You Who Know...
...What Love Is.
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Copyright Oggbashan January 2017
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
Minor edit February 2016.
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I was behind our near neighbour Marjorie, Mrs Jefferies, at the supermarket checkout. She had a large overflowing trolley. I had a couple of items in a small hand basket, a couple of things my mother wanted for our evening meal.
I could have gone through the express checkout but I thought Mrs Jefferies might want a hand with her shopping. If she did and I helped I hoped that she might offer me a lift home. There was a heavy storm outside with driving rain. I'd get soaked walking the half mile home.
I had always liked Mrs Jefferies from the first time I had met her. My parents had moved near to her in my second year at university. They had downsized our house because I was the third and youngest son to leave home. Mrs Jefferies, and to a lesser extent her husband Alan, had been good neighbours. They had helped my parents to move in and had introduced us to other local people. They had made the transition to a new place much easier.
I was deluding myself. What I should have thought was 'I had always loved Marjorie, Mrs Jefferies', not just liked. She had been my last and most intense adult crush. She had been amused by my love for her but gentle and kind. If the saying is right that you could work out what a woman would be like in later life by looking at her mother, then Marjorie's daughter Linda would have been my ideal partner.
In my first summer vacation after the move I had asked Linda out. She was home after her first university year. It hadn't worked. She liked me. I liked her. But there was nothing more. Why? If I was honest it was because we were still too young and inexperienced to make real commitments. I still am.
Linda told me when we decided to end our non-existent relationship that she had never been sure whether I wanted to be with her or with her mother. That hurt mainly because there was some truth in it. I was still having a crush on Marjorie. A motherly peck on the cheek from Marjorie had had more impact on me than a kiss on the lips from Linda.
That had been three years ago. Now I was standing close behind Marjorie with a slight scent of her perfume reminding me how much I had felt for her. It wasn't the same. I knew it had been a crush I had had. Marjorie is still someone I like and appreciate for who she is but my feelings for her are more rational. I would have done anything then for a Marjorie kiss on my cheek. Now that kiss wouldn't mean more than a friendly gesture.
Or would it? I was feeling hurt and rejected. A friendly gesture from Marjorie might bring back the puppy love I'd had then just because I was temporarily so vulnerable. I'd have to be careful. But it looked as if she would need help loading her pile of shopping. I'd be happy to do that and delighted if I got a lift home. Why didn't I just ask her?
I did. I suggested that I could help take her shopping to the car and please could she give me a lift home?
"Of course, Harry. Your help would be useful and there's no point in you walking home when I'm here with the car."
Marjorie smiled at me. That smile was almost enough to revive feelings I thought had ended years ago. She was wearing her full length shiny black padded coat. I remembered hugging her and being hugged by her while she had been wearing that coat. It has a fur-trimmed hood. The fur had tickled me when she gave me a kiss.
We loaded her shopping into bags and back into the trolley. Marjorie waited the few seconds for me to pay for my items. We went to the lift down to the underground car park. I pulled the trolley inside and stood at the back. Marjorie was pushing and remained close to the doors. Unusually we were alone in the lift. The supermarket had been quiet perhaps because people had shopped before the storm.
The lift doors closed. The lift started downwards. The lights went out and the lift stopped abruptly. There was a dim emergency light. I fumbled in my coat pocket for my mini-torch and turned it on.
"I think it's a power cut," Marjorie said. "Probably caused by the storm. But I'll try the emergency button."
She pressed the emergency button and after a few minutes or so a tinny voice answered. It was a power cut. No one knew how long it would last but our plight would be reported to the Fire Brigade. If the power cut covered a large area they would be busy.
Marjorie confirmed that there were just the two of us and we had ample supplies of food and drink for hours if necessary.
"Or a week," she added to me after she finished the call.
"Why so much?" I asked idly.
"The wider family are coming over for Alan's birthday. It's a big O event, his sixtieth."
"His sixtieth? But you're not that old," I protested.
"I am, Harry. I'm actually a year older than Alan."
"But..."
"But what? Linda's my youngest and she's twenty-three. Robert's thirty-five."
I still couldn't take it in. Marjorie had been my dream woman. At times she still was yet she was sixty or sixty-one? Unconsciously I shook my head.
"I know, Harry," Marjorie said. "It's a shock, isn't it? You've still got a soft spot for me, haven't you? It's flattering, but I'm older than your mother. Which reminds me. You've been wandering around looking like a wet week in Yorkshire. What's wrong?"
"Was I that obvious?" I asked.
"Yes. We've got plenty of time and nothing to do. Why not tell me?"
"Sara." I said abruptly.
"Sara? What about Sara?"
"I asked her to the Valentine's event at the night club. I'd already bought the tickets. She turned me down and laughed at me."
"You ought to have expected that from Sara," Marjorie said. "She's been a first class bitch as long as we've known her. Did she give any reason?"
I was surprised by Marjorie's statement. She didn't usually call anyone a bitch.
"Reason? More like reasons. I'm boring, staid, conventional, inexperienced, pathetic, ridiculous..."
"That sounds like classic Sara," Marjorie interrupted. "But the only adjective she got right was inexperienced. You are, aren't you, Harry?"
"Yes," I whispered almost to myself.
"That's why you and Linda didn't work out. You were both babes in the wood with no idea about adult relationships. Linda's changed. She's had to. She seemed to attract the useless bastards at university. Luckily for her and me she had enough sense to see through them eventually. It was hard letting her make her own mistakes but I couldn't help except afterwards, picking up the pieces."
"I'm sorry," I said, "for Linda and you."
"You don't need to be, Harry. She's learned from the experience. But you? Sara wasn't the first rejection, was she? Even Linda hurt you although she tried not to."
"I haven't had a real girlfriend," I blurted out. "Every girl I thought might be didn't work out."
"And there weren't many of them, were there?" Marjorie prompted.
"No."
"It's getting hot in here," Marjorie said.
It seemed to be a non sequitur, but was it? Marjorie's questions were opening painful memories.
"I'm taking my coat off," she said.
Underneath she was wearing a closely fitted dress. It emphasised the curves I remembered admiring. Marjorie slung her coat across the shopping.
"I'm going to sit down," she said. "We might have a long wait. Why don't you come over here? I wouldn't be able to see you past the trolley."
I sat down beside her. She reached out a hand, grasped one of mine and gave it a short squeeze. She continued to hold it lightly.
"If this had been a smaller lift I might be worried," Marjorie said. "I'm slightly claustrophobic. I know you're not. You go potholing. But this lift is large enough for six or eight trolleys so I can cope."
