Page 40 of Birds of a Feather

It had been a hot summer’s day when they took a bus from the city to a national park to tour its cave system, which promised cooler temperatures than above ground. The water that oozed through the cave ceiling funnelled down long pointed stalactites, or fell to the tops of knobbly, waxy-looking stalagmites. Each drop contributed to a dynamic gallery of shapes and forms. And each drop contributed to the ground being extremely slippery. About 30 metres into the cave, Elise slipped and badly twisted her knee. Gerry rushed to her aid but slipped in the same spot. Unhurt, but covered in mud, Gerry had piggybacked Elise out of the cave and back to the bus. They had laughed the entire way there.

‘I’m afraid my days of rescuing people out of ancient subterranean karst systems are well and truly behind me,’ Gerry said. ‘But I can whistle a taxi like a champion, if need be.’

‘My God, Gerry,’ Elise said, taking in her features, her gestures and her mannerisms. ‘You haven’t changed a bloody bit.’

‘Neither have you,’ she said, linking her arm in Elise’s. ‘And I’m so glad.’

~

Elise and Gerry walked arm in arm through the streets of Kensington, which served as much as a gesture of affection as it did a way of safely navigating London’s uneven pavement. They arrived at a small street opposite Kensington Gardens and stopped in front of another charming white London terrace.

‘Here we are,’ Gerry announced.

‘It’s lovely, Gerry. It would be such a shame to burn it down with your cooking. Are you sure you don’t want to eat out?’

She tutted. ‘Come now.’

Gerry welcomed Elise into a lovely foyer decorated with a large chandelier and black-and-white marble chequered floor tiles.

Elise caught her reflection in the large, ornate Venetian mirror hanging on the wall. Even without her glasses, she could make out large, dark smudges under her eyes.

‘Bloody hell,’ she shrieked, wiping her eyes self-consciously. ‘Why didn’t you tell me I looked like a panda?’

‘You look beautiful,’ Gerry said earnestly, her eyes tracing the features of Elise’s face. ‘Just like the day I met you.’

‘Jesus, Gerry,’ Elise guffawed. ‘I hope not! That doesn’t say a lot about how I looked back then.’

‘No, you dill,’ she chuckled. ‘I just meant—’

‘I know, I know,’ Elise said, taking Gerry’s extended hand. She was comforted that Gerry’s hands were as lined and gnarly as her own. She wasn’t the only one who had changed. ‘I was so nervous about what you’d think of the way I look now.’

Gerry tutted again.

‘I mean, women our age get used to being invisible; it comes with the territory. Actually, I’ve come to like being able to manoeuvre through life without anyone paying any attention to me. And nor should they; youth is much more interesting. So it’s been a bit confronting to imagine what you’d think of me now. But, after all these years, even with our wrinkly casing, we’re still the same people at heart, aren’t we? Even if part of me has been dormant for the past six decades.’

Gerry smiled.

‘To be honest,’ Elise continued, ‘I wasn’t sure the person you knew all those years ago still existed until a few weeks back.’

‘Well, come on then,’ Gerry said warmly. ‘Let’s make the most of getting to know her again.’

~

Elise was genuinely impressed by Gerry’s bacon, egg and beans fry-up and told her so.

‘I know,’ Gerry replied, dabbing her mouth with a crisp white napkin and placing it delicately on the beautifully polished timber table. ‘It’s a gift.’

Gerry sat at the end of the table, and Elise was to her right. They were on high-backed velvet chairs opposite two long, thickly draped windows that overlooked the street. A magnificent portrait of a brunette woman with rosy cheeks wearing an ornate necklace and holding a fan hung over the mantle. The painting shimmered with accents of gold leaf. It reminded Elise of a Gustav Klimt painting, and she knew better than to assume it wasn’t; Gerry’s family were lovers of fine art and certainly had the means to acquire it.

Gerry rose from her seat. ‘Fancy some tea?’ she asked, gathering up the dishes from the table.

‘Please,’ Elise said, nodding. While she waited for Gerry to return, she looked at the photos on Gerry’s sideboard and baulked at the snap of Gerry smiling alongside Princess Margaret on a tennis court, and the one where her arm was draped over a young Billy Connelly’s shoulder. Elise imagined Paul McCartney telling Gerry and his wife Linda to say ‘cheese’ when she landed on a photo of them smiling up at the camera from their deck chairs on a beach.

As she scanned the collection of pictures, Elise felt a sting of sadness for all the years she had missed with her. Although she knew it was irrational, she felt jealous of the men and women in the photos who were captured celebrating special occasions or sharing a happy time with Gerry. She was particularly jealous of Princess Margaret; Elise had always admired her collection of sunglasses.

Gerry reappeared from the kitchen, set the cups of tea down and sidled up to Elise.

‘Remember this one?’ She lifted up a black-and-white photo in a slightly tarnished silver frame and held it for Elise to see.

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