Thank you for visiting, said the vicar take our hands one after the other. I felt uncomfortable, was there a hint of irony there? Of course, we are interlopers, we’ve never been there before and Christmas is notorious for bringing us strangers into an already cosy, sealed-up fold. Were we welcome? I don’t know. I miss Bath Abbey more than I can say. Strangers were always present, passers-through and made welcome for it. His sermon was sweet, making an analogy between Christ and the Green Flag rescue service. He laboured it a little, but I liked it nevertheless but still, Edward Mason’s sermons were so elegant, so understated, graceful. A shy man, I think, I remember his awkwardness when I attended the vicarage tea. The last one, I think. Perhaps it just got to much for him. I remember seeing him in mufti once in Waitrose, a rugby shirt with the collar up, he looked so relaxed. I hope he is enjoying his retirement. And J and D. It was nice to meet our neighbours. I liked her, I leaned towards a cosiness that I saw there. You must come round for coffee, she said. Yes, I thought, that would be nice, though I felt him nudge me. He wants no such thing. Couldn’t I go anyway? Someone to call a friend, an acquaintance nearby but one who would respect boundaries. They’ve come to here to be near their daughter who lives three houses away, leaving Sussex. He misses it, she says gesticulating towards D. We’ll die here, she says, we have to make the best of it. We’re not really seashore people. No, I think, nor was I and yet, now the sea is all. It is my focus each morning. We need to make the best of it, she said. Amen to that.
Is that what acceptance looks like? She looked more happy with it than he. Why had they come? D looks frail, his hair is thin. She is rake thin but wiry with energy. Their daughter is lovely, a smiling woman with a young daughter. Was it health? Was it wanting to be near their grandchild? Such a big move. It isn’t easy to be here. A glass separates us.
The clubs were open last night so kids spilled onto pavements as I walked. Girls in high heels and sequinned boob tubes. So little clothes, even though it is mild. An empty pushchair stood abandoned outside the Academy. A child’s picture-book lay on its seat. A mauve balloon, also abandoned, rested between the kerb and the road outside Thompson’s, aka Tui. A girl leant on her man’s arm attempting to unstrap her shoes, then barefooted handed them to him to carry. A pizza box lay on the step as I arrived back. Empty? Who knows? I didn’t check. Acceptance is sometimes leaving things be.
My back is like a wash board, hard and resistant. Just make a start. Accept the work you have to do. Find a way in to the joy of it. The joy of being busy, of being useful, of communicating. It is enough. It is a one step in front of the other kind of life at the moment, but that is OK. It is OK.
