Magnolia Close, Episode 3 The Old Guard

Gladys brought in the tray with the fine china on it, the pot and tea-cups, and the plate of scones, as she did every day at around four o’clock. The only variation in this ritual was that, in winter, the scones were replaced with hot toasted tea-cakes. Either way, they were always thick in butter. It was their one real luxury.

"What have you been staring at all afternoon?" she said.

"Our new neighbours."

"And why is that your business, Walter Ashton? You nosey old tramp. Sit down right now and get on with your tea."

Walter moved away from the window slowly – in their small house there was no need to hurry, no corner of it unseen a thousand times – and lowered himself into his usual armchair.

"Well?" said Gladys.

"Well what?"

"What are they like?"

"I though you said it was none of our business."

"Walter! I said it was none of your business." She poured his tea.

He took a purse-lipped sip.

"So?"

"She’s a coloured lass," he said, revealing a note of surprise in his voice.

"So what? You’ve seen coloured folk before. There’s that family at Number 28 for a start. You’re not becoming a racist in your old age, are you? Though it is about time you did something in your life."

"But he’s not."

"Not what?"

"Coloured."

She sat back in silence, interrupted by an "Oh…"

Walter reached for his scone. "I was thinking."

"There has to be a first time for everything."

"How long have we lived here?"

She stopped to consider. "Did we have a colour tele when we moved in, or did we get it after?"

"I dunno. That’s why I was asking. But it’s just crossed my mind. We’ve seen kids outside grow up from nippers and move away or some have stayed. And they’ve have had nippers and we’ve watched them play outside. Now some of them will be moving away soon."

"That’s what crossed your mind? How long did that take?"

"How come we’ve never moved away?"

"Because we live here, you pillock," She sunk her dentures into her scone.

He was silent for a while. He took another sip of tea. "Something else crossed my mind."

"Good grief – with all that traffic in that head of yours, they’ll have to put up lights."

"Have you ever wondered which of us’ll go first?"

"You." She was definite about this.

"Oh, thanks very much."

"Then I’ll have parties night and day and get back to enjoying my life."

"You heartless old harridan," he said, mildly.

Gladys put her plate down on the tea table, loaded it with another scone, then retreated back into her chair. "I know what you were really wondering."

"What was that?"

"You were wondering, if they had kids, what colour they would turn out to be."

"Was I?"

"It’s funny how you worry about other people’s children and don’t give a thought to your own." She sipped again.

"But they’re in Australia. Assuming," he added acidly, "that they are mine."

"Don’t start that again, you dirty-minded tripe-hound." She managed a smile, but a weary one.

"Well! I write and they don’t reply."

"That," Gladys replied from her throne behind the china, "is because they’ve got better things to do with their lives."

They were silent for a while, save for the faint noises of consuming their afternoon tea. It was Walter who interrupted the near-silence.

"I suppose they’d turn out half and half."

"What the devil are you rambling on about now?"

"The children. Of the mixed couple, I mean. I suppose they would be half way between white and coloured."

"Thank goodness for that. For a moment, I though you meant they’d end chequered like a flag or a draughts board."

Walter was amused, laughing enough for some tea to spill in his saucer. When next he raised the cup to his lips, it dripped down the front of his cardigan. "Just imagine – it would be fun if they did."

"Walter, you’re getting tea down your front. You’d better give me that to sponge when you’ve finished.

Walter stopped laughing and fell back into reflection. "Are you sure," he said at last, "that I’ll go before you?"

"You’ll have to."

"Why?" he said, innocently.

"Because there’s no way you’d ever cope on your own."

****

Nasreen and Robert were just sitting down on two of the more robust cardboard boxes – robust because they were labelled as filled with books – and were enjoying their tea from the teabags and cups Sammy had brought them – enjoying up to a point. They still hadn’t found their teapot and kettle.

"Hotel courtesy catering," said Nasreen, wrinkling her nose. "I’d rather have had a cup, brewed with real tea-leaves in a proper pot."

"Still, it was very kind of Sam to come and help us out."

"Was it really? I just got the impression he was short of a bit of company."

"Do you think so? In any case it was thoughtful of him."

"And to take another, closer look."

"A closer look at what?" For once, Robert’s thoughts hadn’t been keeping up with hers.

"Do you think he’s married?"

"I suppose so. I don’t know. Why?"

"We may have to meet Mrs Sammy. So that she can give us the once-over as well. I thought Magnolia Close was going to be a place with a little more class than that."

"What do you mean?"

"The way the curtains keep twitching. Haven’t you noticed we’re being stared at? Being mixed race and all?"

"Nobody used to stare at us when we were at university together."

"That was different," she said. "You know, I never thought I’d say this, but sometimes we were still back there."

He got up, placing his arm round her shoulder. "Well, we’re here now, in Magnolia Close, and we’re here to stay."

End of Episode 3

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