Open Writing

As we walked on the downs, Pearl said, 'My Aunt Lucinda was in rep with Dan in the old days ... at Margate and Newquay and . . . places.'

'Your Aunt Lucinda?'

'Yes, she used to play the pretty daughter type. Then she became a vocalist on the wireless.'

'And what is she now?'

'A retired vocalist.' (I deserved that.)

I put my arm round her. She was wearing a thin summer dress and not much else, as far as I could tell.

'Did your Aunt Lucinda know Dan intimately?'

'No, I shouldn't think so ... not like Brian.'

'Brian?'

'Yes, the man she married. He's dead now - he was a bookmaker.'

I caressed her as we walked.

'Was your Aunt Lucinda aware of Dan's quirk?'

'Quirk? I shouldn't think so ... why, what was his quirk?'

We entered a cluster of trees.

'Never mind about it now,' I said, 'I'll tell you later.'

The sun cut swathes through the trees as I lowered her down.

'Yes, that's right,' she said, wriggling, 'tell me later.'

*
That night in bed at our digs I told her.

'Well, who'd have thought it?' she said. 'I'll talk to him about it. I've always wanted to know exactly how they -'

'Don't you dare,' I said. She rolled about, laughing.

There was a knock on the wall. She sat up, wide eyed, bare breasted.

'That'll be him,' she said and we clutched each other in silent hysterics.

Happy, silly days, all gone now.