthood from her schooldays. ‘But I pride myself on always telling the truth. Not only in financial matters, but in everything – no matter how painful it may prove to be to the other person.’
Christine did not share her view. In her experience it was only people without an ounce of sensitivity or imagination who boasted of possessing a trait she did not remotely perceive as an attribute. As on so many occasions she bit her lip in the metaphorical sense, but then thought better of it.
‘I don’t think it’s quite as simple as that,’ she said with uncustomary firmness. ‘I see nothing wrong in telling a white lie or sheltering someone from the truth if in doing so it saves their feelings’.
She knew Margaret would not be aware of the edge of the tone she had adopted in delivering the second half of her sentence and she was correct.
‘Oh well, you never did have much backbone did you?’ Margaret countered dismissively. Undaunted, she then bent forward to plant a kiss on Christine’s cheek. It was donated with insincerity and received without warmth.
They went their separate ways home.
Whilst Christine could usually survive the month between their meetings without dwelling on Margaret’s habitual condescension she was, for various reasons, riled at the accusation and stored away her thoughts in anticipation of their next meeting, much as a squirrel gathers nuts for the winter.
The feeling grew week by week and had built to a crescendo in time for the next monthly meeting, resulting in her becoming defensive in response to every remark her friend made – irrespective of any provocation. She could sense the prevailing chill in the air and eventually Margaret could contain herself no longer.
‘Look, Christine, have I done something to offend you? You’ve not been yourself today.’
Summoning courage she did not know she possessed, Christine gazed stonily back at her.
‘I was just displaying some backbone,’ she snapped. As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt foolish and slightly embarrassed. Margaret would probably have no recollection of the remark she had made at their previous meeting and therefore the stinging rejoinder would pass completely over her head.
Just for a moment, though, Christine thought she saw a flicker of surprise and then realisation pass over old friend’s face, but she quickly recovered her usual bombastic equilibrium.
‘Oh, don’t take any notice of me. You know I’m always honest about things. If it offends people then I can’t help it: it’s just the way I’m made. People have to be made to face the truth, however unpalatable.’
Taking a deep breath, Christine suddenly saw her opportunity – the door which had only been occasionally been left ajar and through which she had thought she would never enter.
‘But you can help it! Not once have you ever considered what people might feel or think.’ She saw her friend’s face crumple slightly but instead of her newly-found courage deserting her, as she thought it might, it warmed her to her task. ‘You picked me as a friend all those years ago because you knew I’d never challenge your authority and I’d accept that your bluntness was a strength. It’s been the same all the way through your life. Your own husband despises you and your children can scarcely bear to visit you because you tell them how to run their lives. You haven’t a friend in the world except me and I’ve only tolerated you rather than liked you.’
To her great surprise she saw a tear slither down Margaret’s face. Of all her possible reactions she hadn’t expected that one: bluster, yes – anger probably – defiance most likely.
‘What horrible things to say to me after all these years,’ she remonstrated, delving into her bag for a large tissue onto which she blew her nose sufficiently copiously to turn the heads of the other diners. ‘You know the problems I’ve been having.’ Oddly enough, Christine liked her better at that moment than she ever had; but almost instantly she saw that Margaret had regretted the display of vulnerability and had suddenly remembered she must continue to be dominant and in control if her credibility were to continue. She straightened up. ‘Let’s forget all about it. You must be having a bad day.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Christine evenly. ‘I’m having a very good day.’ She fingered the bill which had been left on the table and which, as usual, was unevenly balanced in monetary terms. She placed some cash on the table. ‘Here’s my contribution. You can settle your portion. I think you’ll find it’s double mine.’
Christine had heard of people flouncing out of various locations and thought she would never be able to carry it off, but she was proud of the panache with which she was able to muster the action. She walked out of the restaurant without a backward glance. Back to her home – the one where she had lived on her own for most of her life in spinsterish solitude but had recently started to share with Margaret’s estranged husband. She was sure that Margaret had no idea of the identity of the person she continually referred to disparagingly as ‘her’ and the subterfuge gave her no pleasure because she was a sensitive creature. On arriving home she took the calendar from off the wall, picked up the pencil from the table and ringed round the date of their next monthly meeting. It might prove to be an interesting one.