Yet to be decided
an excerpt

1

Sipping her wine she looked around. About a hundred people were noisily negotiating the refreshments table and pairing off in to cosy little groups. She knew no one, recognised no one. The high vaulted ceiling pierced her tired eyes with neon while the tall arched windows dripped condensation onto stony sills. It was quite warm for a church hall. Her feet worked away at the plastic tape markings of the badminton court as she smilingly moved aside to allow friends to meet.

‘You’re Mary Graham, aren’t you?’ The voice at her elbow was clear and crisp. She turned to look down at an impeccably dressed, elderly lady whose bright little eyes darted and blinked all over her from head to feet. She got the feeling that mental photographs were being taken for later study.

‘You’ve just moved in to the Brown’s old house, haven’t you?’

‘Well yes….’

‘How do you like it? I always hated that porch thing they built on and I was very surprised they got planning permission for that extension.’

‘Oh, we rather…..’

You’ve bought it with your partner, haven’t you? It’s a fair trip into Glasgow, you know. I was surprised to hear he’s going to do that every day. Would something nearer the town not have suited you better? Why did you decide on Lanark?’

She’d never seen this woman before in her life! How did she know so much about her? Mary hesitantly told her, ‘Well, we both like Lanark. We have friends here so we know it quite well.’

‘Really! Oh! I didn’t know that!’

The little lady stood very still for a moment then became rather agitated, looking around as if trying to find someone to blame – for what? This was bizarre! She took a deep breath.

‘Who are they? The friends.’ She was rocking only a little on her very high patent leather heels. The flounces and frills of her blouse swayed from side to side. Mary caught a warm whiff of something sweet and floral.

Politeness prevailed. ‘Arthur and Denise? Em, we’ve known them for years.’

‘Not Arthur Donaldson….?’ Again the eyes darted over Mary’s flat shoes, arty earrings and yesterday-washed hair.

‘Yes,’ she said slowly and look more closely at this person. What was going on here?

‘Where on earth did you meet them?’

Mary couldn’t rock very much on her flat shoes, but she found she managed a little. ‘Oh, through music.’ she said, as calmly as she could.

‘How did you enjoy tonight’s concert?’ Mary said, trying to move things on, ‘Such a talented young man. I hear he’s from Lanark. Is that right?’

‘Yes,’

The lady was still a little preoccupied, dabbing her nose with a real lace handkerchief and taking a sip of her orange juice.

‘Ronald’s a friend of my son’s. Though what my Chris would have made of that performance tonight I don’t know! What on earth was all that gobble-de-gook he was giving us about his music! Airs and graces! And he didn’t play any of his Beatles numbers.’

Some ladies moved past and she responded loudly to them. ‘Of yes. Wonderful! Wonderful!’

‘That’s his mother,’ she turns her back on the ladies. scarcely moves her lips whispers then looked around. ‘The Donaldsons aren’t with you tonight, are they?’

‘No. They told me about the concert the other day. Excuse me, but I’m wondering how you seem to know so much about me.’

‘What? Do I? Everybody knows everything about everybody here.’ She smiled and wriggled her fingers at someone across the room before turning back to me.

‘Oh well, in that case, perhaps you could help me? I’m looking for someone locally to play music with.’ Mary watched as her new acquaintance’s eyes glazed over.

‘Oh.’

‘You don’t know anyone? A string player? Pianist?’

‘I’ll ask Fred. You’re not married are you? I heard there were children. Were you married before?’

‘You’ll have to excuse me. The toilet? Is there one through there?’

‘Yes. Yes.’ She was already waving to someone else and started to move through the crowd. Over her shoulder she added, ‘I should have said. Don’t park on the right-hand side of your drive.’

When Mary came back in to the hall, the elderly gentleman who’d poured out her wine rushed forward, ‘You’re looking for string players? Please tell me you play the viola and want to play string quartets.’

‘Well, yes. I do.’

‘My God! I can’t believe it! Wonderful!’ and he threw his arms round her.

‘Fred.’ he said, stepping back. ‘Fred Brown’ as he took her hand.

‘Mary. Mary Graham.’