Upperkirkgate Chapter Three: That Frame Outlasts A Thousand Tenants, Part 2

“My parents have friends in Tuscany. I even wrote a lengthy poem based loosely on Renaissance and Roman themes, sort of stream-of-consciousness, one friend called it pretentious. Maybe I was just trying to be James Joyce.”

   “What kind of themes?”

     “Seeing metaphors in the Roman roads, and relating them to lasagne… all those glorious textures! I’ll get the next coffee for you, by the way.”

     “I’d like that. How would you characterize Ophelia in Hamlet?”

     “A vacillating, immature girl.”

     “Do you think that’s fair? Maybe Shakespeare was using her to show the restrictions on women in his time… she was caught between obedience to her father, who was pretty powerful, an advisor to the court, and Hamlet, who is heir to the throne… maybe Claudius was hoping for another son with Gertrude… either way, he didn’t mean Hamlet junior any better than Hamlet senior. If anything, Ophelia is an all-round victim, boxed in by her father and brother and brazenly exploited by Hamlet, both in his “mad” scene and at the players’ play. He uses her to get at Claudius, and Gertrude.”

     “Hey, who’s writing this dissertation? Sounds like you’ve done more work than I have. ‘Poor Ophelia… I hoped to have thee for my Hamlet’s wife’. All that lost potential, all the way to ‘one that was a woman’. Even the manner of her death was indecisive.” They fell silent for a few moments.

     “Now, we really must go up and find some bargains, before they’re all gone.” Jack stood up too suddenly, and Claire’s umbrella rolled from under the table. It touched Alison’s foot. She bent down to look at it. “Ah a brolly. Sensible precaution. Only, you don’t carry them.” Her eyes narrowed a little.

     “I’m keeping it for a friend,” he said quickly, too quickly. “He-she- just went out.”

     “Looks like a woman’s brolly,” said Alison.

     “Well, it’s very wet,” said Jack. “You never know when it’s going to snow, and look-“ he pointed outside.

     “It’s blue,” said Alison. “Perhaps whoever owns it likes to wear blue. To go with her eyes, maybe.” She was becoming darker by the second, and attractive in a different way. She looked sharply up at the stairs, and the dark arched rails at the top.

     She turned decisively. Jack drifted around the table, blocking her way. “We haven’t finished our shopping,” he suggested.

     “You haven’t started,” said Alison grimly. She gathered up her jacket and pushed past him. Jack was indecisive. He looked at the umbrella, sighed, picked up the evidence, holding it gingerly like a bomb.

     “To the rescue,” he told himself. He walked up the steps. Alison was pacing down the first row of shelves, methodical, turning and patrolling the second one. She was sweeping past the special offers, left index finger pointed like a mine detector. “Can I help you?” said Jack languidly, twirling the umbrella in an idle manner. Alison did not deign to reply. “Great poetry just within your grasp,” he said. “How about Robert Frost, just right for a winter evening… or Three Scottish Poets? I remember Norman MacCaig in school, that poem “Basking Shark” in a handout, four times over for each time I sat that exam…” He paused and looked out of the nearest arch. Their table below was already taken. Alison moved on wordlessly.

     Behind him, there was a brief glimpse of yellow, almost as if he were framed by a halo. Alison’s mouth thinned. She extended the dreadful finger, and poked him so hard in the chest he winced. Alison reached a surprisingly long arm to grab Claire from behind him, by the shoulder. “Now,” said Alison, growing grimmer and darker, “what might the two of you have to talk about, on a day like this?”

     “I heard the Inuit have over three hundred words for snow,” said Jack blandly.

     “I thought I might learn some of them,” said Claire, initially intimidated but taking her cue from him, grabbing the nearest dictionary. “Just to make that Christmas greeting extra special.”

     “That is Spanish, and it is upside down,” said Alison.

     “El agua nieve,” said Claire.

     “That’s a start,” said Jack. “You need to work on that accent, though.”

     “Bueno,” she said.

     “Well now, why can’t I help a friend in her linguistic requirements?” said Jack. “Here’s your umbrella, by the way.” Claire took it, wary of what Alison might do. She advanced, and Jack and Claire both retreated before her, down the steps.

     They reached the bottom, close to a crowded table, and Alison reached out as if to hit Claire. Jack held an arm in front of her. “This isn’t funny, Alison,” he said quietly. “You and I are finito. Over. Done. That shouldn’t take much translation, really.” He held out a hand to Claire, but Alison forestalled them. She drew herself up, looked straight ahead, and marched up to the door. She turned, looking unusually indecisive. She looked coldly, then regretful, almost with compassion, towards Jack. Then she went out, into the drifting sleet, without an umbrella. Flakes of frost came in as the door slammed.

     Jack shivered. Almost involuntarily, he felt drawn to the anxious face before him. He drew her closer and kissed her for more than a minute. He had to have more, to convince himself he had done the right thing. “That’s enough,” said Claire gently. “People are looking.”

     “Good. Let them. They could do worse than look at two people in love.” She shivered as he said it, despite her consent.

     “What do you think she’ll do?” she asked.

     “Come on, we haven’t even got a seat,” he said, taking her hand. They went back up the steps, holding onto the rails. They reached the top, resting on the edge of the arches, looking out on the layout of the shop below: the café, the other shelves of books.

     “Jack… Jack. Did we do right? I mean, I’m not sure that was… considerate.”

     “No, not from her,” he said bitterly, squeezing the ledge so his knuckles turned white.

     “But we have to be better than that. I really don’t feel good. Maybe I should apologize to her.”

     “For what?” he said sharply. “Being ourselves, doing what we like, running our own lives… what business is that any of hers?”

     “But you knew her a long time, didn’t you… since school?”

     “Are you still in touch with everyone you were at school with? Did you go out with all of them? Sorry, I don’t mean to be too personal- it’s just, she has such a grip on things. Not just us.”

     Claire made way for people pushing behind her, her link with Jack severed for a moment. He looked for her in the crowd, she seemed gone. There were so many others wearing blue. He left his place by the arch, and pushed round to the recent pile of dictionaries. She was crouched, her scarf falling around her, looking at TS Eliot. Jack joined her, wanting to protect her from the impersonal scuffle.

     “Difficult stuff,” he commented. “I never quite got the hang of The Waste Land.”

     “Hyacinths and all that.”

     Ah yes… Dad used to plant them in the loft before Christmas, and they’d sprout in time for Valentine’s Day.” He kissed her again, the blood rushing to his head in more ways than one as he knelt beside her.

     “Jack,” she said softly.

     “I liked the blue ones best. In Tom’s hands though… perhaps he was better suited to writing about the Murder in the Cathedral.”

     “The dilemma between church and state, between King Henry II and Thomas a Becket, his Archbishop… resulting in the death of Becket by the King’s assassins. Sad.”

     “But dramatically, good stuff. That’s English history… who ran Scotland at the time?”

     “The Canmore dynasty,” she said promptly. “They had their share of ecclesiastical problems too.”

     “Now why didn’t I know that? What does that tell you about our education system…”

     “Okay, we’d better stand up,” she said, almost into his ear. “My knees hurt. I know you didn’t like school, and you’re a success at what you do now. Point taken.” She patted his arm.

     They rose from their conference by the lowest shelf to look around the shop. “Half an hour to closing,” said Jack, looking at his watch. “All this time, so many books, so many choices.”

     “If you expect me to buy you things, I’m on a student budget too,” said Claire, a little sharply.

     “Oh, I didn’t mean that… what a time we’ve had in here today. Let me buy you a coffee.”

     “They’ve closed the café,” she said, glancing downstairs. “I’ve had enough, anyway. There’s church tomorrow.”

     “Does that stop you from having coffee?”

     “No, it’s just you reminded me of what I’ve got to do to help with the coffees after the meeting tomorrow. Come if you want to.”

     “No thanks.” She looked a little disappointed. “I’ll see you after, okay? Take a walk somewhere.” She nodded. They began to drift with the shoppers, in the air of closing-time. The doors opened and closed repeatedly, sending regular drafts of air that could be felt right at the back of the shop. Jack looked out once more from the arch at the shop gradually emptying. He and Claire walked slowly down the steps once more, he very conscious of her, very proud of her. She did not look at him until they reached the floor. He tried to interest her in the philosophy books by their former table, but she seemed withdrawn.

     “Is it about church?” he asked. “If you really want me to, I’ll come.”

     She smiled. “Thanks. No, I’m not thinking of that, but I would like it if you came. I just don’t like conflict, causing others hurt…”

     “Are you going to be alright?” he asked as they passed the history section. Some of the lights in the shop went out. He had not thought that some of his problems with Alison might become Claire’s also.

     “Do you think… do you think she might hurt me?” said Claire tentatively. Jack hesitated. They had arrived at the door, joining the remaining crowd preparing to face the weather.

     “Oh, Ali...Alison wouldn’t hit you, if that’s what you mean,” said Jack.

She already tried to,” said Claire quietly, twirling her umbrella. “Well, we did the same to her, in a manner of speaking. She must be very hurt.”

     “Oh well, I was trapped in that relationship for some time… I wasn’t happy.”

     “Was she happy? Did you think much of her? I’m not going to nurse you, Jack… if Alison had a gift for nurturing your ego, I’m not going to keep that up. We may be together, but I’m my own person, and so should you be.” Her eyes were very bright, very blue.

      “You are beautiful,” he said.

     “I mean it. I’m not sure I can do this…”

     “Yes, you can,” he said softly. “I waited all this time for you… you are the only one I want. I’d send everyone else to the taxidermist and have only you.”

     “No man is an island,” she said. “No woman, either. We can’t be so selfish.” The door was opening, and the last of the customers was leaving. She flicked open her umbrella, turned into the wind and started to walk down Upperkirkgate. Jack buttoned up his denim jacket halfway, and headed after her.

                                                           ***

Jack sat in the QML, in what he considered to be a state of less than splendid isolation. He drew on his notepad, “Claire= Entente Cordiale”, then wrote underneath, “WAR to end all wars?” He sucked the end of his pen. He tried to turn his mind to work, but the stones of Elsinore Castle seemed grey and forbidding and unproductive that last Monday of term.

     There was a light, enjoyable atmosphere even in the library that day. Often too warm for students, the books were united with them for once in enjoying a suitable temperature. The snow had not lain over the weekend, but it was barely above freezing, the rain fell in showers and the pavements were treacherous. Some students had gone home early, with or without permission. He had not seen Claire since Saturday.

     Jack started doodling in the margin of his notepaper. He looked at it, and tried to analyse it. Someone came up to his table in Heavy Demand, and sat next to him. “What’s this?” came Claire’s soft voice. “Not working today?” He looked up with a broad smile at his present girlfriend. So he hoped she was. He reached over, and kissed Claire’s cheek briefly. She did not stop him. She was glowing from being outside.

     “You’re so full of life,” he said admiringly. She smiled again. She pulled a sheaf of papers from her bag, and looked at him, bright-eyed, chewing on her pencil. She left her bag with him to go over and check the availability of some photocopies. Beyond the room, Jack felt a presence. He looked up slowly to see Alison, arms folded, gazing quite steadily at him from the atrium, in the queue to withdraw some books.

     He smiled, not sure what else to do. She continued to stare. He felt responsible for her. Claire returned from her photocopying and spread out the papers on the desk. She looked up and saw Alison. “Oh no.”

     “Don’t worry,” said Jack. “Just keep your head down.” Claire stared at her papers, almost trembling a little.

     “Jack. I told you, I can’t take this stress.”

     “What we do is no business of hers,” he insisted.

     “But I took you from her.”

     “No, no, we were finished long before then. She just wouldn’t admit it.”

     “Then why is she staring?”

     “Don’t you worry. I’ll sort this.” He got up, leaving Claire starting to chew her nails. He walked over what seemed a long distance to where Alison stood, a twitch of her lips appearing to show she was pleased he had obeyed her unspoken summons. “Don’t upset Claire,” said Jack. “Don’t upset me, come to that. Leave us alone.”

     She rolled her eyes. “Oh come on. We’re all adults.” She stared past him at Claire in the Heavy Demand, in a predatory way he did not like. Jack came in front of Alison, blocking her point of view. The queue shortened, and Alison stepped around him, giving up her books to the librarian, who stamped them. Jack waited, awkward.

     “They’re due back on the ninth of January,” said the librarian, her glasses falling slowly down her nose. Jack smiled at her, and moved off slowly with Alison before he realised what he was doing.

     “Heading my way?” she smiled slowly.

     “Not likely.”

     “Then permit me to go in your direction.” She preceded him into Heavy Demand, cheerfully sitting down in the chair Jack had vacated. The room was mostly empty, the few students remaining concentrating on revision for exams in January, at the end of the current semester.

     Claire pulled herself together. “Hallo, Alison,” she said warily.

     “Hi. Nice to see you at work together. Now I don’t have long, so I will only say this.” She whispered something briefly, grinned at the approaching Jack and left.

     “What did she say?” he asked, a little out of breath.

     Claire frowned. “What did she mean- you were charged? With what?” her tone growing sharp.

     Jack sighed. “Nothing. I had three points on my licence, that was all. I braked in time. She’s just exaggerating.” Claire looked at him with suspicion.